so at the end
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 got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Put a blanket."
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
as in
i see a website
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
Lift Analysis
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.
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.
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.