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.

Better Lift

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

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

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

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

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

isaac

its good

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

yeah

like magnets

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

is everyoneback on tumblr now

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

Worse Lift

in a post. I want to be remembered

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