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.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.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.
hiding from the rain
its performative
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
no longer writing in the third person
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
kind of mythopoesis
autonomy of learning
not their contents
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.
all that is to say
i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue
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.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!