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.

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.

currently

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Today I felt like starting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

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

Rain, starting

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

in a post. I want to be remembered