I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

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

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

send your tumblr

whats your name?

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.

yeah

your feed looks like my tumblr

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

"Put a blanket."

is this you as well

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.

Better Lift

kind of mythopoesis

i have read not even 1 book

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

currently

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

1

no like which do people call me

It's

dusk