its good
feel you
yeah
is everyoneback on tumblr now
lol
no i haven't really read anything
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.
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.
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
"Put a blanket."
I am below everything.
plato
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
like first name
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.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
sorry i am texting like a slav
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.isaac
fw