Today I felt like starting
we need to be deconstructing our identities
abrar?
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
send link
Thank you, Jack
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
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.
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.
and the fake qualifier
bro i read nothing in my life
and the fake qualifier
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
that looks like my instagram account
i have read not even 1 book
not so on: yvf(wthw)
The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.