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.
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
its good
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
currently
and the fake qualifier
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
i want to do that too
...
isaac newton
what do you mean
god being the centre magnet
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.
abrar?
it is hopeful
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.