this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

you cannot feed someone truth

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

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

you have a beautiful account btw

brb i will read and reply sincerely

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

its performative

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

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"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Better Lift

Thank you for telling me that I'm failing to see how I'm reproducing the dynamics I'm trying to critique by only describing my Korean colleague / fresh meat and the black girl in relation to others and myself.

It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

Lift Analysis

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

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

Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.