Slug

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.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

Style

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

no longer writing in the third person

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

Rain, starting

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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

"Put a blanket."

Picture

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

Better Lift