send your tumblr

i want to do that too

i love it here

i dont understand magnetisation

this will be about a slug

feel you

plato

was it worth it

yeah

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

ahnaf abrar

i was tempted to lie about my name

or never left

have you read

is everyoneback on tumblr now

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

barren land

no like which do people call me

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

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

ion

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

i really havent

abrar?

was it worth it

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

fw

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

its good

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.

There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.

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."

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.