its good short few pages
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
that looks like my instagram account
is everyoneback on tumblr now
no like which do people call me
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.
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
its good
magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you
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.
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
it is hopeful
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
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.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
currently
magnetises a pin
like magnets