[ WP ] You are functionally immortal : you can die but instantly come back to life . Over the many , many years you 've become jaded and bored , and now dying is the only thing that gives you any sort of rush anymore . You 're about to attempt your most elaborate and thrilling death yet .

I call it a soft reset, the way you might coax a laggy iPhone back to full life by starting it fresh. 
 
 It's like waking up and having coffee for the first time. The intensity preserved. The high of fresh experience sizzling new rivulets in your brain. 
 
 A cocktail of codeine and cyanide, a single bullet in an antique revolver from my collection, a quick slide off the dining room table to the caress of a noose, and, whenever I'm thirsting for adrenaline, a solo trip out of the airplane without pulling the rip cord. 
 
 Dying is my transformation. Each death is a poem, a performance piece, if you will, a requiem for a dreamlike blend of reality and possibility, where my next life can be radically reimagined with the knowledge gained in the past hundred ( or is it thousand now? Must consult my logbooks ) lives. As one life extinguishes and rekindles to the next, the bad habits engraved by years of faulty interior wiring fade to blank marble awaiting my chisel. 
 
 I've spent this life as an artist. Not just any artist either. Maximillian. The master of color and feeling. I work with light and sound. I create spaces of warm, textured ambiance for those seeking solace from touch screens and Instagram stories. Slide a few Molly beneath your tongue and you may find yourself drifting back toward the womb. I've been told leaving one of my installations feels like a rebirth, a fresh entrance back into the world. How could you so exquisitely imagine it, Maximillian? If only they could know the practice I have had. 
 
 So tonight. For Maximillian's lasting tribute to a world not perfect enough to contain him, I will exit in style. I have a solo exhibit atop the highest building in Los Angeles, a conical structure designed to mimic the ear canal. Step inside and any movement you make will activate tiny crystals woven into the cone's material and the entire space will sing your motion alive. 
 
 Brilliant, they're calling it. A reversal of the senses into a deliciously synaptic synesthesia. I know. That's why I've hired a troupe of ballerinas to dance the space into harmonies yet unimagined. Watch as we'll fold the human brain into itself in a beautiful triumph of creative cacophony. 
 
 Amidst this symphonic backdrop, I will climb to the highest height of the cone. As the music swells to a roaring zenith, diving from the cone, off beyond the roof and into the warm air of a Los Angeles fall. 
 
 It's always in those last moments when my best realizations hit. In those seconds before the poison laces its way through my bloodstream or before the snake's venom pumps through my heart, I experience my best epiphanies. I realize it was n't worth it. Or that maybe it was. I am adamant to be more frugal next time. Or to stop being so damn rational. Each life a fresh conclusion. I'd invite you to make your own, but, well, I think I'd be at that party alone.
