the site i am dreaming
we need to be deconstructing our identities
so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities
yeah
plato
i really havent
whats your name?
is this you as well
like first name
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
no like which do people call me
your feed looks like my tumblr
isaac
i understand
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
fw
yeah
bro i read nothing in my life
was it worth it
i have read not even 1 book
abrar?
and the fake qualifier
lol yea
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
ahnaf abrar
i really havent
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.
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
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.
"Put a blanket."
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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.