so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

but i respect your search

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

i dont understand magnetisation

i understand

we need to be deconstructing our identities

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

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

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

plato

i love it here

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

what do you think my name is

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

is everyoneback on tumblr now

Can I see

isaac

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

was it worth it

i really havent

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

1

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

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

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.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

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