nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
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
A procession forms behind the French Raj and his fireworks bearer as they head out the door. I've lost my Korean colleague / fresh meat in the chaos. I'm sure he'll be able to fend for himself. They have mandatory military service in Korea.
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.
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.
and the fake qualifier
sorry i am texting like a slav
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
that looks like my instagram account
which magnetises chains of pins
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
like magnets
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
thank you
i dont understand magnetisation
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
lol