somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

It's

dusk

Style

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

really i want the internet

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

so at the end

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

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

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

...