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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

hiding from the rain


It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

no longer writing in the third person

really i want the internet

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

not so on: yvf(wthw)