this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
Better Lift
whats your name?
yes
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
After I get away from the old racist failed actor, I go to see my Korean colleague. He's just arrived in London and I want to see how he's handling the party. We'd been invited as fresh meat for some of the older, gayer attendees. We aren't aware of that.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
in a post. I want to be remembered
Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
or never left
its good short few pages
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.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
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
like first name
sorry i am texting like a slav
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
not so on: yvf(wthw)
fw
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
Can I see
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 old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."