I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.

lol yea

which magnetises chains of pins

is everyoneback on tumblr now

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

send your tumblr

yeah

thank you

its good

isaac

fw

that looks like my instagram account

is this you as well

but really the thing should be autonomous

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

Rain, starting

it is hopeful

barren land

plato

was it worth it

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

abrar?

what do you mean

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.