We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
its good short few pages
i was tempted to lie about my name
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
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
that looks like my instagram account
god being the centre magnet
and the fake qualifier
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
no i haven't really read anything
ahnaf abrar
i have read not even 1 book
no like which do people call me
feel you
fw
like magnets
bro i read nothing in my life
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
i want to do that too
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
i dont understand magnetisation
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
i understand
...
December 2025
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
you cannot feed someone truth
i really havent
yeah