i have read not even 1 book

but i respect your search

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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.

Picture

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

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

I am below everything.

Better Lift

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

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.

brb i will read and reply sincerely