Thrall is the state you're in when the first splash of '18 still works. Whether it's the flashback thing or simply how great the feelings are, in thrall, man.

Let's hypothesize that Lady Chatterley triangulated the former, the imaginary and all things peripatetic. That's 25 thinking while watching D. H. Lawrence on Prime and why this only makes sense here to the writer. Diary journal slambook homepage Brain farts gather in the mind's fiber optics and hold a place in the too much free timeosphere queue as if Infinite Jest is being improved by a guy who once wrote: "serenity is the bane of extinction". It's like the play on existence is self-evident. 25 says without serenity in your life you're expiring rapidly and that's actual. Now add JBF'd and you are able to repeat the heckle "I'm the luckiest man alive".

During lamentations from this incel equivalent to grandpa-ing, the affirmation that canine induced catatonia is releasing the feelings that are there is the half-full explanation. Feeling OK, feeling engaged, feeling that JBF mania all are mental states that trash the "what ifs" that accompany "am I fossilizing?" Maybe, but it's happening in the right place.