Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Thank you, Jack
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
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.
There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.
Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?
It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.
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.
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
Thank you, Jack
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
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
kind of mythopoesis
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
But seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.
i understand
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
i dont understand magnetisation
Lift Analysis