isaac newton

Rain, starting

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

I am below everything.

13, H, grate

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

no longer writing in the third person

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.

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.

Better Lift

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.

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

Style

1

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.

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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

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

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

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

plato