you cannot feed someone truth
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
"Put a blanket."
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
no longer writing in the third person
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
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.
a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext
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
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch