but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
so at the end
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
all that is to say
so an active mazelike process
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
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
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
its performative
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.
and the fake qualifier
hiding from the rain
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
not their contents
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
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.
The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.
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.
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
was it worth it
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.