"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
"Put a blanket."
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.