As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

was it worth it

i have read not even 1 book

yeah

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

sorry i am texting like a slav

isaac

lol

isaac newton

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.

i dont understand magnetisation

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

2 (actually index). two is company

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

was it worth it

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

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

Can I see

not so on: yvf(wthw)

whats your name?

wait what is that

bro i read nothing in my life

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

Rain, starting

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

but really the thing should be autonomous

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.