no longer writing in the third person
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.
sorry i am texting like a slav
so the method has to be autonomous
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
whats your name?
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
not their contents
as in
really i want the internet
autonomy of learning
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
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
isaac newton
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
all that is to say
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
no like which do people call me
we need to be deconstructing our identities
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.
Lift Analysis
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.