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.
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
idk
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.
I am below everything.
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
Better Lift
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
all that is to say
"Put a blanket."