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

1

. way too specific.

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

13, H, grate

It Will Get Lighter

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

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 really havent

like first name

Rain, starting

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

no like which do people call me

yeah

Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.

have you read

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

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

currently

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.

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 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


Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

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.

...

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

is everyoneback on tumblr now

Slug

ahnaf abrar