stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

i have read not even 1 book

Can I see

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

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.

Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:

wait what is that

As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.

hello reader,

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

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.

kind of mythopoesis

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

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

which magnetises chains of pins

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

i am quite illiterate on producing technology