Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
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?
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
currently
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
I am below everything.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
we need to be deconstructing our identities
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
no like which do people call me
god being the centre magnet
As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.
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.