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They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
send link
i love it here
lol
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
not so on: yvf(wthw)
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
all that is to say
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation