What is this world?
Is it me, or is it what I make of it?
Am I trapped within this body?
Or is this body my tool?

Devices both extend and amputate.

Why am I here?
Why is this place?
Why am I?
Why are you?

Cogito ergo sum.

The wired?
Xanadu?
IPv7?
Accela?

The medium is the message.

Am I me?
Do I exist?
Gaia?
God or simulacrum?
Homonuclus of artificial ribosome?
Or source of artificial life?

Lain is Lain.

Cyberia?
Society?
Gaia?
The wired?

Everything is deeply intertwingled.

The fruit of knowlege?
The tree of life?
Science?
Mysticism?

That I should banned be from all the trueness: mere fool, mere poet!

Knights?
Illuminatus?
Principia Discordia?
Truth?

He sews his eyes shut.

Lambda?
Eternal Flame?
Ancient order?
Secret fame?

Simply a golden apple.

True?
False?
Freedom?
Slavery?

Tune in, drop out.

Hate?
Love?
God?
Temptation?

Bokonon is dead.

And the one truth?

The fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth!

-Present day. Present time.-
--As if time exists! HAHAHAHAHA--