part of an old note. It will get lighter.

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

its good

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

god being the centre magnet


god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

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

i love it here

whats your name?

idk

your feed looks like my tumblr

you cannot feed someone truth

wait what is that

Slug

i understand

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

was it worth it

send your tumblr

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

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.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

Better Lift

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

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these 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.