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.

yeah

i really havent

which magnetises chains of pins

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

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

abrar?

barren land

i understand

god being the centre magnet

division of reality is straying away from it

no like which do people call me

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

i have read not even 1 book

have you read

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

lol

i want to do that too

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

its good

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

...

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

your feed looks like my tumblr

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

in a post. I want to be remembered

It's

dusk