barren land
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
what do you think my name is
isaac
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
no longer writing in the third person
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
as in
isaac newton
Can I see
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.
god being the centre magnet
i dont understand magnetisation
...
what do you mean
propensity within someone
ion
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.
I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
it is hopeful
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.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
whats your name?