Today I felt like starting

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

we can only engage in such a way

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

autonomy of learning

so at the end

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

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

1

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

"Put a blanket."

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.

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Worse Lift

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.

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

magnetises a pin

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

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

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

is this you as well

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.

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.

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate