I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

...

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

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.
part of an old note. It will get lighter.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Today I felt like starting

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

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

1

. way too specific.

I Write Goodbye Letter

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

have you read

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

Lift Analysis

"Put a blanket."

hiding from the rain

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

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

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

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.

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.