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

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

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

no longer writing in the third person

Today I felt like starting

Thank you, Jack

but i respect your search

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

much more tactility

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

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

so at the end

It Will Get Lighter

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

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.

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

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

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.

It Will Get Lighter

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.