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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

It Will Get Lighter

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

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.

Rain, starting

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

in a post. I want to be remembered

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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Worse Lift

bro i read nothing in my life

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

I Write Goodbye Letter

its good

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

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.