we can only engage in such a way

what do you think my name is

kind of mythopoesis

ahnaf abrar

Thank you, Jack

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

I Write Goodbye Letter

is this you as well

"Put a blanket."

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.

its performative

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

its good

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

Today I felt like starting

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.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

god being the centre magnet

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

After I get away from the old racist failed actor, I go to see my Korean colleague. He's just arrived in London and I want to see how he's handling the party. We'd been invited as fresh meat for some of the older, gayer attendees. We aren't aware of that.