is everyoneback on tumblr now

I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

its good short few pages

magnetises a pin

December 2025

its good

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

i really havent

It Will Get Lighter

I Write Goodbye Letter

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

barren land

Worse Lift

no longer writing in the third person

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

plato

you have a beautiful account btw

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.

all that is to say

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

you cannot feed someone truth

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

isaac newton

so the method has to be autonomous

i am quite illiterate on producing technology