Thank you, Jack

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.

I am below everything.

as in

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Style

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

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

magnetisation/form

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

hiding from the rain

its performative

and the fake qualifier

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

and the fake qualifier

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

have you read

Slug

Worse Lift

plato

magnetises a pin

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

idk