The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
and the fake qualifier
is this you as well
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.
whats your name?
Thank you, Jack
lol
really i want the internet
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
or never left
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
i love it here
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.
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
Overall meaning: The dream seems to explore vulnerability, unspoken emotion, and the tension between connection and isolation. It suggests you may be processing intense feelings of longing or missed opportunities, and your subconscious is guiding you to acknowledge, release, or transform them.
its good
i dont understand magnetisation
Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
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.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
god being the centre magnet