somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

no longer writing in the third person

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.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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

IWGD

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

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

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.

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.

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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

1

hiding from the rain

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.

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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

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