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
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
i understand
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
Better Lift
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
kind of mythopoesis
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.
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
currently
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.