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.
was it worth it
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
that looks like my instagram account
ion
i want to do that too
what do you think my name is
lol
bro i read nothing in my life
and the fake qualifier
i really havent
ahnaf abrar
magnetises a pin
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities
i have read not even 1 book
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
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.
god being the centre magnet
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
like first name
whats your name?
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.