It's impossible for me to ever compose a will. Here's why:

I don't have time (it's impossible) for me to compose of list of who gets what, because I have a million things, and they're all on a plane of interlocked fate constantly developing. Then, after my death, how could anyone, even Matthew, decide how to decide who gets what, or who should get what/what should go to whom.

You can't just burn all my stuff. I'm not a fatalist like that. You can't just drop it off at the thrift store (and, like, return it to whence it came). It can't go back, it can only keep going forward.

It changed when it left the thrift store on all those fateful days.

You can't make a museum, because it's all unofficial. None of these things are official or definitive.

Yet each thing has created a black spot. A permanent marker stain.

You'd think that some or all of my master webpage will be in place by then. Matthew, upload the final piece of me to the Internet.

After being photographed in color with as many different qualities of cameras used, everything sold to the most worthy and food bought for the most hungry.

P.S. There are 2 ^ 900 possible 30 pixel by 30 pixel black and white bitmaps.

How many of those are poignant things rendered meaningfully?

The question of a lifetime?

Solving a subset of that would be fine for me. Although, I sure wish I had the power to do like 60 by 60 or some slightly bigger space.