Indeterminate Pants Diagrams

At a certain point in life, everyone starts wondering what they hell they're going to be.

What the hell they're going to do with their lives. Who they're going to be.

Think too much, and you realize it doesn't matter if you're rich or poor. If you're famous or obscure; if you're productive or useless. Think too much, and you realize a lot of things don't matter. Wife. Kids. Money. House. Cars. Clothes. Computers. Books. TV. Politics. Human Rights. Your Dog.

Think too much, and you realize that no one dies a dignified death, except in comic books. Except in video games, movies, stories, myths, and anything science-fiction. Except in fiction. Death isn't dignified; death is final. Death is resolute. Death is the only unifying human experiences, and is unfortunately also the last one.

(I figure if everyone's experienced death firsthand before, then the world'll be a better place. Maybe that's why the mythical afterlife is so hotly regarded--people are probably friendlier if they all share a common experience. Something they can all bitch about.)

Chances are, if you're reading this, that you have too much time on your hands. And if you have too much time on your hands, that probably means you have no fucking clue what you want to do with your life, unless your purpose in life involves reading every online entry written. Or your purpose in life involves wasting as much fucking time as possible while you're young, so you can look back in the future and shake your head nostalgically like everyone else.

Or, you have no fucking clue what you want to do with your life. And you want to kill time--but you're only killing yourself.

Every second you don't make meaningful, you've lost. Every day you don't live, you've wasted. Every breath you don't cherish, you've taken in vain.

Countless generations of dead men and women have scorned the earth before us; countless generations of men and women have returned to dust, their existences scorned by the world. Wishes never fulfilled, dreams never pursued, lives never valued. Jobs worked without joy; women fucked without love; families raised without direction. Too many people are trying to merely get by--work the job, get the girl, score the raise--and too many people don't realize that those successful men and women whom we've set our standards by, most of them are dead. The ones that are still around, they're going to die too.

They're going to fade into dust, just like you will.

But now, today, when we're still alive--

The world is ours. Be whatever the fuck you want.