The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
i want to do that too
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
hiding from the rain
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
have you read
plato
its good
division of reality is straying away from it
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
was it worth it
or never left
propensity within someone
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
barren land
i was tempted to lie about my name
i love it here
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
what do you think my name is
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
i really havent
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