13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.

Today I felt like starting

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

i see a website

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

was it worth it

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

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.

feel you

i really havent

the site i am dreaming

sorry i am texting like a slav

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

and the fake qualifier

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

i was tempted to lie about my name

really i want the internet

fw

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

plato

whats your name?

in a post. I want to be remembered

its good short few pages