The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

no longer writing in the third person

Picture

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

all that is to say

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

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

It Will Get Lighter

autonomy of learning

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

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.

currently

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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

Thank you, Jack

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.

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.

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.

god being the centre magnet

It Will Get Lighter

we need to be deconstructing our identities

The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf