An Existential Minimalist Christmas

As our corporeal beings accelerate towards the coming of the Winter Solstice usurped by the Christian holiday of the birth of Jesus Christ and that amusing television situational comedy's day of praise for Festivus, I have looked into the depths of my brain to determine if what I am experiencing is in fact real and if I have any way to prove it. The slap that I gave to myself consequently hurt, but that does not make my life nor anything in it real. I may have dreamt that my tender cheek ached, and yet unable to wake myself from a horrible Lovecraftian nightmare.
In other words, I am in a festive mood for Christmas.

The gaudy songs that portray water in a solid matter precipitating upon terra firma, and subadults enjoying gamboling out in it make me weary. Anthropomorphic shapes of this "snow" that manifest themselves and exhibit cognizant behavior only excited me the first time. Ungulates of the far northen hemisphere that display genetic rostral mutations as a beacon of light in the 625-740 nanometer wavelength of electromagnetic radiation only serve my ideas that human life must be composed of boredom and misery in order to be a full, well-developed human being. To summarize, I am tired of all these plebian sounds and words strung together to create "Christmas music."

So, what must a man do to feel that his life has meaning and worth? He must create or record for posterity an accomplishment that will appear as a tile in the mosiac of humankind's varied history. I am creating a song for Christmas. And if anyone knows how to upload midi files to this
infernal theoretical google blog, I would humanly appreciate it.