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.

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

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

have you read

we need to be deconstructing our identities

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

abrar?

fw

or never left

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

lol

lol yea

really i want the internet

i want to do that too

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

no like which do people call me

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

i dont understand magnetisation

send your tumblr

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

plato

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

idk

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

send link