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 struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

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

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

Rain, starting

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

so the method has to be autonomous

division of reality is straying away from it

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

Better Lift

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

It Will Get Lighter

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

brb i will read and reply sincerely

I am below everything.

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

not so on: yvf(wthw)

Thank you for telling me that I'm failing to see how I'm reproducing the dynamics I'm trying to critique by only describing my Korean colleague / fresh meat and the black girl in relation to others and myself.

It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.

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.