its good
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 an active mazelike process
i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
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
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
it is hopeful
...
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.
its good
The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos