There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
you have a beautiful account btw
Thank you, Jack
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
not their contents
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation
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
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.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.
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
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.
hello reader,
and the fake qualifier