okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
no longer writing in the third person
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
really i want the internet
propensity within someone
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
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.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
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
"Put a blanket."
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls
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.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59
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.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
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.
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
i want to do that too