yeah

you cannot feed someone truth

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

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

Better Lift

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Rain, starting

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

autonomy of learning

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

much more tactility

it is hopeful

but i respect your search

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

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."

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

have you read

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

its good

i really havent

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