I am below everything.

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

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

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this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Worse Lift

propensity within someone

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

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.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

It Will Get Lighter

autonomy of learning

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) reminds me of this old failed actor who I'd met at a party a few years ago, another man out of time and out of place. This actor had scored a minor role in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and never really let go of it, had gone on to build his whole identity around it. I can't really blame him.

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.