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.

no longer writing in the third person

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

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.

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

Better Lift

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

something religious, a kind of complex, it will get lighter, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

but i respect your search

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

magnetisation/form

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Worse Lift

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

so the method has to be autonomous

i really havent

feel you