the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

yes

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

this will be about a slug

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

like first name

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

and the fake qualifier

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything