He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

was it worth it

send link

bro i read nothing in my life

whats your name?

plato

god being the centre magnet

plato

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities

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

and the fake qualifier

thank you

wait what is that

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

i dont understand magnetisation

yeah

isaac

feel you

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

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

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Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

ahnaf abrar

have you read

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

i really havent

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.

brb i will read and reply sincerely

in a post. I want to be remembered

i want to do that too