2003-08-03 - 4:25 p.m.

All around me, I hear this faint cry and squeal of a baby, and then its gone.

Public are my records, for adminstrative, legislative, bureaucratic purposes, they are stored in computers and file cabinets, alphabetically. Diary of madness, why does it make so much sense?

Signings have long ended, my musings, rants lost in the Internet, deemed to be "not real" by legislatures in regards to p-rnography. Are these words, because not on paper, not real too, simply and only imaginary and fictatious? Logged into this not real medium, I should technically not fear anything as nothing is real in it, and I should not fear writing anything into it as well.

With that being law and rule of the land, that the Internet is not real, my fears must be irrational and baseless, like a child afraid of a monster underneath his bed, for monsters are not real, the Internet is not real.

Your ears are not hearing me, and your eyes are not hearing me, reading these words, you are just listening to yourself, talking to yourself.

Username, pianosa, Yossarian Yossarian, am I playing pretend? IP addresses, like dog tags, follow anything I do on this computer, like a fingerprint, like odor, or wine.

And who says anything about anything of it, of this, of whatever?

Other than me, who comes here, but I mistake, I cannot come here, because here is not real, I always forget that I am just imagining all this, that this is all make-believe, pretend, like Cops and Robbers, harmless violence and killing each other.

Information is so useless, there are all these paints, but there aren't any paintbrushes anymore, someone stole them.

Write an entry to pianosa's diary of non-sense and possible madness.