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.
like first name
is everyoneback on tumblr now
feel you
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
i dont understand magnetisation
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
yeah
was it worth it
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
i really havent
ahnaf abrar
and the fake qualifier
ion
i was tempted to lie about my name
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
have you read
and the fake qualifier
lol yea
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
barren land
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
bro i read nothing in my life
that looks like my instagram account
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.
its good
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.