like magnets

Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.

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.

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

Thank you, Jack

Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.

Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:

its good short few pages

wait what is that

whats your name?

god being the centre magnet

barren land

plato

isaac newton

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

isaac

its good

is everyoneback on tumblr now

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

no i haven't really read anything

i have read not even 1 book

currently

yeah

is this you as well

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

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.