There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest – whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories – comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer.  — Albert Camus

I suspect life is simultaneously worth and not worth living, and like Schrödinger opening his box, only upon our death does life collapse to its final state.

But why not suicide? Well, I prefer to believe the cat’s alive, than know with irreversible certainty it’s dead.

Should I put more into it?
Should I strive to perfect?
Should I leave it be?

Will they regret?
Will they rejoice?
Will they care?

Do I do it for them?
Do I lament my vanity?
Do I care?

What if this act is the last act I do?
What if each act is the last act I do?
What if it is?

Oh.
Rejoice.
What if it is!

Yesterday as I practiced, I contemplated the crevice
That snakes around the boulder.
The crags and scarps resemble the Samariá Gorge
And must have formed as did that canyon,
But writ small.

Today as I practiced, I contemplated the path
The boulder travels along the hill.
The rise and fall resemble the pivot of my sandal
As it rocks along my journey,
But writ large.

Tomorrow, oh kind and merciful Zeus,
Grant me at least one more day
To practice.

“You have to be odd to be number one.” — Dr. Seuss.

Why yes Sir, it’s true:
this does imply
you can’t be number one
if you’re not odd.

But despite what you implicitly insist,
it does not imply
if you’re odd,
you’re number one.

When you fail to be perfect,
just try harder.

When that fails,
just lie.

When that fails,
just give up.

When that fails,
just be ashamed.

When that fails,
just be.

Perfect!