kind of mythopoesis

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

13, H, grate

It Will Get Lighter

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

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.

I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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 am below everything.


Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Better Lift

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Style

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. 

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your feed looks like my tumblr

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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.

fw

yeah

brb i will read and reply sincerely