My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

magnetises a pin

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

your feed looks like my tumblr

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

i dont understand magnetisation

like first name

i have read not even 1 book

i want to do that too

...

was it worth it

its good

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

i really havent

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

December 2025

or never left

this will be about a slug

god being the centre magnet

lol yea

what do you mean

yeah

yeah

which magnetises chains of pins

is this you as well

the site i am dreaming

plato

so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities

bro i read nothing in my life

barren land

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

lol

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

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.

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

its good short few pages

like magnets

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.

Slug

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.