Lift Analysis
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.
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
not so on: yvf(wthw)
i have read not even 1 book
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
fw
or never left
lol
that looks like my instagram account
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.
send your tumblr
no like which do people call me
your feed looks like my tumblr
...
its good short few pages
what do you mean
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.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.