i love it here

autonomy of learning

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

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

its performative

all that is to say

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

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

1

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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

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.

I Write Goodbye Letter

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

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.

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.

Thank you, Jack

as in