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

its good

send your tumblr

sorry i am texting like a slav

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

or never left

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

i love it here

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

magnetises a pin

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

isaac newton

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.

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

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

yeah

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

but really the thing should be autonomous

i see a website

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

barren land

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

its good

I Write Goodbye Letter

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

you have a beautiful account btw

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

kind of mythopoesis

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.