abrar?
barren land
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
what do you think my name is
your feed looks like my tumblr
...
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
yeah
no i haven't really read anything
no like which do people call me
ahnaf abrar
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
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.
"Put a blanket."
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
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.
it is hopeful