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Sex And The City S3E13 is an absolutely incredible piece of media that I recommend to everyone. It might be the thing ever made.

The reason that everyone in your climbing gym seems hot is because they're all rich.

[This post was sacrificed to the algorithm in exchange for promoting the stairwell zine, out soon]

The best thing about hipsters is that they never call you a hipster.

Take care of yourself this autumn! Buy some hand cream, herbal tea, tissues and a cardigan to keep on your desk.

Each night the feeling comes back and in my somnolent state I recognise it and even on some level understand what it is and what it will do, but I can't do anything to stop it. What's up with that.

I keep forgetting to mention, when I go to bed, just as I fall asleep I get this sensation of being crushed, suffocated, buried alive, like my body is is held in place by a thousand stone bands and I can't breathe.

The Caretaker is just William Basinski for people who are too young to remember 9/11

Had a minor depressive episode because the courier who shipped my second hand shelving lost some of the fixings but I couldn't bring myself to ask him to discount his fee because of it and paid in full.

Having to switch from Emacs to Vim because Richard Stallman is cancelled. Hoping that Linus gets cancelled next so I can stop using computers entirely.

Even now, two years since I stopped playing tennis because I was rubbish and couldn't afford it, I still find myself fantasising about absolutely nailing down the line backhands

My two, main thoughts are:

"I can't believe how bad life is."


"I can't believe it's going to get worse."

I didn't wear any cool clothes on the weekend. Hope that's ok.

Imagine trying to fight me, but on the first strike, my body dissolves into my constituent neuroses, which move with lightning speed behind you, and reform into my corporeal being.

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