i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

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.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

I am below everything.

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.

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 love it here

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

yes

ion

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

send link

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book