in a post. I want to be remembered

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

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

so an active mazelike process

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

It Will Get Lighter

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

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 seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

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.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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.

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

Pimlico Rats

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.