what do you think my name is
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
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.
Today I felt like starting
not so on: yvf(wthw)
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
i want to do that too
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.Better Lift
its good
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
its performative
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.
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
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.
all that is to say
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation