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.
sorry i am texting like a slav
bro i read nothing in my life
what do you mean
and the fake qualifier
no i haven't really read anything
ahnaf abrar
barren land
ion
its good short few pages
bro i read nothing in my life
abrar?
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
so an active mazelike process
i have read not even 1 book
that looks like my instagram account
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
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
or never left
send your tumblr
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
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
but really the thing should be autonomous
send link
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
is everyoneback on tumblr now
like first name