your feed looks like my tumblr


currently

it is hopeful

Worse Lift

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

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.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after dusk, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
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.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

...

Rain, starting

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.

Thank you, Jack

2 (actually index). two is company

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

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.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

1

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.