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.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
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.
i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
as in
no like which do people call me
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
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
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
yeah
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
what do you think my name is
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
really i want the internet