like first name
god being the centre magnet
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
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
yeah
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
was it worth it
was it worth it
its good
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.
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
A procession forms behind the French Raj and his fireworks bearer as they head out the door. I've lost my Korean colleague / fresh meat in the chaos. I'm sure he'll be able to fend for himself. They have mandatory military service in Korea.
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
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.
thank you
plato
so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities
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.
i love it here
sorry i am texting like a slav
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.