The evening has been postponed indefinitely though we are all in it together so thank you for being involved and connecting with such an important organisation.
Our first mistake was that we mistook the warmth of the afternoon for permanence and all summer the water ran through the walls, carrying faint traces of soap or the sweet smell of cherries soaked in kirsch or even brandy.
The page reads: this information is no longer available.
Nobody thought to ask where it was going.
Later, the nights became softer and more difficult to distinguish.
A blue darkness settled over the unfinished things.
Outside is not looking good to me.
I’m fucking crying.
I’m fucking crying rn I swear.
***
Pixel-painting GIF and cut-up poem
(2 frames, 1920 x 1920 pixels)