There is this strange fog of being a young man that I would refer to as soft time. Time does not go forward there. It's a series of doors that kind of wind back into one another, like a series of doors in the upper floor of a house. You revisit the same lessons over and over again, or you choose to
“I am the the type to have a personal experience with a celebrity, but I'm too classy to bring that up.”
“As long as the plots keep arriving from outer space, I'll go on with my virgins.”