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.

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

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.

send link

i really havent

that looks like my instagram account

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

feel you

or never left

like first name

abrar?

December 2025

i want to do that too

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

really i want the internet

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

i love it here

I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.

Her English is poor but she manages a brief introduction before getting to the point. She asks if she can touch his face. She's already reaching out and gesturing at it. Koreans are way too polite, he's just laughing awkwardly. I put my hand kind of between them and wave it to try and indicate no to her. I'm still in fucking mime mode. I say no, but it's not really to her, or to him, just no, in general. This is all too weird. Dejected, she departs with a comment about having never seen someone like him before.

plato

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

2 (actually index). two is company

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.

the site i am dreaming

we need to be deconstructing our identities

you have a beautiful account btw

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue