really i want the internet

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

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

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

but i respect your search

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

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

we can only engage in such a way

autonomy of learning

as in

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

all that is to say

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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

you have a beautiful account btw

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

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.

Worse Lift

in a post. I want to be remembered

Better Lift

is this you as well