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.

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

much more tactility

so an active mazelike process

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.

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

we can only engage in such a way

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

but i respect your search

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

you know who you are. no more time, not like

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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.

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.

Pimlico Rats

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

i am quite illiterate on producing technology