i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
Thank you, Jack
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
...
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
ahnaf abrar
i understand
is this you as well
thank you
so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities
...
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
like magnets
plato
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."
you have a beautiful account btw
was it worth it
But seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.
sorry i am texting like a slav
yeah
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
A roll of 50s is one of the items he dumps onto my table during the search. Of course it is. He asks if I'm a delivery boy or a setter or this or that diamond related job. I keep saying no, I'm enjoying hearing all of these new words. Eventually I tell him that I work in film, which is kind of true. He asks where I'm filming. I'm not filming. He tells me that I can't be that good at it then. He then tells me that he made a film once, in the 80s. It was called Pimlico Rats.