Que Sera

Life is. What? Don't know. Or do I? Do I care? No, I do not. Yes, yes I do. Is it beautiful and sad and ugly and magnificent and horrible and heart-wrenching and blissful and temporary and mysterious and tortuous and toxic and intoxicating and unbearable and indescribable and haunting and stupid and amazing and….and….and….and? I want to absorb it all, take it all in, be absorbed by it, run away from it, run into it, run with it, chase it, let it chase me, comprehend it, do whatever it is I am supposed to do with it…which is….which is…….I don't know. I may never know. Do I want to know? Yes. No. Maybe. No. No. Definitely not. Yes. What the fuck am I talking about?

Que Sera

When I was just a little [boy]

I asked my mother, what will I be

Will I be [handsome], will I be rich

Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love

I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead

Will we have rainbows, day after day

Here's what my sweetheart said.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be.

[And if] I have children of my own

And they ask their [father], what will I be

Will I be handsome, will I be rich

[I'll] tell them tenderly.

Que Sera, Sera,

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera

What will be, will be. 

If, by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowance for their doubting too, 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 

Or being hated, don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: 

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master, 

If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim; 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss; 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on! '

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with kings-nor lose the common touch, 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; 

If all men count with you, but none too much, 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!

"Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."  

 — William Goldman (The Princess Bride)