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

sorry i am texting like a slav

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

what do you think my name is

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

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

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

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.

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.

like magnets

Lift Analysis

division of reality is straying away from it

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

yeah

barren land

Her English is poor but she manages a brief introduction before getting to the point. She asks if she can touch his face. She's already reaching out and gesturing at it. Koreans are way too polite, he's just laughing awkwardly. I put my hand kind of between them and wave it to try and indicate no to her. I'm still in fucking mime mode. I say no, but it's not really to her, or to him, just no, in general. This is all too weird. Dejected, she departs with a comment about having never seen someone like him before.

but i respect your search

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

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.

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

was it worth it

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.