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

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.

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

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.

abrar?

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 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.

like first name

and the fake qualifier

not so on: yvf(wthw)

2 (actually index). two is company

was it worth it

Thank you, Jack

i really havent

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Rain, starting

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

bro i read nothing in my life

Lift Analysis

1. Lift and confinement – The crowded, immovable lift represents feeling trapped or constrained in real life, either by social expectations, relationships, or internal emotions. The inability to speak in front of others suggests suppressed feelings or fear of judgment.
2. Unexpected confession – The girl saying “I think I might love you” could symbolize longing for connection or recognition. It may reflect unacknowledged desires, vulnerability, or anxiety about intimacy.
3. Forest and snow – The transition to a snowy forest signals escape into the subconscious, a place of solitude, reflection, and emotional processing. Snow often represents purity, stillness, or emotional coldness, while dusk points to transition or uncertainty.
4. The fox – Foxes are traditionally symbols of cunning, intuition, and guidance, but here it’s more ethereal: its bites are gentle yet noticeable, suggesting a confrontation with subtle truths, small regrets, or lessons that must be acknowledged. The unspoken apology indicates things left unresolved or feelings that cannot be expressed.
5. Death or dissolution – Dying in the dream often doesn’t mean literal death; it represents transformation, the end of a phase, or surrendering control. It can indicate letting go of fear, old habits, or emotional blockages.

As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.

it is hopeful