Bouvre

and this.

I thought this thread was going to be about depersonalization, which I experienced off and on ever since I was like in first grade. But nah. I think I've got current me all figured out.

There is plenty of love in the heat death of the universe for us all.

I met a schizophrenic person who was obsessed with numbers, to the point of creating a math out of almost every object and occasion. Something to the effect of: Them: How many cracks did we step over? Me: I don't know. Them: I counted; five! And you're leaving for the East coast in five days? Me: Yep. Them: Five and five is ten, and we're two fives, so five plus five plus two is twelve, and I have *They pull out a dime and two pennies from their pocket* Them: twelve cents! We are bound by fate; the Lord wills it! But to answer the question: sometimes.

or in good weather:

When given a sandwiched food that has a defined top and bottom, such as a bagel sandwich or hamburger, I usually eat with the bottom facing up. I'm not sure if this counts as a strange manner, but I remember my brother being visibly angered by me eating a burger "the wrong way" when I was really young.

Dolly Parton really makes this song what it is, but I also simply enjoy Norah Jones' appreciation for other musicians, from Tom Waits to Townes Van Zandt.

Nice!

This thread was half-relevant to my experience.

so I wrote a persona poem in sonnet form based on Yuri on Ice. It also got picked up at a small publication. It can be read here, where it's accompanied by a screenshot that helps clarify the poem's occasion: http://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-review/the-pole-to-its-dancer-by-ethan-leonard The Pole to Its Dancer For Katsuki Yūri Look, there is only one way this is going to go: After sixteen flutes of champagne, you’ll approach Viktor, say, “if I win this dance-off, please be my coach,” and soon you’ll forget there was even a yes or no. I'm not about memories. I'm slim steel. The room spins when I attend any event. I've flipped men upside down too many times to count to have a reason to count even you. But ice skating was never a matter of reason, was it, Yūri? Does your head hurt, is your gut telling you this was a bad idea? Try to throw up with your head up, and it only makes a mess of your good pant cuffs. Yūri, let yourself go but hang on. Love, even true love, can slip. Your program requires four quads. If you’re as dizzy as you were then, I've done my job.

I watch this all the time.

I was about to say none but damn I could use a Sephora forum. ...Sephorum.

One Mississippi The Thick of It Please Like Me

The spaghetti western, and the acid western, and film noir of course. Maybe more psycho-noir and tech noir, but yes. All of these.

Wrapped in a non-latex food service glove, with Death to Videodrome Long Live The New Flesh tattooed on the tip.

Though the center being unable to hold seems scientifically unsound, in terms of structural integrity.

Just because Mr. Clean knew to put a tarp down for watersports doesn't mean he wasn't dirty af the entire time, know what I'm saying?

Every love story is a ghost story. Every day is a birthday. Every drink is an alcoholic drink. Happy birthday!

""The elders will tell you the difference between a gay Indian and a Two-Spirit,” he said, underscoring the idea that simply being gay and Indian does not make someone a Two-Spirit." http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/08/fashion/08SPIRIT.html?_r=0

He was riding the wrong dick.

Yep.

And left all the other times.

One Tupperware avalanche at a time.

Have you seen the way that cat eats the building though?

I'm at least five of them.