ageha @shmibs@writing.exchange

does anyone else have this sort of feeling? like, when being with two other people, i mean. the night of, it can feel all super intimate and like having the two best friends ever who are also very attractive and make you feel nice, and then falling to sleep is so warm / usually has some quiet conversations and bonding. waking up, though, it's like that all disappears and you're alone in the bed, like, even though they're both still there, it has that a sort of...

this thing is a long thing, not a short thing, or a brief thing, but a long thing. a fun thing, and a long thing.

(that is to say, 12:00 long / probably telephone-prohibitive)

Stella Benson markov chains (courtesy of project gutenberg)

"She found she had kicked aside the snare now, and flakes of ashy petticoat, and the dreams."

"Only her Homeric laughter, and a table in an exercise-book, always eventually mislaid."

"Her regulation witch's hat was not nearly as big as his future."

"The green sea, shining in the bosom of the inn, craning extravagantly from the weariness of a grey slate view."

"To-night, the moon, the wind, something of this house is Living Alone."

there's this hovering malaise

a sort of ceiling made from pudding

and on a good day, when i'm feeling, i slowly rise towards it. an upper limit to free breathing and freedom of movement

and at that cut-off i'll slowly sink into it and everything goes dark and suffocating and every movement sluggish and the only thing to do is to drop back down again, the whole way down, hit the floor and be reminded what pain is

and at some point all the energy will be gone, won't it? stuck there looking up

"Be­fore the war at a lun­cheon party like this peo­ple would have said pre­cisely the same things but they would have sounded dif­fer­ent, be­cause in those days they were ac­com­pa­nied by a sort of hum­ming noise, not ar­tic­u­late, but mu­si­cal, ex­cit­ing, which changed the value of the words them­selves."

"noth­ing was dif­fer­ent save only here I lis­tened with all my ears not en­tirely to what was being said, but to the mur­mur or cur­rent be­hind it. Yes, that was it—the change was there."

"Noth­ing was changed;"

"A woman in the village, that was before this war began said to me one day, they used to laugh gayly before the war she meant 1914 war and since then they have not laughed, they seem to enjoy themselves but they do not laugh, she wondered was it that they had forgotten or that you did not laugh, perhaps she said if there is a whole generation that never heard of war they will laugh. Perhaps not, she said, she realised that it might never again happen that any one would really laugh."

not been writing so much recently, just lots and lots of things going on and feeling a little stagnate.

hoping things will quiet down soon..

fake news 2018

#kawen

why are reusable glass bottles not more a thing? like, walk in the store with a bottle and fill it up with shampoo from the shampoo dispenser. save companies on packaging and bulk shipping, save people on buying the packaging over and over and over, and save everyone from having plastic containers all over the place...

.

いつか大人になれるかなぁ