magnetises a pin
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
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
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
Thank you, Jack
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
i have read not even 1 book
I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
its good
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
plato
send link
in a post. I want to be remembered
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.
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.i really havent
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.
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.
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
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.
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
December 2025
is everyoneback on tumblr now