You can become a blue-collar bloke with a girlfriend or an asexual stockbroker. You can still hope to become a ballerina or a saint. You can get that attempted murder conviction or that major-label contract. And you can get married and join a cult, or get widowed and start one. You can get struck by lightning twice and live; you can survive decades of coronary artery disease and never live to meet your grandchildren. You can sexually transition; your crimes can be reprieved - expunged, if you're young and lucky. You can defer your decision to accept forgiveness for the sins; you can hail Satan in a private intepretive session in the woods. You can fuck the Earth hard, no matter how old or young you are, God bless you! You can meet me at the lighthouse, and one or both of us can walk up 720 steps to see the light. You can catheterise a patient, and be proud of getting it right on your very first try. You can leave your husband and never, ever divorce him. You can fry a perfect egg; you can buy psilocybin mushrooms legally, and arrange crows' feathers in a vase with the hydrangeas, in violation of federal law. You can be emancipated, and expatriated, and vindicated. You can work out the solution to one big riddle, and fall for a trick, and fall in love, and work the room, and work yourself to death; you can fall from grace. You can throw a party and invite a dignitary; you can receive their congratulations. You can masturbate to the deeply unerotic, to completion; you can write a treatise on just how, exactly, that functional group functions in vivo. You can offer fake pot to a strange teenager on the beach. You can recover from your Pelaton injury; you can allow your crush on your cousin to bring a sad end to your Tinder situationship. You can avoid being shot by the police in Ontario, only to die by suicide weeks later. You can allow your racist ideas about the Chinese to evolve into a deeper understanding of, and higher love for, all of the peoples of the Earth; you can keep a little red book wrapped up in a towel in your go-bag. You can be one of the many to survive, or one of the many not to - and you can pray for the others, or not. You can cut yourself shaving; you can spend several thousand koruna to have someone brand your arm. You can eat pineapple, if you get the chance; you can hit your head, and walk off the concussion, and vomit. You can flip a switch, and a light might come on; you can pull a trigger, and be the one guy in the first firing squad your jurisdiction has convened in decades to not have shot a blank. You can get really good at embroidery, and you can tell your friends, after you get sober, or after you get high. You can struggle to explain your confusion to someone, and smile when that beautiful someone compliments you on your lucid explanation. You can lay off, and you can log off, and you can leave well enough alone.
