ion

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

I am below everything.

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.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

13, H, grate

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

I Write Goodbye Letter

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Rain, starting

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.

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.

It Will Get Lighter

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.

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

but i respect your search

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

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

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

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"