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.

god being the centre magnet

that looks like my instagram account

your feed looks like my tumblr

yeah

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

i dont understand magnetisation

lol yea

fw

I Write Goodbye Letter

i want to do that too

abrar?

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.

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

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.

...

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.

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

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

...

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

Slug

but really the thing should be autonomous

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

have you read

It's

dusk

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.