like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
barren land
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.
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
magnetises a pin
was it worth it
magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
no longer writing in the third person
what do you mean
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine