The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

like magnets

its good

isaac

we need to be deconstructing our identities

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

was it worth it

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

send your tumblr

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

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.

have you read

...

i really havent

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

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

I am below everything.

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.

I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

god being the centre magnet


a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

like first name


lol yea