Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

you have a beautiful account btw

really i want the internet

Picture

I am below everything.

it is hopeful

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

hiding from the rain

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

its performative

13, H, grate

It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.

2 (actually index). two is company

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

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

It Will Get Lighter

not so on: yvf(wthw)

Thank you, Jack

I Write Goodbye Letter

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

"Put a blanket."

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

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.

division of reality is straying away from it

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

is everyoneback on tumblr now

Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.