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

1

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Better Lift

no longer writing in the third person

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

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.

It Will Get Lighter


Thank you, Jack

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.

Can I see

your feed looks like my tumblr

as in

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation


i have read not even 1 book

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."