but i respect your search

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.

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

division of reality is straying away from it

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

much more tactility

i was tempted to lie about my name

Rain, starting

2 (actually index). two is company

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

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

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.

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

and the fake qualifier

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.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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.

like first name

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

so an active mazelike process

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

Lift Analysis

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

yeah