After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

no longer writing in the third person

I am below everything.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

13, H, grate

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.


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.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

1

i really havent

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

which magnetises chains of pins