...

Better Lift

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

Style

hiding from the rain


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.

no longer writing in the third person

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

your feed looks like my tumblr

that looks like my instagram account

autonomy of learning

all that is to say

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

send your tumblr

part of an old note. It will get lighter.