Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.


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.

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.

autonomy of learning

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!


to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Pimlico Rats

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

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

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.

Worse Lift

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.

It Will Get Lighter

magnetises a pin

I Write Goodbye Letter

like first name

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

send link

its good

Better Lift

Slug