13, H, grate

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

I am below everything.

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

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.

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.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

no longer writing in the third person

It Will Get Lighter

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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