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.
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
ahnaf abrar
abrar?
no like which do people call me
what do you think my name is
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
i was tempted to lie about my name
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
and the fake qualifier
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
is this you as well
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
fw
i really havent
we need to be deconstructing our identities
hiding from the rain
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
bro i read nothing in my life
...
send your tumblr
your feed looks like my tumblr
magnetises a pin
whats your name?