but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
no longer writing in the third person
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.
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.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
"Put a blanket."
i dont understand magnetisation
kind of mythopoesis
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
no like which do people call me
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.
...