and the fake qualifier

its good short few pages

bro i read nothing in my life

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

i understand

The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."

yeah

so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities

we need to be deconstructing our identities

isaac newton

plato

plato

idk

sorry i am texting like a slav

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

i dont understand magnetisation

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

lol yea

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.

the site i am dreaming

i really havent

Thank you for telling me that I'm failing to see how I'm reproducing the dynamics I'm trying to critique by only describing my Korean colleague / fresh meat and the black girl in relation to others and myself.

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.

god being the centre magnet

I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

what do you think my name is