Information Networks Straddle The World. Nothing Remains

Granted: I Am An Inmate Of A Mental Hospital; My Keeper Is Watching Me, He Never Lets Me Out Of His Sight; There's A Peep-hole In The Door, And My Keeper's Eye Is The Shade Of Brown That Can Never See Through A Blue-eyed Type Like Me.

As A Child I Was A Great Liar. Fortunately My Mother Liked My Lies. I Promised Her Marvelous Things.

I Was Assigned To The Waffen-ss But Was Never Involved In Any Crime. Besides, I Always Felt The Need To Write About My Experiences In A Larger Context One Day. This Has Only Developed Recently, Now That I Have Overcome My Inner Aversion To Writing An Autobiography In The First Place, Specifically One Having To Do With My Younger Years.

Art Is So Wonderfully Irrational, Exuberantly Pointless, But Necessary All The Same. Pointless And Yet Necessary, That's Hard For A Puritan To Understand.

When Satan's Not In The Mood, Virtue Triumphs. Hasn't Even Satan A Right Not To Be In The Mood Once In A While?