this is not tactical information.
this is a growing network of conceptual pages.
come in. there’s no beginning or end.
patterns of sounds
meaning buried under sound
we believe we’re made of rocks, or wood—
but it’s something else.
reality is amorphous;
nobody can get a grip on it.
you curate the surface of your life
weeding out what you don’t like
some days feel old, like they’re reused
even though they’re unfolding as new ones.
i know what she wants.
she’ll do anything to hang on to it.
the memory of action
freezes into a motionless instant
its throat is open wide
so just throw your trash inside
your house is a warm and kind house, with a sweet and safe person inside.
it’s like every statement online has to be interpreted as either a joke or a lesson.