yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
like magnets
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
i was tempted to lie about my name
that looks like my instagram account
no like which do people call me
not so on: yvf(wthw)
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
and the fake qualifier
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.
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.
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
idk
December 2025
your feed looks like my tumblr
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
send link
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
Thank you, Jack
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
sorry i am texting like a slav
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 performative
the site i am dreaming