The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.
abrar?
we need to be deconstructing our identities
ahnaf abrar
feel you
plato
like first name
that looks like my instagram account
lol
send your tumblr
no like which do people call me
no i haven't really read anything
yeah
and the fake qualifier
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
its good short few pages
lol yea
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
and the fake qualifier
i really havent
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
what do you think my name is
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
have you read
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.