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Information Communication Supply Volume 1 Issue 7
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I n f o r m a t i o n, C o m m u n i c a t i o n, S u p p l y
E L E C T R O Z I N E
Information Communication Supply 11/16/93 Vol.1:Issue.7 Frag:1
Email To: ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU
E D I T O R S: Local Alias: Email: ICS Positions:
============== ============ ====== ==============
Jeremy Bek rApIeR STU521279258 Technical Director,Layout,
Writer, Editing,
Subscriptions, Letters,
Role Playing Games,
Fragment Design,ListServes
Ted Sanders Zorro STU520256399 Writer, Final Editor,
Subscriptions, Fragment
Design, Final Opinion
Steven Peterson Rufus Firefly STU388801940 Editing, Writer
Russel Hutchinson Burnout Writer, Subscriptions,
Editing
Jason Manczur GReY KnYgHT STU523356717 Writer,Poet,Editing
Deva Winblood MeTaL MaSTeR, ADP_DEVA Ask Deva, Tales of the
Ephemeral Unknown, Editing
Presence
Jeremy Greene Diabolus STU521139287 Technical Editor,
Subscriptions
Clint Thompson Daos ADP_CLINT Editing, Writer
George Sibley MAC_FAC FAC_SIBLEY Editing, Supervisor
_____________________________________________________________________________
/ \
| ICS is an Electrozine distributed by students of Western State |
| College in Gunnison, Colorado. We are here to gather information about |
| topics that are important to us all as human beings. If you would like |
| to send in a submission please type it into an ASCII format and mail it |
| to us. We operate on the assumption that if you mail us something you |
| want it to be published. We will do our best to make sure it is |
| distributed and will always inform you when or if it is used. |
| See the end of this issue for submission information. |
\_____________________________________________________________________________/
REDISTRIBUTION: If any part of this issue is copied or used elsewhere
you must give credit to the author and indicate that the information
came from ICS Electrozine ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU.
DISCLAIMER: The views represented herein do not necessarily represent the
views of the editors of ICS. contributors to ICS assume all
responsibilities for ensuring that articles/submissions are not violating
copyright laws and protections.
|\__________________________________________________/|
| \ / |
| \ T A B L E O F C O N T E N T S / |
| / \ |
| /________________________________________________\ |
|/ \|
| Included in the table of contents you will see some|
| generic symbols to help you in making your |
| decisions on whether an article is something that |
| may use ideas, and/or language that could be |
| offensive to some. S = Sexual Content |
| AL = Adult Language V = Violence O = Opinions |
|____________________________________________________|
| |
| 1) The First Word by Ted Sanders (O) |
| |
| 2) Russian Scientists by Sibley |
| |
| 3) Thaumaturgy by Jason Manczur (O) |
| |
| 4) Amtgard by Russ Huchinson (O) |
| |
| 5) Eyes of Love by Jason Manczur |
| |
| 6) New Prejudices by Steven Peterson |
| |
| 7) PrintHeads Guide by Sibley |
| |
| 8) Almost Middle Word by Jeremy Bek |
\____________________________________________________/
,______________
|THE FIRST WORD`|
<~~~~~|BY|~~~~~~>
|~~TED SANDERS~~|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This past week the I.C.S. staff asked me to become a bit more
versatile with my writing and explore the world of "The First Word".
Opening opinions, as one writer put it, are "mindless dribble of a know
nothing!" My goal for this opening opinion is to create "mindful creations of
a know nothing!" Tell me if I succeed.
Human nature is a society of survival in which the people who
survive are "the winners". Then maybe somebody can tell me why most of
society as a whole puts such a priority on the memorization of facts. If
you operate in today's educational circles, you find that modern
education deals with a lot of memorization and very little utilization.
Why? In the United States, more and more American high school students
are not able to reason. Why? World wide, problem solving abilities are
[Bfound less frequently among students. For example, Japanese students in a
national study were found to have very high scores on areas such as Math
and Science competency, yet had very low scores (nationally) on
reasoning abilities.
The entire purpose of education is to take a raw product and
create a mentally capable student who can deal with the world. Some
students have this ability, and some are never taught to develop it.
Why?
This is my opinion on why I believe our society does not cope with
this problem.
Modern Educators find that the true purpose of education
is to make survivors and not exemplerary thinkers. For example, in the
American classrooms of today a teacher will try to do what is best for the
mass of his students. If the mass of his (or her) students do not need
the abilities of advanced chemistry, the educator will not teach it.
If the students need to know how to save their money so that they can
buy a new pair of Adidas, or just pay the rent, the educator will show
them possible ways to do this. The greatest teacher of reasoning skills
is the cold harsh reality of society, not educational societies.
Do you agree, or disagree with this point of view? If you have
comments, flares, or various arguments to make on this broad topic,
please express them. I guess I would just like to find out if there might
be some critical thinkers out in NETland. So please, sit back and enjoy
this weeks fragment, and tell us what you think (if you do!).
_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***_***
____________________________________________
/\ \
| |RUSSIAN SCIENTISTS SEEK NETWORK CONNECTIONS|
| | * By Sibley * |
\/___________________________________________/
I.C.S. received a copy of a communication from A.E.
Varshavsky at the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow,
announcing the creation of a non-profit "Strategy Priorities
Foundation" (SPF), whereby Russian scientists in the post-Cold-
War era hope to offer services and establish connections with
private and public entities around the world.
Observing that "now Russian science has a hard time,"
Varshavsky essentially announces the availability of Russian
scientists in all fields for collaborative projects in and out of
Russia. The purpose of the Strategy Priorities Foundation, he
says, is to "avail leading universities, research institutions,
and companies in all countries of the world of unique economic
and technical information on the state and perspectives of
science and technology in Russia. An analysis of the economic
problems of stability, conversion and disarmament is in the
framework of SPF's interests as well." Among other
possibilities, Varshavsky envisions Russian scientists acting as
consultants for private or public entities interested in the
opportunities afforded by the Soviet political meltdown.
E-mail addresses for Varshavsky are (BITNET) C20501@SUCEMI
or (INTERNET) vars@cemi.msk.su. Snailmail: SPF, Central
Economics and Mathematics Institute, Russian Academy of Sciences,
32 Krasikova St. (Room 406), Moscow, 117418 RUSSIA.
^ * %
@ \ / (
| / | \
////\\\\\\\/////\\\\\\\\
\\\\\\Thaumaturgy///////
\\\\ Part 2 ////
\\\JASON MANCZUR///
\UUUUUUUUUUUUU/
Welcome back to my discussion of the mysterious science of
thaumaturgy. Last week I discussed some of the reasons people think of
magic as evil. For the next few weeks, I will be discussing some of the
sciences of magic.
This week I will discuss one science of magic, divinatory magic.
Divinatory magic is a magic used for the sole purpose of
divining, or learning, things. Divinatory magic can be a powerful sort
of magic. Using divinatory magic is difficult in that you never know
"the whole story". Divining things can be very useful as well.
Some of the useful ways to use divinatory magic are to find
new ways to solve problems. For example, you have to get from
point "A" to point "B". You don't have a map, and you are alone. How
will you get there. Simple. You divine the knowledge with a spell.
Divining magic can be dangerous as well. Knowing too much is a
problem that most people do not completely understand. For example,
if you know when you are going to die, you will try to prevent it, which
in turn will cause it to happen, an apparent paradox. Also, you never
know what people will think of you when you know things about them that
they might not want you to know.
Within divinatory magic, like the other sciences, there are what
are called sub-sciences. These sub-sciences are also called
specializations.
Some of the specializations of divinatory magic are future,
past, present and diagnostic divinations of the self, divination of writings,
divination of items and substances and divinations of location. Others
include future, past, present and diagnostic divinations of others.
Diagnostic divinations can also be used to find out why things may not
be working. I am sure that there are other specializations of divination,
but I, personally, am unaware of them.
Divination of the future is the most dangerous of the divination
specializations. This specialization is what some call fortune-telling.
Future divination is most useful for determining the consequences of
your actions.
Past divination is most useful for determining past events. For
example, you want to know exactly who was on the ship with Odysseus when
he was trying to reach home after the Trojan war. You would cast a
powerful past divination spell.
Diagnostic divination spells are useful for many things. With
them, you can find out what is wrong with any object, or find out what
is wrong with someone.
Present divination can be used to find out such things as what
people are doing, what people are thinking, where people are, why
something is happening, and so on and so forth. Anything having to do
with the present is under present divination, including those spells
that qualify for other specializations.
Divination of writing is a small specialization. The reason for
this is that there are so few spells dealing with divining the meanings
of writings. Divination of writing is useful if you need to determine
the meanings of written material or if you just want to read something
that is written in another language that you do not speak or cannot
read.
Divination of location, a highly specialized set of spells, are
used to determine the location of people, places, and things.
Divination of items and substances are actually two processes,
however, they are generally classed together. These specializations are
useful for determining what objects are used for, how to use them, how they
work, and why they work. It are also useful for divining what a substance
is and what that substance's properties are. It is also useful for identifying
items and finding out whether or not items have been "enchanted".
That is all for this week. Be sure to read next weeks article
on Thaumaturgy, it will be discussing enchantment, another science of
magic.
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[]
#########----Game review: Amtgard------\
#########----By Russell Hutchison------/
[]
Have you ever had the desire to swordfight like Errol Flynn or
Kevin Costner in their Robin Hood films. Or maybe you're a Highlander
fanatic who lusts for the sound of steel against steel. So you try
fencing but the fighting in a straight line and only against one foe gets
boring to you. Then I recommend that you try going to an Amtgard event
if you have the fortune to find one.
About two years ago a friend of mine showed me a flier that
depicted a man in Medieval garb, wielding a large sword in one hand and
a spear in the other, attacking a pair of men in simmilar dress who were
wielding swords and shields. As I looked closer I saw that the weapons
were actually foam padded in some manner. Below the picture in the text
of the flier was an invitation to come and fight in the lands of the
"Iron Mountains."
Well I have always been a fan of role playing games and thought
that this would be a fun thing to do for a weekend. So my friend and I
called the phone number on the flier and showed up for the game that
Saturday. What I found was a sort of capture the flag game with padded
weapons and a smattering of armor, real chainmail, with rules thrown in
for the use of a magic system. Upon showing up we were given some
forms to sign and shown a 58 page rule book explaining the rules of
play. After reading the basic rules on what to do when hit with weapons
we decided to take to the field of battle with little comprehension of the
other rules of the game. I remember that throughout the entire game I
only "killed" three people, but I was crushed throughly many times. I
left that day with a rule book in hand and every muscle in my body
screaming from the tremendous workout.
After taking the time to read the rules, I returned to the game
with a much better grasp of what to do when certain things happened.
The game mechanics were actually very simple and very "deadly." Being
hit on a limb incapacitated it, losing two limbs was considered death.
All torso shots from the shoulders down to the hips were considered
death (including crotch and butt shots!). Head and neck shots were not
allowed because of possible injury. I soon discovered that the
epic fights that range accross the field are few and far between, even
when you've been in the club for a long time. The combat is brutally
fast and people drop quickly. But one thing that impressed me was the
safety measures taken by the club. All weapons had to pass a safety
inspection before their use. The standards were that the stabbing ends
of the weapons could not fit into an eye socket, and the coring
could not be felt through the padding. Also the weapon had to be
padded everywhere except for the grip. There is also a system for
special abilities of different "classes" that a person could be. Like
magic for healers, mages, and druids.
I also learned that this game is not centered in the state of
Colorado. The game originated in Texas, is present in New Mexico,
Oregon, California, and even Finland!
So, if you are ever walking through a city park and see a group
of people wielding swords and other assorted weapons and beating each
other silly don't worry. It's probably just the Amtgartians having their
usual weekend fun. Stop by to try it out. You just may
get addicted like me. But expect to be sore after the first few days.
@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@__@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@_@
Eyes of Love
by Jason Manczur
How can one set of eyes be
So very deep, and so very bright?
They shine like the stars,
With a heavenly light.
They're deep like an ocean,
Pretty as they can be.
I love your eyes,
But do they love me?
A better question
Asks the same of you.
If the answer is yes,
I'll ne'er be blue.
I want to tell you
Just how much I care,
That I really love you,
And will always be there.
If you need someone
for any reason,
If my heart is not there,
It will hang for treason.
That is how much
I love you my dear.
When we are together,
You have nothing to fear,
For my love will protect you.
I love you with all
of my heart and my soul.
If you do not love me,
It will take its toll
On my heart and my spirit,
And the depths of my mind.
When I am with you
I always find
A warmth and a caring
That fills up my life.
Oh, please my love,
Will you be my wife?
KNYGHT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
_________________________
| New Prejudices |
| By |
| Steven Peterson |
|_______________________|
"What we call progress," said Havelock Ellis,"is the exchange of
one nuisance for another nuisance." This thought, obvious to anyone who
embraces an expanding technological culture, occurs to me most every
time my telephone rings. The telephone, perhaps the single most useful
device in our 20th century, is on the verge of progressing from playing
a stationary role into becoming what amounts to a new mechanical
appendage. As various world cultures open their airwaves to the cordless
digital telephone revolution, they also invite a change in the
fundamental nature of interpersonal communications.
The ability to instantly access individuals wherever they may be
(and potentially interrupting any activity from the mundane to the
critical) presents a new ethical quandary for all telephone users. In
America, telephone technology is already abused in a depressing variety
of ways - solicitation, harassment, and "answering-machine screening"
are the most common. Carried into every moment of your waking life,
these currently minor nuisances could easily mushroom into a major waste
of time and energy. Personally, the use of machines to "screen" calls
strikes me as particularly cowardly - if you have to fear someone, fear
their physical reality, not their disembodied voice.
Since I'm on the subject of fear and cowardice, I'd like to
consider a problem this new technology will generate for our law
enforcement agencies - educating mobile telephone users in procedures
for reporting crime in a rational manner. I can envisage two possible
(if not likely) scenarios: over- and under-reporting of incidents
as they are witnessed. In the first case, a series of calls reporting a
criminal incident will flood the "911" operators, essentially creating a
"logjam" of incoming calls that could threaten the viability of the
entire system. In the second scenario, passive indifference or
fear may prevent anyone from reporting an incident - something I call the
"Kitty Genovese" syndrome. Kitty Genovese was an American woman who was
brutally murdered in New York city some time ago in front of a building
full of citizens who chose to remain passive - the witnesses simply "let
someone else get involved". Obviously, these problems are as old as
communication itself. Nevertheless, some sort of educational program
designed to give individuals some sort of guidelines will need to be
developed and implemented. Perhaps attaching a compulsory test similar
to the Driver's license exam may be a solution.
Moving into the truly private (or personal) realm of communication,
I feel this technology will most likely serve to increase the distance
between individuals. As instant access to individuals, wherever they may
happen to be, becomes commonplace, the institution of face-to-face
communication may gradually erode. Indeed, the very system I am using to
bring this column to you, dear reader, is predicated on a non-confrontational
philosophy. On the one hand, I really enjoy the benefits this type of
forum provides; however, on the other hand there is something - call it
"emotional intimacy" if you will, which this forum cannot offer.
Extended into everyday life, I'm not sure if I will want to be limited
by a new convention of simply calling individuals - not all communication
can be expressed in sounds and printed words. Then again, humans may be in
the process of evolving into a state where non-verbal communication is no
longer relevant or necessary.
This contrast between remote and physically immediate communication
fascinates me. On the surface both seem to be completely valid forms of
communication, and indeed they are. I guess my problems stem from the
potential for abuse. The telephone has always represented (at least for me)
a device capable of delivering devastating messages. Too often, emotionally
difficult messages (such as the death of a loved one or an attempt to end
a romantic relationship) are transmitted over the "wire". Anyone who has
experienced one of these calls can tell you about the feelings of frustration,
anxiety, and detachment they engender. I can see the appeal of using the
telephone to deliver painful messages - psychological detachment makes many
difficult decisions easier to implement. Unfortunately, the benefit is usually
only enjoyed by the sender, the receiver of the message has to deal with
the emotional fall-out in isolation.
Once again, I find myself facing a dilemma - how to balance the
benefits of technology against the potential for misuse. Digital
telephone transmission promises to open new avenues of computer-driven
communication; however, I feel it must not become the dominant form of
interpersonal exchange - at least until the appropriate social
conventions governing its use are firmly entrenched. A bit of the
chicken and the egg in that last statement, but hey, I enjoy conundrums.
As with television, the subject of my previous column, humanity must
face these and other difficult decisions regarding the use of the machines
we build.
"The telephone, I believe, is the greatest boon to bores ever
invented. It has set their ancient art upon a new level of
efficiency and enabled them to penetrate the last strongholds
of privacy."
- H.L. Mencken
(1931)
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________________________________________________________
\ \
| A PRINTHEAD'S GUIDE TO NETWORKING |
| by George Sibley, ElectroZine Advisor/Cheerleader |
\______________________________________________________\
To begin with a definition, a "printhead" is a paper-
oriented person--a person who doesn't know what to do with his or
her hands while reading a screen.
Like most printheads, I learn by reading, the most
interactive sport you can do without making noise, and I'm still
having trouble learning to read a screen rather than watch it. I
still find books and magazines to be more "user-friendly" than
the computer--there is no scrolling device yet that comes close
to thumb-finger-eye coordination for flipping around in books,
and I can't yet afford a terminal small enough to take to bed at
night without really endangering my nose.
I am, however, willing to acknowledge the extent to which
this is just a comfortable middle-aged bias: having grown up
with books, I "naturally" (what we say when we mean "culturally")
fall back on them when the world gets excessively interesting.
And one area in which the world is getting very interesting is in
the phenomenon of connecting computers together around the world.
A phenomenon that--among many, many other things--enables this
"electrozine" to happen. So, while I have followed, and used,
Deva Winblood's fine and accessible "WorldNet Tour Guide" in
these pages--or rather, on these screens--I have to admit how
glad I have been to find some printworld books on the topic of
networking.
Two in particular have come out recently that I want to
commend to the reader's attention--one, a down-on-the-ground,
nuts-and-bolts exploration of Internet, the world's largest
computer network, and the other a more philosophical and
evaluative exploration of networking in general.
The first book is THE WHOLE INTERNET USER'S GUIDE AND
CATALOG, written by Ed Krol, and published by O'Reilly and
Associates, Inc. of Sebastopol, CA (E-mail: nuts@ora.com, or
uunet/ora/nuts). For those like myself who need fairly detailed
instructions on how to do virtually everything with the computer-
-and need the instructions somewhere besides on the screen where
we are trying to do whatever--this book is very good. It tells
the networker how to log in on Internet, how to telnet in to the
big mainframe computers, how to work with file transfer
protocols, how to "finger" users on other systems, and generally
how to search through the increasingly vast resources accessible
to users around the world. It will tell you how to do things I
don't even understand yet.
And the book concludes with a "Whole Internet Catalog" of
resources available at the time of the book's printing (most
recently, July 1993)--opening that catalog section at random and
scanning the listings, I found a gamut of resources ranging from
the "Bedford Institute of Oceanography" through the "Non-linear
Dynamics Archive" to "The Simpsons Archive" (under "Popular
Culture").
Preceding all of this rather specific hands-on advice,
however, is a more general discussion of Internet--a discussion
that includes a brief history of the network's development, and
some thoughts on the future of the system. There is also a
chapter on Internet politics and ethics.
This more philosophical part of the book ties in well with
the other book: a Worldwatch Paper (Sept. 1993) by Worldwatch
Senior Researcher John E. Young, titled GLOBAL NETWORK:
COMPUTERS IN A SUSTAINABLE SOCIETY.
Both of these books acknowledge the early origins of
computer networking in America's defense industries, and their
subsequent expansion into the multitude of uses by and for those
whose business is managing, influencing, and keeping track of a)
money and b) us masses. The potential of the computer in aiding
those with, shall we say, either less than or more than
democratic designs has been often noted.
Their interest, however, is in the extent to which computer
networking has become, and could continue to become, a
democratizing technology that, more than anything else, is making
us one world--one intelligent world, at that. Krol's fascination
seems to be most interested in the extent to which computer
networks like Internet make accessible to the individual. He
declares that "network ethics" can be distilled to "two
overriding premises":
-- Individualism is honored and fostered.
-- The network is good and must be protected.
He notes the similarity between this ethos and the
straightforward ethical systems like the "Law of the West" by
which frontier societies are governed.
This two-law ethos, however, may be straightforward, but it
is not simple: rather, it just sets up the cultural tension
between the individual and the community--in this case, the
network--that is the source of all subsequent volumes of
increasingly detailed and often obscure law trying to mitigate or
eliminate that tension.
Those who have read, say, Richard White's new history of the
American West, IT'S YOUR MISFORTUNE AND NONE OF MY OWN, may also
be concerned about the emphasis on individualism; he documents,
beyond reasonable dismissal to my mind, the extent to which the
honoring and fostering of individualism in the West worked mostly
(although not necessarily conspiratorially) as a smokescreen
which facilitated the total coopting of the West by big
government and big business.
An emphasis on individualism, in other words, may
paradoxically be counter-productive in the long run for
individuals on the networks--especially given the extent to which
the networks already exist somewhat at the tolerance of big
government and the other quasi-public controllers of the
mainframes and "hosts" on which the networks depend.
"Strengthening the communities"--the "communities of interest,"
in this case, rather than the "communities of place"as in the
frontier societies may be a more productive direction for the
further evolution of the nets.
John Young's Worldwatch essay seems to move more in that
direction. He is most interested in the potential of networks
for connecting communities of interest in politically effective
ways--modelling and monitoring the biosphere, modelling and
monitoring economies, connecting political entities in developing
countries with each other and with alternative political entities
in developed countries, and other challenges related to the
development of sustainable human societies on earth.
The evolution of such communities of interest will, of
course, at the very least try the patience of the large political
and economic entities, both public and private, which a) are not
always particularly altruistic in their motives nor "sustainable"
in their objectives, and b) are in control of some of the vital
elements of the networks.
I find myself wanting to believe that the embullient and
expansive attitude pervading the networks today will last--that
this impressive and inexpensive ethos of access and "info-equity"
will prevail, that the electronic circulation of information will
be like the light of the sun or water in a sieve: something
impossible to control and regulate, something impossible to turn
into "commercial property" and charge for. But I have to confess
that I am less optimistic, the more I learn about the extent to
which the networks depend on institutions that have never--even
in America--been real friends of democratic and inexpensive
access to anything.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
()()The Almost Middle Word()()
()()()()By Jeremy Bek)()()()()
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
This is a zine designed to be enjoyable to anyone in any land.
So I am going to present a question that affects every nation, Poverty.
Why do we let it happen? With the worlds total wealth we could give
everyone on the planet an annual wealth of 24,000 american dollars per
year. Is greed really that prevalent? What can we do? If any one has
this kind of information I would really like to receive it. Thanx
rApIeR
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We at ICS would enjoy receiving comments, subscriptions, and
entries to the Zine. Please send them all to ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BACK ISSUES: Back Issues of ICS can be FTPed ETEXT.ARCHIVE.UMICH.EDU
They are in the directory /pub/Politics/ICS.
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ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICICS/~~~\
ICSICSICSICSICSICS/~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ICS ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\
\ INFORMATION COMMUNICATION SUPPLY /
~~~~~~~~~~~\ORG_ZINE/~~~~~~~~~~~~~ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
~~~~~~~~ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICS
An Electronic Magazine from Western State College Gunnison, Colorado.
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I n f o r m a t i o n, C o m m u n i c a t i o n, S u p p l y
E L E C T R O Z I N E
Established by Deva Winblood In 1993
Information Communication Supply 1/18/94 Vol.1:Issue.7 Frag: 2
Email To: ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU
E D I T O R S: Local Alias: Email: ICS Positions:
============== ============ ====== ==============
Jeremy Bek rApIeR STU521279258 Technical Director
Steven Peterson Rufus Firefly STU388801940 Managing Editor
Russ Hutchinson Burnout STU524636420 Writer
Jason Manczur GRey KnYgHT STU523356717 Writer
Deva Winblood MeTaL MaSTeR ADP_DEVA Ask Deva(Once Again)
Clinton Thompson Shing ADP_CLINT Writer
George Sibley MAC_FAC FAC_SIBLEY Editing, Supervisor
_____________________________________________________________________________
/ \
| ICS is an Electrozine distributed by students of Western State |
| College in Gunnison, Colorado. If you would like to send in a submission |
| please type it into an ASCII format and mail it to us. |
\_____________________________________________________________________________/
|\__________________________________________________/|
| \ / |
| \ T A B L E O F C O N T E N T S / |
| / \ |
| /________________________________________________\ |
|/ \|
| Included in the table of contents you will see some|
| generic symbols to help you in making your |
| decisions on whether an article is something that |
| may use ideas, and/or language that could be |
| offensive to some. S = Sexual Content |
| AL = Adult Language V = Violence O = Opinions |
|____________________________________________________|
| 1. The Cliff by Clinton Thompson (V) |
| |
| 2. A Thought on AI in the Workplace (O) |
| by Michael McAfee |
| 3. For God and King by Russell Hutchinson (V) |
| |
| 4. Walking Alone On a Wet Autumn Night |
| by Bob Wilson |
| 5. Plasma by Steven Peterson (V, AL) |
| |
| 6. Final Word(Changes) by Jeremy Bek |
|____________________________________________________|
******************************************************************************
r-------------------------;
| The Cliff / O -arrgh!
| r \|/
| By Clinton Thompson | |
| / / \
| /
| |
|______________________|
The sun glinted off the river in the distance, making it shimmer like
quick-silver. One could see most of the valley from where Lance sat. All the
fields and rolling hills looked like a worn and wrinkled carpet. In other
circumstances he would have enjoyed the view, but he did not. The panorama
was only a reminder of his prison. The air around him and the stone at his
back were bars. As it was, the boy clung high above where he wished to be,
flat ground. As he clung to his small ledge his mind wandered as one's mind
often will when under stress.
The morning was clear and crisp like a proper autumn morning should be.
He awoke earlier than usual and went to the kitchen to rummage around for some
breakfast. His mother was gone to town, and his father was at work in the
fields. A perfect day for a hike! He put some cheese, bread, and a bottle of
water in a little sack. On his way to the trail that led to the hills and
jagged rocks behind his home, Lance had picked up a coil of rope and slung it
about his shoulder.
Lance now watched this same rope broken and swinging peacefully out of
reach - fifteen feet out of reach. His entire situation could be seen in that
swaying rope. Suddenly, he saw his situation very clearly. There were two
alternatives, only two. One was to wait in indecision, hoping for someone to
come. Two, he could try to get himself off of the cliff. No one was going to
come. No one even knew he was gone, and no one would know where he went. He
rarely hiked by himself.
The cliff was smooth, vertical sandstone. As Lance studied it, he noticed
for the first time that there were small pock marks and cracks throughout its
surface. Lance's thoughts moved aimlessly over school and friends. He was a
good student, not an over achiever, but a hard worker. Then his thoughts moved
to where they had been for several weeks, Lisa, and for a moment he was
content. He remembered their date the night before, the way they had touched
and her eyes in the moonlight. His heart and mind raced at the thought of it.
Lance looked at his watch. It was almost noon. He had sat on the cliff,
in this crack, for three and a half hours. For the first time he realized how
thirsty he was and how hot it was becoming.
Fear, for the first time in his life, true fear gripped his heart. Someone
would come. Wouldn't they? This thought echoed through his mind. And even as
it did, it sounded false and empty deep inside.
Lance carefully maneuvered around, so that his knees were on the ledge,
and he hugged the cliff in an embrace not inspired by affection. His fingers
crawled out, feeling and searching for a crevice to tie his life to. They
found one. His hand held like steel bands driven into the rock, driven by
desperation. His body, taut and relentless, followed after, searching for its
own place of safety. Carefully, after many minutes of searching, his feet found
niches of their own. He was able to rest for a moment, in a strange sense of
the word. He was flat against the surface of this wall, like a great
mountaineer - except he had no safety ropes, or experience for this situation.
Another hour had passed, or so it seemed to Lance as he creeped over the
weathered surface of the cliff. Many times he had stopped, trying in vain to
rest his aching, cramped muscles. Jeans, shirt, and flesh bled a mix of
perspiration and desire to reach the top and live. He realized he did not want
to die. With a grim smile, he recalled being told that one does not always get
what one wants. Lance clung to the rock like a frightened shadow. Finally, his
feet found a fragment of rock that he could stand on.
As he rested for a minute on the ledge, he wished he would not have to
go on. He knew there was no choice now. Then a soft cracking sound interrupted
his thoughts, it was as if the ledge had something to say. To Lance it sounded
like thunder. He knew then, and every fiber of his existence knew in the same
instant. He tried to scream, but it did not come. Only a hopeless moan of
wasted dreams. His life passed before his eyes. It slid by with the cliff,
and when the cliff ended so did the vision, in an explosion of dust.
*******************************************************************************
_____________________________________
/ _______________________________ \
| / \ |
| |A Thought on AI in the Workplace| |
| \ by Michael McAfee / |
| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
\_____________________________________\
\_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_\
\_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_\
\|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A coworker and I were discussing what we wanted out of
the computers we use at work. The coworker described the artificial
intelligence (AI) system he'd like to have - a simple environment
manager that would be able to choose various parameters without being
asked, along with voice recognition and a pleasant "personality."
That made me wonder about AI in the workplace of the
future. Try this for a possibility. AI systems learn from experience,
to put it in basic terms. For example, consider a chess program.
A "dumb" program has a limited number of moves and strategies. Once you
figure out what strategies it doesn't know, you'll beat the program
every time. An AI chess program not only learns from its mistakes,
but also (if it's "smart" enough) tries to figure out what strategies
you don't know. The program makes changes to suit the user.
Apply this to your workstaion. An AI program manager will figure
out which settings you prefer, how you like to be addressed, etc.
In effect, you'd have to train your AI system. This takes time, maybe
a week or so for the system to adjust to your needs. In that week,
think of how much time you have to spend away from actual work!
Well, what if your brand new AI system had already been
trained with a few standard routines? Perhaps the company that
produced the AI has a good reputation for training AI systems.
Or even better, maybe you can get this AI from another company,
so it already has some experience in the workplace. A list of
what it knows would come with it, and you could work with it a
little to see if it suits you...
Training? A list of skills? That's right folks, these
are analogs to college, prior work experience, a resume, and an
interview session. As our computers get smarter, we'll have to
choose them with care like we choose any employee.
But consider this one last analogy. Let's say the president
of the company has an AI system that becomes inoperable for some
reason. The president has to get a new system. Is he going to
get a system from outside the company that knows only the standard
business routines but none specifically for his company? More likely
he'll request a system from one of the department heads, a system
that has shown it can handle the responsibilities the president will
place on it.
So think about what you're going to do when, in the future,
your workstation gets a promotion before you do.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
^
* ^ ^ ^
* For God and King... / \_/ \_/ \
<*******> |* # * # *|
* By Russell Hutchison .~~~~~~~~~~~.
* (' ' ' ' ' ')
* .~~~~~~~~~~~.
*
V
Philip drew the bow string back until it gently touched his right
cheek. He looked down the ash arrow shaft and brought the sharp steel point
on line with the peasants back. The white mist from his breath lightly blued
his vision as he adjusted his aim to deal with the slope he has shooting up.
Exhaling, he let go of the string when his arm steadied, then inhaled as the
shot sailed to its target. The flight of the arrow was short, only fifteen
paces at most. The man was hit before he could react to the sound of the
whistling shaft. The arrow buried itself up to its fletching in the man's back,
then he slid forward off the log he had been sitting on, landing out of his
killer's view. A scream of terror originated from the other people sitting
around the fire ring.
Philip had nocked a second arrow and aimed, then fired at a bearded
man who stood up to run from the ring. The shaft skewered the man lower than
Philip had intended, coming to rest in his abdomen. He went tumbling down the
hill towards Philip, moaning in pain. Drawing his broad sword, the archer
stood up from his hiding place behind a fallen log and stepped forward to put
the man out of his misery. He forced the wounded man on to his back with his
foot, stood on the man's shoulder to keep him from moving, and drove the sword
through the ragged shirt to his heart. Philip was glad that the his eyes had
been closed, he doubted he could have killed him if they had locked gazes.
Philip retrieved his bow from the crusty snow and walked up the hill
to the abandoned fire ring. He smelled burning hair. He stepped over the log
and looked at the man he had killed. There were three other bodies in the camp
and Philip could hear his fellow Norman and archer, Rift, coming down from his
position up slope. One was a man lying with his face in the fire coals, an
arrow through his throat. The second was a young woman, pinned to the tree she
had been leaning against by a shaft through her heart. Bright life-blood was
running from her mouth, and the shaft was still vibrating from its strike. The
last body was that of a female child, which had been sitting on the lap of his
first victim when Philip's arrow had struck. Both were dead, connected by
the thin wooden stick.
Philip's stomach turned at the sight of the innocent dead. He felt no
compassion for the slain men, after all, the Normans had just taken over
England and Philip was used to the face of war. But grief at the sight of the
dead women filled his belly. He doubled over and retched.
A boot kick knocked the sick man over. Rift towered above him. "Stop
that, weakling! These people have killed our brothers and sons, cutting their
throats in the night! They must be taught to bend to our rule. Great William,
the Conqueror, has given me these lands to govern in his name and I'll break
these people to my will. Now get up, a girl got away. You will track and kill
the child. Bring me her head or I'll take yours!"
"Your're a butcher Rift, I can't believe that I followed you out here
to slaughter women and children. I think God sent me along to see what you've
become. Since you lost your son at Hastings your heart has been dead. Killing
Saxons won't make them loyal subjects, only killers like you!"
Rift's hands shook with anger as he screamed. "Traitor, weakling,
If you don't kill when I command, you'll die when I command!" Raising his bow
with arrow nocked, Rift aimed for Philip's heart. Philip sprung up as fast as
he could, trying to get to Rift with sword before the arrow flew. Rift
realized his problem and fired before he came back fully on mark. The shaft
lodged in Philip's midsection but he was still able to step close enough to
strike back. Rift couldn't back up fast enough on the slick snow and his throat
was cut open. Both men crumpled to the ground. Philip knew that the wound was
fatal, he was skewered though the liver, while Rift's life pumped away
unchecked on the snow.
In his dying hours Philip consoled himself though the pain.
Telling himself that God had sent him to stop the madman and make peace
between Saxons and King.
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
^ ^
Walking Alone In A Wet Autumn Night / \ / \
(_) (_)
Closed, cluttered quarters, relinquished control
Captive by chance and exacting it's toll
Remove conversation
Regain affirmation ^
Walking alone in a wet autumn night / \
(_) ^
Dark, like a comfort, a safe place to hide / \
The mist held my face in her arms as I cried (_)
Remove all the sound
Shoes pummel the ground ^
Walking alone in a wet autumn night / \
(_)
The dew in the grass is soaking my feet
I've come here for answers to questions complete
Remove just the fear
A healing draws near
Walking alone in a wet autumn night
This love in my life lies gently with me ^
Possessing a strength not easy to see / \
I'll seek out her light (_)
Relinquish this fight
By walking alone in a wet autumn night
________________________________________________________________________________
Bob Wilson
bobw@ncatfyv.uark.edu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
____-^^^^^^-____
: PLASMA :
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Steven Peterson
The first sound Rico heard that morning was the soft pit-pat of rain
on the window next to his bed. The peace of the morning didn't last long
however - a rude, ugly rapping on the door signalled the end of his
brief fugue state.
Mr. Lowell, the friendly agent of the housing authority gestapo
boomed in his less-than tender voice, "C'MON RICO, THE 21ST CENTURY
AIN'T FREE - WHERE'S YOUR RENT?"
Rico really didn't want to deal with Lowell's intrusion, but felt
compelled to get it over with. Reaching for his pants he shouted "IN A
MINUTE, LOWELL, I'VE GOT YOUR RENT!"
Half-dressed, Rico began searching for his wallet, the one
containing his severance pay from his most recent worthless service job.
Finding it, he opened the door a crack and faced Lowell, "I'm gonna need
a receipt for this."
"Yeah, I know," Lowell fished the book out of his back pocket and began
scribbling, "heard about your latest fiasco, what you gonna do for work
now, slick?"
"Goddam E-Mail," Rico felt his blood begin to boil, "ain't nothin'
private anymore".
"Not as long as you live here, buddy". Lowell's standard response.
The exchange completed, Rico turned his thoughts toward answering
Lowell's snide question. Cooking and cleaning seemed his destiny -
school just didn't seem a likely avenue for him. Another trip to the Job
Service Corps, then another round on the application circuit, finished
off by a trip to the Plasma Center (Gotta put somethin' in my belly
today). Altogether, a busy day.
Resenting the whole stinkin' prospect, Rico took a short inventory:
wallet cleaned out by Lowell, unemployed and adrift in the city, hungry -
not a lot to cherish. Somehow the t.v.'s message of hope and the
"dawning of a new century" didn't offer much comfort, or hope for that
Amatter. Looking out the window, Rico's reality of rain and drudgery
seemed to manifest itself in the hunched, hurried posture of the
pedestrians down below. As Rico threw on his coat and grabbed his keys,
he took one last glance out the window and muttered, "no shit the 21st
century ain't free".
Opening the door to the Job Service Corps lobby, the scent of too
many people and too much frustration assaulted his soul:
"Whattya mean I got no benefits left!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but that's all we have available today."
"Next."
"Look Man, if I don't get somethin', they gonna revoke my lease."
A couple hours of this would drive Rico right into downtown
bluesville. Thinking better of it, Rico decided to skip it - it could
wait a day or two. And besides, he had heard The Blue Oyster needed a
new dishdog. What the hell, it was on the way to the Plasma Center
anyway.
Back out on the street, Rico started walking east, into the rain,
wishing he had an umbrella. At least the panhandlers were hiding out in
the doorways and bus stations - although they usually sensed he was a
poor target, he just wasn't in the mood.
Fourteen blocks and fourteen hundred puddles later, Rico found
himself in front of the Oyster. Looking down at his grungy shoes,
feeling the cold dampness of his feet, he felt ready to play the part.
Dad always said, "in every town in America, there are jobs that go
begging - they're usually hard, dirty jobs, but if you're willing to
work hard, there's something out there".
Walking in the door (squishing actually), Rico started to head for
the kitchen. The bartender gave him a sidelong glance, then went back to
washing his collection of glassware. Poking his head through the swinging
doors, he found who he was looking for, the manager. Catching his eye,
Rico asked, "you still lookin' for a dishdog". Hoping his tone of voice
was appropriate, Rico did his best to maintain eye contact.
The manager gave him a long, judgemental look and replied, "not
today, c'mon back tomorrow, might have something for ya then".
Ducking back out of the doorway, Rico took his time walking toward
the exit - the smell of the food (seafood, hardly his favorite) was
getting to him. The grumbling of his stomach quickly reminded him of his
next stop on this ugly little tour - the Plasma Center. Dodging a
waitress, he made it to the door and stepped back out into the rain.
Squishing his way eastward, Rico panicked for a moment - he forgot
his pennies - the ones he always carried in his pockets to the Center in
order to beat the weight restriction. A hundred and twenty pounds. Then
he remembered his shoes - the water might do it ... it would have to.
As he approached the Center, Rico once again reflected on the one
positive effect of AIDS - clean human plasma kept rising in value.
Finally, there was a profit in celibacy. A small one, granted, but Rico
didn't have to work hard to stay "clean". Half a C-note for ninety minutes -
not bad. Unfortunately, Rico, like everybody else, could only "donate" once
a week. The nurses say that the cut-back from the old twice-a-week schedule
is due to testing requirements, but secretly Rico believed that it was just
a way of easing the regulars into the era of synth-blood.
Opening yet another door, Rico was pleased to see that the usual
line wasn't there - that's what he called service. Walking up to the
window, Rico looked at the fat nurse and gave his name and file number.
She looked down at her desk and sternly stated, "no appointment,
I take it".
Once again, Rico glanced at his wet shoes and then replied, "no
ma'am".
Looking up from her pad, the nurse, who actually enjoyed this
routine began the round of usual questions:
"Any drugs or alcohol in the last forty-eight hours?"
"Any unprotected sexual contacts since your last visit?"
"Any health problems since your last visit?"
"Any IV procedures ..."
As they went through the list, Rico gave the appropriate answers
while avoiding eye-contact with the nurse (or anyone else for that
matter). Finishing the Q and A session, the nurse asked Rico to please
step on the scale located next to where he was standing. Rico hated the
fact that the only read-out was on the other side of the glass. The
suspense of the moment gnawed at his spirit while he stood on the
platform, feeling like meat in the hands of a butcher.
"Okay, please have a seat until your name is called", the nurse
seemed somehow disappointed as she spoke, her role in the game finished.
Rico stepped back, savoring the knowledge that the water in his
shoes did the trick - it was always a close call.
Finding a "Tear-Sheet Times", Rico sat down on one of the hard
plastic chairs and read about the latest indiscretion of some senator -
something about legislating personal profits. Glancing around
the room, Rico noticed the few who were there hiding behind their
tear-sheets - the stigma of selling your blood would probably never be
extinguished, there is just something primal and slightly unpleasant
associated with the practice.
After twenty minutes or so, another nurse appeared and called out
Rico's name. Still relieved at making the weight, Rico preferred not to
think about the needle, the big one they use for the procedure. Following
the nurse into the "big room", Rico mentally prepared himself for the next
steps in the process. Blood pressure, pulse, the sample drawn from a finger.
Easing himself into the Barcolounger, Rico began his habitual practice of
"anywhere but here", a personal form of meditation he used to block out the
sensation of pain as they slip the needle into a vein.
The nurse, interpreting Rico's disassociation as fear, attempted to
draw him out. Adopting that "nursy" tone she said, "this will only hurt
for a second", and with that she sank the spike.
Despite his attempt to remain in a momentary fugue, Rico sensed
there was a problem - it was taking too long. Looking down at his arm
as if it were someone else's, Rico watched the nurse manipulate the
needle, trying to find the vein. She was rapidly losing her professional
demeanor, panic had clearly set in, and it was catching. Adrenaline
began to flood Rico's body as the nurse pulled the needle out.
The nurse, shaken by her apparent failure, looked at Rico and said,
"I'll be right back". She nearly tripped fleeing Rico's side, beating a
path to the office in the corner. Momentarily, she returned with what must
have been her supervisor. The "head nurse" gave Rico one of her best smiles
and told him, "I'm afraid if we try that again, we'll collapse the
vein".
"Collapse the vein", what the hell did that mean? Rico thought
about asking, then decided not to.
The nurses began to move the blood-bags over to the other side of
his lounger and the head nurse told Rico, "we're going to try again with
your other arm". At least the first nurse had regained her composure -
apparently the problem was due to Rico's vein, not her technique.
Rico didn't share her relief, however, he was stuck on the concept
"collapsed vein".
Reflexively, Rico began his "meditation", preferring not to pay
attention to what the nurses were doing. He'd never been stuck in the
left arm, and wasn't relishing the thought. Once again, the first nurse
sensed his withdrawal and tried to break his concentration - "are you
feeling okay?". Rico's first impulse was to give her a brutally honest
response (would I be here in the first place...), but he just smiled and
said, "yeah, I think so".
Reassured, the nurse prepped his other arm: asking him to flex his
muscles, applying the antiseptic, looking for the vein. Rico thought
about Lowell for some reason, he didn't know exactly why, just a
recurring wave of resentment. Finally, the nurse tried to insert the needle.
Rico felt the familiar pinched sensation of the flesh giving way to steel
and tried to ignore it. He found that experiencing a familiar pain in a new
place was unsettling - his concentration broke. The pain immediately felt
different somehow, and when he looked at the nurse, he saw the same
panicked look as before.
"Problem?" he asked. The nurse, without looking up, said, "I think
so, I can't seem to find this vein either".
The head nurse took the other's place and attempted to sink the
spike. Tapping on his arm and narrowing her eyes, she renewed the attack
on Rico's left arm. She glanced up at the first nurse and said, "Get
some ice packs, he's done".
At this, Rico felt his world (and his stomach) closing in upon
themselves. Done. Let go. Fired. The perennial judgement of the world.
Somehow he had managed to screw even this up. After being rejected by
the vampires, where do you go?
The nurse tilted his lounge back and placed some ice-packs on his
chest - "one of our doctors is going to take a look at you before you
leave, just to make sure you're okay".
Shock takes many forms: physically, Rico would recover from the
small holes and insulted veins; psychically, no one recovers from total
personal devaluation.
They bandaged his arms and sent Rico home with the last of the
Plasma money he would ever earn. Or ever need.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
/------------\
|The Final Word|
\------------/
After reading this issue I realized that the stories contained with
in have very strong undertones of death and destruction. One must realize
that these stories, poems, ect. we
re written during finals week and I
guess someone just had to die.
We here at ICS sometimes get a bit busy and once in a blue moon
something gets by our meticulous editing staff. We here at ICS would like
to apologize for one such incident. The First Opinion in Issue 7-1 by Ted
Sanders generated a lot of response. We thank those who responded and we will
print some of the more intelligent and humorous responses.
Ted Sanders has left ICS in order to explore the "Real World". We wish
him luck at whatever he does. We now have a new Managing Editor, Steven
Peterson has taken an important post and so far has done a remarkable job.
He will start doing the first and final words as well as other things.
Deva Winblood is back with a vengence and while helping us with our
reorganization (he would also like to write some more Ask Deva columns).
However, he doesn't know what you want to hear about. So, if you have any
question on the net, computers, or the meaning of life please E-mail them to
us and I'll make sure Deva answers them.
This final bit is a welcome and a thank you to our readers. We want to
welcome all our new subscribers. Believe me there were a lot of you, and
we're glad to have you aboard. I would also like to thank all the people
who sent in submissions during the last two weeks. I promise that we will
print them as soon as my new managing editor gets a chance to look at them.
Please keep the submissions coming. The quality is great as is the gratitude
from our frail writers.
Enjoy your week, and as usual, we will graciously accept all flames,
comments, or other material right here at ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU
Sincerely,
rApIeR
(Technical Director)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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