not their contents

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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

but really the thing should be autonomous

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Lift Analysis

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

Better Lift

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

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

you have a beautiful account btw

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

kind of mythopoesis

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.

Thank you, Jack

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.

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.