Style

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Today I felt like starting

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.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

bro i read nothing in my life

i really havent

is everyoneback on tumblr now

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

that looks like my instagram account

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

Rain, starting

was it worth it

wait what is that

...

It Will Get Lighter

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

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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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.


idk

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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.