forum Anyone want a British friend? https://www.notebook.ai/forum/general-chat/did-you-know-lostboy2

Started July 06, 2018 by Deleted user

tune

dearly beloved
we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of our fallen comrades
then uh let's see who I can name off the top of my head. I'm bad with names
Angel
Path
Alice….
Tomato?
okay Imma see who I'm missing

Sorry, I've been wondering for weeks :0

And Poof and Firesky
I ALMOST GOT EVERYONE I WAS SO CLOSE I'M SORRY

yeah like what do you even do with an egg cup
what is it for
why

That was a beautiful service

What happened I passed out

Sorry, I've been wondering for weeks :0

We call them egg servers sometimes and it's really just a fancy way to eat your egg upright

Well, we found out your name is a homophobic slur in England but hella cute in the U.S.

POOF IS ALIVE
uh on the last page I shared an Experience with Jessy, three texts from the top
then Chuck and I talked about how DanRad used to be cute but is now just kinda scary

Well, we found out your name is a homophobic slur in England but hella cute in the U.S.

oh yeah that too

Wait is it for hard-boiled eggs?

Well, we found out your name is a homophobic slur in England but hella cute in the U.S.

oh yeah that too

Poof? For a second I thought you meant Charles and I was like no, no… That is not a thing. But yes poof means fag

Wait is it for hard-boiled eggs?

Yes

I feel so fulfilled with this newfound knowledge. I can make peace with my imminent doom, thank you.

oof don't die

Lol not a problem

Hey, I wrote this piece called "The Gap" about the underground and I was wondering if I could get a review from somebody who's actually from England and not just visiting?

Sure! HMU

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Where does the voice come from? There are no wires, no speakers, no men with megaphones. There’s only me and the people like me. The travellers with flickering eyelids and itchy necks. Shaking in silence and wincing at the shrieks of the wheels. Not because the screams are unsettling, because someone might be watching us and we don’t want to look detached. Leaning. Should I offer my seat? Will they think I’m calling them old?
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Who puts the ads up in here? I can smell smoke exhaust and wet metal coins. Maybe it’s the man who warns us all of the dangerous and legendary gap. Maybe it’s the one who drives the train. They’d know better than us we suppose. I might need Loaf furniture or roll-on headache medicine (in a tube!) or a 35£ BooHooMan jacket with armpit fringe. Better to be safe than sorry.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
It’s not really a robotic voice, not exactly warm. How did he get the job of saying this to hundreds of people each day? Do strangers recognize him from his voice? “Hey! You’re the mind the gap guy! Sign my earlobes?” Are there auditions? I could probably do that job. Name the stations.
I wonder how many people have died in this tunnel. I know everybody is wondering that but they’re not about to admit it. Reality is a little skewed here in the Underground.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Sonder runs wild wreaking havoc in my imagination. The woman on my right skins crocodiles illegally for a living, it’s all she knows how to do. The man on my left is a murderer, but he only did it to protect his children. The kid sitting across from me has drugs in their left shoe, to sell, never use. Unfortunate realities sit half-exposed, but I don’t have the proof or care enough to dig them out.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
The buzzing and the heat and the pressure build rage underneath our skins. It’s a staring contest, a competition. Who’ll snap first? Who’s the crazy one in this car? Under the breath our noses chant: not me, not me, not me…

It’s a cult, a cavern of unspoken rules.
And as far as everyday life is concerned, it doesn’t exist.
Neither does the competition for sanity, the characters you imagined, the man behind the voice, the ads, the smell, the screams, or your fellow passengers.
Congratulations, you can let go of it all, it wasn’t real. Forget. As you reach your final destination, you are free. There is one thing you must remember though. One thing to keep in mind.
The gap.

GOOD MORNING
IM ALIVE
AND I HAVE TO GO TO A FAMILY REUNION

PATH YOU'RE ALIVE HALLELUJAH

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Where does the voice come from? There are no wires, no speakers, no men with megaphones. There’s only me and the people like me. The travellers with flickering eyelids and itchy necks. Shaking in silence and wincing at the shrieks of the wheels. Not because the screams are unsettling, because someone might be watching us and we don’t want to look detached. Leaning. Should I offer my seat? Will they think I’m calling them old?
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Who puts the ads up in here? I can smell smoke exhaust and wet metal coins. Maybe it’s the man who warns us all of the dangerous and legendary gap. Maybe it’s the one who drives the train. They’d know better than us we suppose. I might need Loaf furniture or roll-on headache medicine (in a tube!) or a 35£ BooHooMan jacket with armpit fringe. Better to be safe than sorry.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
It’s not really a robotic voice, not exactly warm. How did he get the job of saying this to hundreds of people each day? Do strangers recognize him from his voice? “Hey! You’re the mind the gap guy! Sign my earlobes?” Are there auditions? I could probably do that job. Name the stations.
I wonder how many people have died in this tunnel. I know everybody is wondering that but they’re not about to admit it. Reality is a little skewed here in the Underground.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Sonder runs wild wreaking havoc in my imagination. The woman on my right skins crocodiles illegally for a living, it’s all she knows how to do. The man on my left is a murderer, but he only did it to protect his children. The kid sitting across from me has drugs in their left shoe, to sell, never use. Unfortunate realities sit half-exposed, but I don’t have the proof or care enough to dig them out.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
The buzzing and the heat and the pressure build rage underneath our skins. It’s a staring contest, a competition. Who’ll snap first? Who’s the crazy one in this car? Under the breath our noses chant: not me, not me, not me…

It’s a cult, a cavern of unspoken rules.
And as far as everyday life is concerned, it doesn’t exist.
Neither does the competition for sanity, the characters you imagined, the man behind the voice, the ads, the smell, the screams, or your fellow passengers.
Congratulations, you can let go of it all, it wasn’t real. Forget. As you reach your final destination, you are free. There is one thing you must remember though. One thing to keep in mind.
The gap.

ooh that was good I like it

Angel
Alice
Tomato? (idk they weren't as involved in the convo, but I hope they come back to life)
and Firesky are still dead tho

Thank you! lol I have a blog.

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Where does the voice come from? There are no wires, no speakers, no men with megaphones. There’s only me and the people like me. The travellers with flickering eyelids and itchy necks. Shaking in silence and wincing at the shrieks of the wheels. Not because the screams are unsettling, because someone might be watching us and we don’t want to look detached. Leaning. Should I offer my seat? Will they think I’m calling them old?
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Who puts the ads up in here? I can smell smoke exhaust and wet metal coins. Maybe it’s the man who warns us all of the dangerous and legendary gap. Maybe it’s the one who drives the train. They’d know better than us we suppose. I might need Loaf furniture or roll-on headache medicine (in a tube!) or a 35£ BooHooMan jacket with armpit fringe. Better to be safe than sorry.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
It’s not really a robotic voice, not exactly warm. How did he get the job of saying this to hundreds of people each day? Do strangers recognize him from his voice? “Hey! You’re the mind the gap guy! Sign my earlobes?” Are there auditions? I could probably do that job. Name the stations.
I wonder how many people have died in this tunnel. I know everybody is wondering that but they’re not about to admit it. Reality is a little skewed here in the Underground.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
Sonder runs wild wreaking havoc in my imagination. The woman on my right skins crocodiles illegally for a living, it’s all she knows how to do. The man on my left is a murderer, but he only did it to protect his children. The kid sitting across from me has drugs in their left shoe, to sell, never use. Unfortunate realities sit half-exposed, but I don’t have the proof or care enough to dig them out.
“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”
The buzzing and the heat and the pressure build rage underneath our skins. It’s a staring contest, a competition. Who’ll snap first? Who’s the crazy one in this car? Under the breath our noses chant: not me, not me, not me…

It’s a cult, a cavern of unspoken rules.
And as far as everyday life is concerned, it doesn’t exist.
Neither does the competition for sanity, the characters you imagined, the man behind the voice, the ads, the smell, the screams, or your fellow passengers.
Congratulations, you can let go of it all, it wasn’t real. Forget. As you reach your final destination, you are free. There is one thing you must remember though. One thing to keep in mind.
The gap.

ooh that was good I like it

Majeficent