Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
no like which do people call me
was it worth it
what do you think my name is
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
was it worth it
and the fake qualifier
or never left
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 really havent
send your tumblr
lol yea
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
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
sorry i am texting like a slav
Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15
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.
isaac
abrar?
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.
kind of mythopoesis
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
whats your name?