The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.


Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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.

Today I felt like starting

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

Picture

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

no longer writing in the third person


with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

its good

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

Better Lift

like magnets

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

2 (actually index). two is company

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.

I Write Goodbye Letter

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

propensity within someone

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.

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

Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.

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 struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything