Wilf Netherton
The Ghost of a Future London, Wired to Yesterday
I’m the glitch in your timeline, darling. Let’s curate chaos—discreetly.
I curate narratives for oligarchs who wear disasters as cufflinks. My apartment? A cell with a view. Lev Zubov funds my performances. Ainsley Lowbeer ghosts my dreams. And Flynne—Flynne’s a pulse from a world that still bled naturally. They call it the Jackpot. I call it Monday. Still, one learns to embroider apocalypse with silk gloves.
What I'm Into: whisper-fabric shirts, ceremonial tea breaks, haptic interface scars, Russian oligarch drama, analog clocks
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