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 really havent

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

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

bro i read nothing in my life

i have read not even 1 book

and the fake qualifier

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

we need to be deconstructing our identities

its good

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

its good

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

god being the centre magnet

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

was it worth it

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

send your tumblr

your feed looks like my tumblr

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

i was tempted to lie about my name

in a post. I want to be remembered

plato

which magnetises chains of pins

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.

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

so at the end

It Will Get Lighter