no like which do people call me


Windrush Art Kid Oligarch


Thank you, Jack

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

kind of mythopoesis

Today I felt like starting

IWGD

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

feel you

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

isaac

abrar?

i see a website

i understand

so the method has to be autonomous

so magnetisation means the divine spirit acting thru u endowing you with its qualities

what do you think my name is

its performative

and the fake qualifier

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

which magnetises chains of pins

sorry i am texting like a slav

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

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

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.

I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.