wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
but i respect your search
all that is to say
like first name
isaac
whats your name?
and the fake qualifier
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
bro i read nothing in my life
isaac newton
in a post. I want to be remembered
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.
abrar?
no like which do people call me
that looks like my instagram account
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.
have you read
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
your feed looks like my tumblr
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
Thank you, Jack
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
brb i will read and reply sincerely
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
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
A roll of 50s is one of the items he dumps onto my table during the search. Of course it is. He asks if I'm a delivery boy or a setter or this or that diamond related job. I keep saying no, I'm enjoying hearing all of these new words. Eventually I tell him that I work in film, which is kind of true. He asks where I'm filming. I'm not filming. He tells me that I can't be that good at it then. He then tells me that he made a film once, in the 80s. It was called Pimlico Rats.
As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.
which magnetises chains of pins