isaac
in a post. I want to be remembered
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
but really the thing should be autonomous
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
magnetisation/form
you have a beautiful account btw
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
its good short few pages
December 2025
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
which magnetises chains of pins
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
Today I felt like starting
no i haven't really read anything
sorry i am texting like a slav
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.
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying
i dont understand magnetisation
kind of mythopoesis
...
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.
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.
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.