sorry i am texting like a slav

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.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

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.

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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.

It's

dusk

i was tempted to lie about my name

wait what is that

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

so the method has to be autonomous

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

...

barren land

all that is to say

and the fake qualifier

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Style

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

i understand