It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox."No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Put a blanket."
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
bro i read nothing in my life
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
all that is to say
no longer writing in the third person
no i haven't really read anything
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
hiding from the rain
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
like first name
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
it is hopeful