Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
all that is to say
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
you have a beautiful account btw
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
no longer writing in the third person
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.
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."