we want to live the knowledge too live the content

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

is everyoneback on tumblr now

i understand

i want to do that too

lol

wait what is that

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

send your tumblr

abrar?

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

i really havent

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

and the fake qualifier

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

send link

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

...

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

lol yea

December 2025

was it worth it

its good short few pages

that looks like my instagram account

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

hello reader,

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

1

. way too specific.

isaac newton

2 (actually index). two is company

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

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.

Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.