Asmr Quotes

It's like you took a bottle of ink and you threw it at a wall. Smash! And all that ink spread. And in the middle, it's dense, isn't it? And as it gets out on the edge, the little droplets get finer and finer and make more complicated patterns, see? So in the same way, there was a big bang at the beginning of things and it spread. And you and I, sitting here in this room, as complicated human beings, are way, way out on the fringe of that bang. We are the complicated little patterns on the end of it. Very interesting. But so we define ourselves as being only that. If you think that you are only inside your skin, you define yourself as one very complicated little curlique, way out on the edge of that explosion. Way out in space, and way out in time. Billions of years ago, you were a big bang, but now you're a complicated human being. And then we cut ourselves off, and don't feel that we're still the big bang. But you are. Depends how you define yourself. You are actually--if this is the way things started, if there was a big bang in the beginning-- you're not something that's a result of the big bang. You're not something that is a sort of puppet on the end of the process. You are still the process. You are the big bang, the original force of the universe, coming on as whoever you are. When I meet you, I see not just what you define yourself as--Mr so-and- so, Ms so-and-so, Mrs so-and-so--I see every one of you as the primordial energy of the universe coming on at me in this particular way. I know I'm that, too. But we've learned to define ourselves as separate from it.

Today my toolbox consists of breathing techniques, hot lemon water, herbal tea, hot baths, cold showers (this is called “hydrotherapy” and it’s so, so good), coffee, essential oils, yoga, meditation, kirtan, autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR), massage, French pastries, emotional freedom technique (EFT), and many other things.

ASMR.

It’s all body, all heart. Pure bliss.

He was on his second plate of steaming-hot kidney pie by the time his chewing slowed. And that's when he heard it. The faintest sounds escaping her room, sweeping across the antechamber, and sliding under the door to him. The sounds of bathing. A splash. A trickle. A faint series of drips. It all added up to torture. Pure, liquid torture. He pushed his plate away, propped his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands with a groan. Even plugging his ears didn't help. When he closed his eyes, he could picture her. Naked in a shallow tub. Her feet dangling over the lip at one end, and her head reclined against the other. And all that water embracing her with heat, lapping at her nakedness, pouring over her most secret curves and furrows. He was immediately, startlingly hard.

He asked her to stop attending the class. “I am willing to say to the class,” Elizabeth offered, “that as…Mr. Packard [has] expressed a wish that I withdraw my discussions…I do so, at [his] request.”54 But that wouldn’t do. That would only draw attention to her divergent views. “No,” Theophilus responded crossly. “You must tell them it is your choice to give them up.” Elizabeth exclaimed truthfully, “But, dear, it is not my choice!

El único ASMR* que me provoca cosquilleos, es el sonido de tu corazón mientras descanso sobre tu pecho.

Tanta roba." James Sixx.

I watch a couple more. My favorites are the cultural ones, because they have the strange feeling of being instruction manuals on becoming whatever ethnicity the person in the video is. One of my favorites has over six million views and combines the what-I-eat genres of "in a week," "Japanese food," "realistic," "teen," and "ASMR." I watch an entire twenty-five minutes of a girl in Tokyo with dyed wine-red-fading-into-pink hair eating sausages, toast, a Japanese corn dog made with hotcake mix dipped in ketchup, demae hot sesame ramen with an egg plopped in, pizza, stir-fried udon, seaweed salad and barley rice, tapioca and black tea ice cream, soy-glazed salmon on okayu, pearl milk bubble tea. Each time she eats, the microphone hones in on the sounds of her eating---slurping, chewing, crunching. When she drinks her bubble tea, there's a loud pop as the straw goes through the lid, and the sound of gulping. Gulp, gulp, gulp. I realize that I'm gulping along to the video, imagining that the bubble tea is blood.

To the rhythm of my deep delight, my fingers tickled across the fabric of the sheets and of reality in bursts of euphoria, making them rustle softly yet firmly, just like sun-crisped leaves on concrete in a breeze—prime ASMR.