Today I felt like starting

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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.

Overall meaning: The dream seems to explore vulnerability, unspoken emotion, and the tension between connection and isolation. It suggests you may be processing intense feelings of longing or missed opportunities, and your subconscious is guiding you to acknowledge, release, or transform them.

part of an old note. It will get lighter.
and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

i want to do that too

yeah

ahnaf abrar

lol

yeah

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

the site i am dreaming

i have read not even 1 book

like magnets

barren land

Slug

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

After I get away from the old racist failed actor, I go to see my Korean colleague. He's just arrived in London and I want to see how he's handling the party. We'd been invited as fresh meat for some of the older, gayer attendees. We aren't aware of that.

2 (actually index). two is company

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

this will be about a slug

kind of mythopoesis

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

we need to be deconstructing our identities

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything