>>10059965_hQ2iE6nZn4FgDemnyEXnJVEMmZBbXUcv
My greatest pain in life is that I will never be able to see myself perform live.
t isn't difficult to dissociate one's feelings from a mere printed litany of frightfulness. It's easy to convince oneself that things can't really be that terrible, that the horror I allude to is being overblown, that what is going on elsewhere in space-time is somehow less real than the here-and-now, or that the good in the world somehow offsets the bad. Yet however vividly one thinks one can imagine what agony, torture or suicidal despair must be like, the reality is inconceivably worse. The force of "inconceivably" is itself largely inconceivable here. Blurry images of Orwell's "Room 101" can barely even hint at what I'm talking about. Even if one's ancestral namesakes [aka "younger self"] underwent great pain, then the state-dependence of memories means that much of pain's sheer dreadfulness is semantically, cognitively and emotionally inaccessible in the here-and-now.
On average, Americans eat 18 acres of pizza everyday. 