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.

Today I felt like starting

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

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

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

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

all that is to say

it is hopeful

It's

dusk

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.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41