what do you think my name is

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

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

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

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

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

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46


It Will Get Lighter

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

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

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

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

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Better Lift

Pimlico Rats

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

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.

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

magnetisation/form

He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.

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