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A new online friend has shown me the “bucket list” of accomplishments she achieved, so far, in her short life — very exciting for her, and fun for us to read and learn.

However, I don’t even know what a bucket list is except as a title of a film released in the past few years.

I am neither a high nor a low achiever — my philosophy has been to treat every moment the same as the next moment, regardless of change of state of the set of states of energy that is me, because illusion is a tricky business.

Imagine you are accused of being a vampire, then executed and buried in that manner.

The power of the tribe, the clan, the subculture is the power of illusion at its most pivotal, both uplifting/supportive and scary/deadly.

I am trapped on this planet with bunches of subcultures in transition.

All I want is to explore another celestial body, to discover that which no other person has seen or touched, far from this solar system that our extended electromechanical cultural limbs have photographed and sampled.

Yet, I set my sights on a slightly more realistic goal for my lifetime — to die and disintegrate on Mars — just this close to reality, if the subcultures I track and follow give any indication of beating more-than-impossible odds.

My calendar shows 13,435 days to go until a major milestone is reached, with or without me.

I am beginning to learn that the more fragmented our social media allows our general culture to become, the less I have to satisfy the implied hidden gods and ruthless leaders of that general culture for us who boundlessly and abundantly value ourselves and our subcultures more than the imaginary general culture that exists in mass media.

In other words, I can indulge my wants and desires, not caring about anything or anyone but the moment in which this set of states of energy is, for want of a better word, alive.

I can sit here, dance in front of a bunch of strangers, sleep, eat, read, walk, change the bedsheets, play with electronics, drill holes in wood, whatever.

The future is nonexistent.  For me, being childless, our species is thus unimportant — I can stop worrying about recycling, living a “green” lifestyle, or using more resources than seems reasonable for one person.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter — there is no punishment living solely for my own enjoyment and edification — history is an illusion so history cannot judge my [in]actions, I have no reputation in mass media to protect; I am, as I believe, a set of states of energy in constant flux.

There is only one tie that binds me to my childhood subculture of the Christian denomination called Presbyterianism — the holy act of matrimony, which means I am to pledge my body to one person for the rest of our lives. Of that, in practical terms, there is much to be said for providing a safe haven against the transmission of diseases via bodily fluids.  How much does dancing with others interfere with that freedom from an invasive change to one’s medical condition — is air pollution or the potential for a car smashup more likely to kill or maim me and my wife than having dancing partners other than ourselves?

The luxury of asking these questions!

Relative wealth puts me here in front of this notebook PC, a level of freedom bought by giving years of my life toward others’ goals that we call socioeconomic accomplishments.

Do I have what it takes to build more wealth convincing others to give years of their lives toward my goals?  My financial portfolio certainly answers that question.

Total anarchy does not pay my bills — the talent of strangers built through skills training does.

Therefore, regardless of my supporting the philosophy, “eat, drink and be merry,” there are those of our and other species who devote themselves solely to implementing well-honed habits that allow me to be here doing nothing but tapping my fingertips on tiny blocks of plastic.

Am I, then, also displaying a talent/skill combination that is enriching the lives of others who are enriching my life, too?

How is this set of states of energy going to exist in the next moment or moments to come, rectifying the direction of midlife habits established in early life?

Where am I going?  What’s it all about?  If the universe is here solely for my entertainment, then I’ve answered the second question.  Question is, what shall I do about the first?

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