13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

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.

Rain, starting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

we need to be deconstructing our identities

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

It Will Get Lighter

send link

was it worth it

what do you think my name is

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

the site i am dreaming

and the fake qualifier

There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

like first name

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.

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

so the method has to be autonomous

no like which do people call me

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.

ahnaf abrar

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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

i really havent