whats your name?

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.

...

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.

really i want the internet

it is hopeful

autonomy of learning

Can I see

you cannot feed someone truth

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

13, H, grate

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.

I Write Goodbye Letter

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

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

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

1

. way too specific.

I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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.

isaac

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

have you read

or never left

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos