There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
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.
"Put a blanket."
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
as in
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
in a post. I want to be remembered
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.
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.
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
He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03