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.
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.in a post. I want to be remembered
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Thank you, Jack
it is hopeful
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
currently