whats your name?

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

its performative

magnetisation/form

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

you cannot feed someone truth

really i want the internet

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

brb i will read and reply sincerely

you have a beautiful account btw

we can only engage in such a way

all that is to say

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

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.

2 (actually index). two is company

13, H, grate

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

IWGD

barren land

not their contents

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

i really havent

in a post. I want to be remembered

not so on: yvf(wthw)

Slug

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.