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

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

but i respect your search

Thank you, Jack

Better Lift

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression


After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

13, H, grate

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

Picture

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

all that is to say

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

After I get away from the old racist failed actor, I go to see my Korean colleague. He's just arrived in London and I want to see how he's handling the party. We'd been invited as fresh meat for some of the older, gayer attendees. We aren't aware of that.

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

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.


Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

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.

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

A roll of 50s is one of the items he dumps onto my table during the search. Of course it is. He asks if I'm a delivery boy or a setter or this or that diamond related job. I keep saying no, I'm enjoying hearing all of these new words. Eventually I tell him that I work in film, which is kind of true. He asks where I'm filming. I'm not filming. He tells me that I can't be that good at it then. He then tells me that he made a film once, in the 80s. It was called Pimlico Rats.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.