i was tempted to lie about my name
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
no longer writing in the third person
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.
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
is this you as well
i have read not even 1 book
feel you
fw
your feed looks like my tumblr
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
we need to be deconstructing our identities
send your tumblr
send link
much more tactility
in a post. I want to be remembered
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
yeah
It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.
i really havent
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."