i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
Today I felt like starting
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
send link
bro i read nothing in my life
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
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.
no longer writing in the third person
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
December 2025
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.
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
send your tumblr
but really the thing should be autonomous
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
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