2002-03-19 - 12:13 p.m.
This is not my first diary, but it is the first I have put online. I still use pen and paper. It used to be a civilized society that had that method, but now civilization has moved on to electrons and phosphate screens. I was still stuck to the paper like ink. Or a fly. I'm waiting for society to come back and try to squash me, but like the metaphorical insect that I am, I can be elusive and resilient.
This is not my first diary, but it is one that I can have more fun with. I do not care if anyone reads it. Everyone's got an intreresting story that deserves to be heard. For all of us, being the small pods of matter, in the universe that has attained self-consciousness through us, the story of our lives, no matter how short or how long, is recorded in the mind of God, or the creator of the universe, or wherever else the other end of the black-holes of our minds leads to. No matter what, our story is not forgotten. Not an original concept, but when understood, it is the concept that could save someone's sanity.
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