This here's my thinkin' music.
I'm keeping that old answer, cause I kind of like it. Though, on reflection, it seems a bit dramatic. The real truth is that they're all people and paper and people on paper. Which really means there's only one thing I can't do without: ALL BRAINS. I like every brain, ever. Mostly the way those brains move lips and hands with hopefully an inking tool in it. Unless you're deaf, in which case hands take the place of lips in the previous sentence. Though the inking-tool hope still stands cause I cain't ASL.
P.S. I edited 'last sentence' into 'previous sentence' 'cause 'lips' doesn't even appear in the last sentence.
P.P.S. I'm aware of the confusion those apostrophes caused, and I"m sorry if you"re thrown.
you understand that I don't talk like this in real life.
you're okay with the fact that I am apparently incapable of mentioning anything about myself in this venue. I get caught up when I write things and have a philosophical aversion to naming my personality's characteristics, cause I decided a long while ago that only other people can properly make those assessments. I try my best not to fixate on any particular thing until it's made obvious that I'm allowed. Here's that suicide I mentioned: I spend all my time on brain-things. Crosswords, beer, conversation, television, you know. I'm an insufferable grammar-and-spelling Nazi, often over-doing things like hyphens and commas. I keep quiet the lexical sins I notice until I know the recipient is appreciative of the Nazi-ing. I really love sci-fi and a slew of other nerdy things, though I don't really identify as a 'nerd,' whatever that means; I am an observant, talkative cynic who likes MTG and considers social tact paramount. This is different from regular tact; I can talk about god and fucking and flaws and cannibalism as easily as I can the sports game or the weather or the price of gas. I can't talk sports. I have a very strong sense of morbid curiosity that I either can't seem to squelch or don't want to. That preposition made me quake for a moment, but I'm trying to accept it as the new place English is at. I really like druthers, and I can rattle them off at break-neck speeds, unless you'd rather I didn't. I like to write things and drink things and am trying to like to pick up heavy things and sweat on things. I have a secret dream to be a bad-ass cowboy, all dust and stubble, but I talk too much for some dreams. I think humor and critical thinking and general discontent are three sides of the same coin, which is to say, ignorance is inarguably bliss. The computer is arguing with me regarding the existence of the word 'inarguably.' I think worrying about things is a waste of time, which is weird, since I'm kind of a hypochondriac. So is anger and especially spite, for that matter. I'm realizing that I'm just paraphrasing past conversations I've had with myself and others, and I'd rather just phrase them again with your new insight. I could go on and on, but I'm sure there's some disgusting new video I should be watching right now.