so at the end

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

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

currently

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I am below everything.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

it is hopeful

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

yes

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.