not their contents

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

magnetises a pin

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

wait what is that

i really havent

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

December 2025

the site i am dreaming

I Write Goodbye Letter

2 (actually index). two is company

Lift Analysis

Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

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.

I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.

hello reader,

Pimlico Rats

Actual born-Londoners aren't LARPing like this, they sold their shite family home for a million pounds and moved to Malaga years ago. They have their culture and they've taken it elsewhere.

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

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

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

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