I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

we need to be deconstructing our identities

yeah

plato

send your tumblr

whats your name?

which magnetises chains of pins

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

feel you

its good

sorry i am texting like a slav

lol yea

have you read

lol

no i haven't really read anything

barren land

i was tempted to lie about my name

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 understand

isaac

i want to do that too

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.

yeah

bro i read nothing in my life

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

what do you think my name is