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

whats your name?

lol

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.

its good

its good short few pages

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

lol yea

As we're stood there I notice a middle-aged woman staring at us across the room. I'm trying to catch her gaze, but its kind of vacant. I guess she sees me looking and considers it to be an invitation. She floats over to us in this strange dazed way, and on the approach I realise she's staring at (through?) my Korean colleague / fresh meat. She's saying wow, wow, wow. She seems genuinely so delighted, so shocked, so elated.

yeah

your feed looks like my tumblr

ion

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.

i really havent

bro i read nothing in my life

the site i am dreaming

like first name

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

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

magnetises a pin

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.