i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

13, H, grate

we can only engage in such a way

Thank you, Jack

Today I felt like starting

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

yes

so the method has to be autonomous

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.


confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

Can I see

2 (actually index). two is company

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

I Write Goodbye Letter

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.


IWGD

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:

hello reader,

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.


It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

hiding from the rain