i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
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.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
"Put a blanket."
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
i understand
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
like magnets
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
...
i want to do that too
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
i really havent
currently
hello reader,
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.