with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
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
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
not their contents
I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.
Today I felt like starting
13 |
|
|
H |
|
|
. . . . |
. . . . |
. . . . |
. . . . |
|
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.
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.
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
...
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.