Mimes have always unsettled me. They move like they’re caught in some kind of Schrödinger–Sartre loop—escaping and not escaping a door that isn’t there. Especially the French ones. They’re always existentialists.

You read more German, nihilistic. The kind who rolls their own blend. 🥀

I'm stealing optional brain parts tribe. Or appropriating it rather.

There might be a slight recency bias at play, but my favorite is Matt Smith. Haha - and John Hurt.

Favorite Doctor?

Humans fill the gaps with fantasy when reality doesn’t match the story they wrote. It's disappointing. Maddening sometimes. It's exhausting to be confused with the projections of others—even when they're intended as flattery.

I get excited about ideas, art. Words. People who see differently.

That’s baffling to me. It reads less like a reflection of you and more like the dissonance between their fantasy and your reality colliding in ways unfriendly to their egos. I’ve only ever found you warm, thoughtful. Fully human.

But then I suppose I'm not flirting with anything but your ideas.

Jealous, fellow Whovian.