2003-07-31 - 11:20 p.m.

Back a second, maybe two, and I'd have seen my bicycle fly, like a rag dool, wheels twisting on the axles like arms. I'd be clutching my arms and sides, too much groaning from my throat to even mutter vulgarities. Search an answer, say its God's protection that it wasn't me, but where was God to protect him? If one is protected and the other isn't, its more like a game of chess, isn't it? Where the knight has forked two pieces in one move, one of the pieces must die, and though it is the knight that slays, isn't the piece's player, its God, also sacrificing it?

Favorities thus would garner this everlasting love and protection and blessings, but it isn't so, life is too random to be a game of chess.

Media of chance and skill and perhaps fate, thats reality, is chance fate or fate chance? And so many skills are begun with chance as well. Are we, is everything, little more than a Polack painting, a whimsical random fling that by chance takes repetition and pattern, style and order?

And why does such an idea cause so much resistance in people, so much disagreement, so much defiance and indifference?

SO much pride that we are beyond chance and randomness, beyond even purely ulterior influences (except it seems when blame is to be handled), somehow beyond all that?

Of course, all these questions are presumptious by being put forth as questions, but I'll leave the question marks there anyway.

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