division of reality is straying away from it

yes

you cannot feed someone truth

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

brb i will read and reply sincerely

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

its performative

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

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

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

all that is to say

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

not so on: yvf(wthw)

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

Lift Analysis

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.

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

A roll of 50s is one of the items he dumps onto my table during the search. Of course it is. He asks if I'm a delivery boy or a setter or this or that diamond related job. I keep saying no, I'm enjoying hearing all of these new words. Eventually I tell him that I work in film, which is kind of true. He asks where I'm filming. I'm not filming. He tells me that I can't be that good at it then. He then tells me that he made a film once, in the 80s. It was called Pimlico Rats.

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.

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.