I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.
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.
Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
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.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
send your tumblr
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
so an active mazelike process
sorry i am texting like a slav
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
feel you
not their contents
that looks like my instagram account
He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.
i want to do that too
no like which do people call me
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
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.
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
and the fake qualifier