… they were, of course, tucked neatly and lovingly beyond the scope of human vision between two books on a bookshelf. The proper domain of scissors.
And again. A whole string of leds banished to the negarealm.
I’m sure I’ll find those scissors again this time next year.
I’ve a habit of setting things I don’t immediately need in some utterly random place that still seems ‘obvious’ in the moment.
Does not work well in the middle of Christmas Tree Setup clutter.
Weaponised autumn leaves shotgunning my front windows.
Denying the heating system its little victory by getting out my thermals.
One of the eerier strangenesses of our new autocomplete-based reality is that our tools now need to speak to each other like people.
Using the ChatGPT app rather than a browser appears to leak the prompt used to structure a response to the user when images have been generated.
Can’t hear the opening to I’m Deranged without seeing yellow text over that infinite black road.
Un monsieur triste en costume.
October skies, late-August temperatures.
Uh oh. Realising now that I am at an age where a wobbly train means constant vigilance against dozing.
A slow and wobbly train on a slow and wobbly day.
Weirdly middle-class Lovecraftian angst as a genre.
Waking up from: navigating a vast and serpentine bathroom with freestanding shower-wall baffles, in search of a small box of compostable recycling bags at the other end. An ominous sense that someone else was in there.
There’s a tiny little half-hidden cupboard here that I apparently exiled some unfavoured glasses to ~fifteen years ago. I wonder what adventures they’ve been on.
Deep cleaning parts of my kitchen I don’t think I’ve even seen as long as I’ve lived here. My eyebrows are sweating.
Mad October Dreams (early start this year).
Part of a massive group of middle aged men being taught to swim in a pool beside the sea, while planning for an all-belly tattoo that I didn’t really want. Oddly comradely.
(Unintentionally) failing to tend the clean sock stockpile -> (unintentionally) wearing waterproof socks as last option -> (unintentionally) emptying a basin of water over my feet.
There was a victory of sorts here today, but I don’t think I can claim it.
A very pebbley rain.
The perfectly normal realisation that you’ve been mournfully humming the slowed-down Tethered Mix of I Got 5 On It from Us.
Possibly for days.