My life is the empty set.

SCRIBBLERS IN THE LIBRARY WILL TELL YOU THAT LIFE IS THE EMPTY SET. DO NOT BELIEVE THESE CHARLATANS.

Your life is all reals - a ring of candy wrappers, ash, abandoned castanets, unrecognizable late nights, stolen and donated pages, text messages, sideward glances, encrusted dishes, unintentional monolouging, space rides through wormholes, howling, remixes of remixes (i.e. f(g(x))) and things that are sometimes so nice it makes you a little sad. Your life includes the damnable SQUARE ROOT OF TWO.

STAND UP TO THESE LIARS.

Tell them - identities I'll take, but you can keep your inverses because I don't believe in Opposites. I don't need to be added to or multiplied by to get some other set of numbers. Especially not if those numbers are air conditioning, ties, the Sunday New York Times, cosmetic dentistry, Lysol, pre-distressed clothes, flags fluttering, or that sourpuss expression you've got on your face. I SIMPLY DO NOT WANT WHAT YOU ARE SELLING. YOU CAN SELL IT AS HARD AS YOU LIKE, BUT I AM NOT BUYING. I'm not even in the market for what you've got.

Tell them you've got everything you need in your little ring, then chew up the advertisements they've shoved into your hands and spit them back on their faces.