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Pa1n No 09
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P A 1 N M A G A Z I N E V O L U M E N U M B E R N I N E
___________________________________________________________________
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"We don't need to try to change the world,
only our perception of it's boundaries."
[--- -------------- PA1N STAFF ------------ ---] .-$$$$$$-.
.$$' '$$.
editor in chief alienbinary $; ;$
co-editor Turnspike ;; ;; .
deputy co-editor angel ice ;; $$
Editor Nemisis $$ .$$ i
Contributor mephyt '$$. .$$ |
Editor Manuel O'Kelly '$$z___.4$$$' |
Editor Red Dragon .$$' .
Contributor Kello .$$' |
Loki Editor Danger Girl .$$' |
Follow the... White Rabbit .$$' - - ---+-
Contributor Artemis .$$' |
Bandwidth Cartel Leader Cheezi _.z$$' !
AWOL Rumbling Sky |
---------------------------------------------------------------------------i-
'
- --- ----- - ----- Table of Discontent - ----- ---- -- +-
'
- PA1Nv9x01 --- Letter From the Editor alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x02 --- Letter From the Co-Editor Turnspike ---
- PA1Nv9x03 --- The IT Cycle of Abuse alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x04 --- Adventures in Warspying Part One Turnspike ---
- PA1Nv9x05 --- Project Loki Archives, Pt. 5 alienbinary ---
- --- Danger Girl ---
- PA1Nv9x06 --- Still Life Artemis ---
- PA1Nv9x07 --- The Love it Or Leave It Syndrome alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x08 --- Rescue mephyt ---
- PA1Nv9x09 --- Bring on the Harmful Matter alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x10 --- Kello's Wardriving FAQ: Part Two Kello ---
- PA1Nv9x11 --- Competency Manuel O'Kelly ---
- PA1Nv9x12 --- Spring Broken alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x13 --- RANTRADIO IRC, March 2004 Rantradio IRC ---
- PA1Nv9x14 --- Watching the Snow alienbinary ---
- PA1Nv9x15 --- Outro alienbinary ---
PA1N soundtrack!
1. RantRadio Industrial - 128k http://www.rantradio.com/rr-industrial128.pls
2. Rantradio Industrial - 24k http://www.rantradio.com/rr-industrial24.pls
3. Rantradio Punk - 128 kbps http://www.rantradio.com/rr-punk128.pls
4. Rantradio Talk - 64 kbps http://www.rantradio.com/rr-talk64.pls
5. Rantradio Talk - 24 kbps http://www.rantradio.com/rr-talk24.pls
Contact PA1N.
Editor in Chief: alienbinary - pain@e-lite.org
Co-Editor: Turnspike - turnspike@spfd2600.org
Deputy Co-Editor: angel ice - angel_ice@e-lite.org
Explanation of the mail hierarchy: For the most part, TS and
I handle the bulk of PA1N related email, however, all three
of the addresses above will make it to the right sources. My
address is always open for any sort of email, but I cannot
handle everything necessarily. If your article is of a purely
news-related nature, it would be best to contact Turnspike,
who has the majority of the past six billion events in human
history hardcoded into his brain. Anyone feeling adventurous
can submit letters about previous issues to angel ice, but
keep in mind that the really juicy ones might find themselves
in print.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x01-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 1 ]
[ Letter From the Editor ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 1 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x01
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
"Fill the seats of justice with good men,
not so absolute in goodness as to forget
what human frailty is."
-- Thomas Noon Talfourd
The world is full of people that can only think of new ways to throw the
same stupid rocks at people who try and build something, and ultimately die
having never accomplished something to be proud of. These naysayers are petty
people, they have little to offer the world, and I would very much like to
ignore them and move on. But what happens when one of these individuals does
something that directly impacts on your way of life, and how you see the world?
What happens when one of these Nietzchian 'shitheels' tries to destroy the life
you live, but usurping the only things that matter to you? The first response
is one of retaliation. It's only natural. If someone wants to come get some,
then they must realize that they're going to encounter a world of opposition
from not just me, but what I stand for, and who I stand with.
In the time that this issue of PA1N Magazine has been in production, there
have been a couple of direct attacks on me, or people who, as I said, I stand
with. To stand with someone is to devote a part of yourself to looking after
that person's wellbeing. I've come to realize in the last few days, that this
isn't as easy as it sounds. In fact, this is unendurably difficult for the most
part, and it's so easy to just look at someone's actions as black and white,
right or wrong. It's also rather self defeating to do this. Instead, I've had
to try and see why people do what they do, and I've realized that although I
won't stand for an attack, I cannot but pity these wretches for their lack of
scope and moral developement. To put it a completely different way: fuck them.
They aren't worth being aggravated over.
What is worth all the aggravation, effort, toil and hardship is learning to
put every single thing you have into standing by the people that matter to you,
even when it seems that their actions are so confused, you don't know what
you're standing by. It's actually not so complicated in this sense. What we are
standing by is the knowledge that when we made up our minds that a person was
worth befriending, we accepted that they were not perfect. We accepted every
single aspect of who they were, are, and will be; and therefore, we love them
despite their shortcomings or seemingly hurtful actions.
I cannot stress enough, the older I get, that in this world, it's almost
impossible to find someone with which you connect on a higher level of
awareness; someone so special that you know are actively thinking about them no
matter what you are doing. On this silly little planet, there are billions of
people, and maybe one, if we're lucky, will understand us through and through.
These people will make mistakes, just as you will, just as I have. To punish
someone for being so blatantly human is not just cruel, it's completely
assenine. I don't intend to come off as some scholar or saint, I'm far from
either. I'm just tired of the goddamn apathy that exists in society under every
fucking rock and behind every stone wall and in every crack in the brickwork.
We are surrounded by people who would run their best friends through to get a
leg up in the world, and it's a sickening prospect. In addition, we're
surrounded by these self righteous morons who see no reason in letting a simple
mistake go by. To people who think they are so goddamn perfect that they can
discard a person after they have stumbled; I say fuck you. Go away, get out of
my world, get out of our world. This is our world. The community that is
growing like wildfire through rantradio, spfd2600 (in fact, the entire 2600
hacker community), e-lite communications, etc., can no longer stand to tolerate
people who think that they are so special they can disregard the feelings and
overall goodness of someone.
This community I see growing every second of the day will thrive only if we
put our differences aside and recognize positive goals, and understand that we
can reach them together, and that we must work together to see these tasks
through. The only way that humanity will ever evolve is if it stops being so
petty, greedy, and nihlistic. In a word, they must move away from "traditional"
society. Tradition can be a great thing, it can also be a terrible, barbaric
concept. In china, footbinding was a normal tradition. Such a fantastic fucking
tradition, that it crushed the feet of any female subjected to this torture.
Only when it was realized that both genders are entitled to be treated like
human beings did this stupid tradition end. The result of this shirking of bad
tradition was a rennaissance in women's rights. I'll be the first to admit that
the Republic of China's Communist Government has nowhere near what I would call
a concept of human rights, but nevertheless, the abolition of this practice was
a good thing. With that in mind, what can we see in our own culture that can
go? What things do we do to eachother just because it's "the way things work?"
To evolve as a society, we must root out these things and abolish them, so
that we can truly move forward as equals and try and fix the mistakes of the
past, put an end to the mistakes of the present, and prevent the future of
humanity from becoming a complete and utter travesty. We cannot let other
people think for us. It's time to move on, it's time to move forward. Let's
give those people who say it cannot be done something to suck on. Let's leave
them in the dust. This is PA1N, a Magazine born out of the rantradio and
cyberpunk culture, the written voice of a generation that refuses to tolerate
apathy any longer. Enjoy our world of PA1N. We're not going to stop trying to
make the world a better place, because we're not as weak as they think we are.
In fact, the more they test our strength, the more they realize it's beyond
their capacity to fathom.
March, 2004. alienbinary.
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PA1Nv9x02-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 2 ]
[ Letter From the Co-Editor ]
[ Turnspike ]
[ 2 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x02
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
After writing my warspying article, I was at a complete loss for what I
should write for this issues co-editor piece. For inspiration, I turned to
Scott Pakin's Complaint Generator at http://www.pakin.org/complaint/
After entering who the complaint should be directed to and the number of
paragraphs I wanted, it churned out this:
"I, not being one of the many rabid, sleazy misguided-types of this world, will
not waste my time criticizing or insulting the RIAA as
1) it is unlikely to change, and
2) the RIAA probably revels in the letters of shock and
repulsion that it regularly receives.
Instead, I will focus on its frightful utterances, which, after all, are
the things that display an irreconcilable hatred toward all nations. What
follows is a set of observations I have made about pathological cheapskates.
To put it another way, it's the RIAA's belief that my letters demonstrate a
desire to destabilize society. I can't understand how anyone could go from
anything I ever wrote to such a scary idea. In fact, my letters generally make
the diametrically opposite claim, that an organization that wants to get ahead
should try to understand the long-range consequences of its actions. The RIAA
has never had that faculty. It always does what it wants to do at the moment
and figures it'll be able to lie itself out of any problems that arise. Some
readers may doubt that the RIAA is acrimonious enough to make human life
negligible and cheap. So let me provide some evidence. But before I do, let me
just say that it wants to get me thrown in jail. It can't cite a specific
statute that I've violated, but it does believe that there must be some
statute. This tells me that throughout history, there has been a clash between
those who wish to straighten out the RIAA's thinking and those who wish to
bring ugliness and nastiness into our lives. Naturally, the RIAA belongs to the
latter category.
The RIAA should pay for its mistakes. That being the case, we indeed can infer
that the RIAA has, at times, called me "barbaric" or "vexatious". Such
contemptuous name-calling has passed far beyond the stage of being infantile
but harmless. It has the capacity to agitate for indoctrination programs in
local schools. This is not the same as saying that this should not and need not
be the case, although that, too, is true. Needless to say, in the RIAA's
complaints, Dadaism is witting and unremitting, ophidian and uppity. It revels
in it, rolls in it, and uses it to attack everyone else's double standards. Now
that this letter has come to an end, I hope you walk away from it realizing
that we are in trouble when hitherto reputable people replace our natural soul
with an artificial one."
Now I know the accuracy and forsight of this generator ranks up there with
the Psychic Friends Network, but you gotta love how it skirts with the truth.
It's scary that I could probably pass it off as such, and there would be
sheeple out there hanging on every word as if it was the gospel. Propaganda is
such a scary thing.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x03-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 3 ]
[ The IT Cycle of Abuse ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 3 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x03
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
I came home from work only to find that my trusty and very dusty powerbook
had been given an airplane ride across my crumbling dorm room, much to the
mutual displeasure of both the laptop and myself. This wasn't entirely unusual
those days, to find that several of my possessions had been launched directly
at an unforgiving brick or drywall surface only to be left there, or replaced
poorly in their previous positions of inactivity as if nothing had happened. I
was living with a lot of different people, best described when you understand
the word different as a euphemism. Some of these people were just downright
aggravating, others eccentric, but the majority were probably and probably
still are completely and utterly out of their skulls.
Work that day had consisted of a dozen or so overheating computer towers in
various states of entropy due to constant abuse as you're wont to find in an
office. Particularly an office where a lot of people with short tempers work,
and one where people telephone in to bother the workers at all times of the day
just because they can. Machines have usurped the whipping boy, it seems, as
recipients of constant abuse. Having a collection of alarm clocks that stopped
working once I put my front most knuckles through them, I wasn't surprised to
find the same sort of treatment on computers. The average PC is designed with
thriftiness in mind, and by thriftiness, I mean cheap. By cheap, at least in
the context of the office I was an IT technician for, I mean junked.
I had spent the majority of the day at the office pounding down cups of
instant coffee and I'd plowed through two packs of Camel filters and I was
starting in on the remainder of a pack of Parliament lights. As an aside, for
those of you that don't know this, light cigarettes are no less dangerous than
the ones that are open about their lethal qualities. Lights just don't taste as
good. Every screen in the facility had been showing several instances of that
animation sequence programmed into McAfee antivirus where a hand appears
holding a squirming insect to represent a computer virus. The dialog was
supposed to ask if you wanted to dispose of the bug. I had to wonder about the
logic of the programmers who designed this. After all, who the hell clicks
"cancel" and allows the virus to go on about it's destruction? Shouldn't it be
more like "waxed another one. Go about your business."? This would be a lot
less enervating and might even provide some job satisfaction for those of us
who have to whore ourselves out to Information Technology.
Returning back to the dorm room, letting myself in with the master key I
had stolen from one of the staff members at the school I was staying at, I
expected to go upstairs, dig in my drawer for some unused hypnotic or sedatives
and go the hell to sleep. I was cranky and I felt like an underappreciated
father who comes back to find a cold, unthawed slab of meat instead of dinner,
and that all the kids have taken to playing cowboys and indians amongst the
fine china cases. I walked into the room, immediately noticed that the power
coupling from my singular source of refuge, a powerbook 3400c, had been
dislodged from it's latex epidermis, with all the entrails and vitals sticking
out like a car crash victim's leg gone the wrong direction.
At this point, I did something completely out of character, and I just put
the machine down and left the building. I wasn't ready to deal with this. My
tar level was too low, because I could taste the blood in my throat and I
wasn't ready to confront whoever had sent my favorite computer hurtling across
the room, despite the fact that it wasn't built for such exercise. I just
wanted to go get some water and smoke. This wasn't something I could deal with.
When I returned, my thoughts on the matter had become more clear, and I
realized that I was correct in assuming that the person who had attempted to
murder my laptop was the same person who had commandeered my desk chair so he
could sit on it and pound into the leather for emphasis. He was being an
asshole. I looked at my roommate with the kind of look you give someone when
they trip you and yell at you for falling. He shrugged and left the room,
presumably to go outside and think of something to do, since he didn't smoke.
In his wake, the person I was trying to be mad at was moving fast, annoyed that
I was in his way.
You have to understand that there's nothing you can do about it when a
person goes into a bipolar rage state and decides to turn your stuff into
confetti. I know this now, as I knew it then, since I had been working with
bipolar people for a little while, and I had been living with quite a few for
the better of two years. Confronting a person post rage-state is like
questioning a witness as a suspect. You get nowhere, because all the endorphins
bind to the memories and it becomes one giant misunderstanding. Chances are, he
wouldn't really remember the entire thing, and if I yelled at him, he'd go off
on me for having the audacity to leave my stuff in harms way, even when harm's
way consisted of the shelter of my own private room on my own desk, with a sign
that said "do not touch."
I felt a blast of cold air and I turned around to see my roommate and
before I could ask him what happened, he just told me that the kid had gotten
into one of his fits, and threw my computer. I asked him why, of all the things
in my room, he picked the thing I valued most. He didn't know. Apparently the
kid said sorry, though.
I called Apple that night, and they told me that no, I couldn't order a
replacement power coupling, because it was a legacy system since the
introduction of the G3 processor had just made the PowerPC obsolete. I could
have them custom fabricate one, but it would cost me about a grand. After I
told them, less matter of factly than I'm relaying it down here, that I didn't
have a grand, since I had been away when the thing was broken working at a
nonprofit organization volunteering, they let me in on something. "That sucks."
This was not sage advice, even coming from a tech support representative.
Walking back to my room, I thought about what had happened that day, as I
tried to put the table in the upper lounge back together. I would have let it
stay in it's splintered state for someone else to see, but I was the one who
had drop-kicked it into it's current disposition. Actually, I think I might
have thrown it at the wall, just like that kid had done to my computer.
If a child has a traumatic event in his childhood, there is an increased
risk that he or she, too, will become the perpetrator of deviant behavior,
often mimicking the abuse later on. This was the sociology homework I had to do
that night. It all fit together so well, that I perpetuated the cycle of abuse
and threw the book out the second floor window at someone smoking a bowl.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x04-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 4 ]
[ Adventures in Warspying Part One ]
[ Turnspike ]
[ 4 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x04
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
We had discussed it for a while now, and read the article about it in 2600
magazine, so Kello and I became motivated to try scanning for wireless cameras,
also called warspying. Maybe because warDRIVING was getting kinda old, or maybe
because it was still a little cold for dumpster diving. Anyway, I began
gathering eqipment, and a week and $55 later we were ready to try our hand at
it.
Although we read about several elaborate warspying rigs, we decided to go
the cheap route at first, so I bought an X10 reciever from ebay for $12, a 5
inch black and white TV from Hack Shack for $40, and a few adapters. Kello had
a spare RF modulator to bridge the gap between our cheap TV and the X10
receiver, so now we were good to go.
We gathered Friday at our 2600 meeting, and displayed our gear to the
group. I brought some copies of a warspying article I found in the New York
Times a while back so everybody could get a better idea about what we are
doing. After the meet, Kello, Wifigurl, Druakara, and myself, did a final check
of the gear and went in search of wireless video feeds.
We started our search in a residential area. Having very little experience
with wireless video, we had no idea what to expect from our reciever. Our first
concern was that the X10 reciever can switch between 4 different channels (A B
C and D). We would like to assume that everyone would by default use channel A,
but we don't want to miss a feed, so Kello manualy switched channels as I
drove. Our second concern was that the antenna was directional, so Kello
manually moved the antenna side to side as I drove slowly. As you can imagine,
I was busy with driving, and Kello was busy working the reciever, so Wifigurl
and Druakara kept close watch on the monitor from the backseat. The monitor
flickered often, but we were confused if this was because we were picking up
faint video signals, recieving interference from other 2.4 ghz devices, such as
wireless access points, or if it was a result of the way the RF modulator was
feeding the signal in. Occasionally the screen turned black and looked like the
reciever had locked into a signal, but since we were warspying after midnight,
rooms can be pitch black, or perhaps we wen't picking up a feed at all. Getting
a little frustrated, we cruised some commercial streets and the parking lots of
a few strip malls with the same luck. Even a drive around the local University
yeilded nothing. Since we were in the neighborhood, we stopped by to talk to
Shagz (fellow 2600 member), and a friend of his gave us a tip to check another
nearby college. There we had the same problems, but did get more solid black
screens. By this time Kello had given up on switching channels and sweeping the
antenna, and it was getting late anyway, so we headed back, still running the
equipment as we went. Several blocks down a main thorughfare, a clear picture
popped onto the screen. I think we all saw it at the same time, and I pulled
off the road the first chance I could, into a motel's parking lot. There was a
little rejoicing, some picture taking, and then we tried to figure out where
the camera was. it took only a few minutes to realize that the camera was at
the motel's office, only 40 feet in front of us, where the clerk was typing on
a computer in the window. Since our parking spot was conspicious, we left the
area as soon as possible, and decided to end the night on a high note.
After evaluating our night, we figured out that the RF modulator Kello has
will only interrupt and output to the TV when it recieves a strong signal. This
is a smart idea for an entertainment system, but we needed to see even faint
signals to hunt down our video feeds. So the next day I searched ebay for
something simpler, and won an older Archer RF modulator for 5 bucks. It arrived
before the week's end, so I returned to Springfield for more action. With the
modulator on full-time, I picked up two video feeds on the way to Kello's crib;
one showing the front door of a local car wash, and the second was the
storefront of a dancewear store. With Kello and Wifigurl in tow, we headed to
Shagz house. On the way we began to pick up another signal, so I pulled into
the parking lot of a stip mall. the picture came in very clear. We saw a
parking lot and two lights, and after Kello coaxed me into driving a little
farther into the lot, we saw the car as well. I turned the car around until I
could see my headlights shine the brightest and using this method, I drove
straight to the cam where it sat in the window of an insurance office.
Over the next few days, we hunted down video feeds all over the place: pawn
shops, banks, residential, churches, restraunts, and factories. Kello became
an expert at reading faint signals as they broke accross the monitor. This is
all good, but we know our equipment is still primative, so now it's time to
upgrade again. I have an RCA to USB adaptor ordered so we can use the laptop
instead of the black and white TV. And although there is very little
information online about warspying, we did find plans to modify a reciever to
scan the entire 2.4 ghz broadcast band:
http://www.ringolake.com/pic_proj/wavecom/wavecom_rx.html
In addition to this, we intend to add an external antenna (probably a patch
panel) to the reciever, and we are looking into a signal amplifier that we read
mentioned in the New York Times article. Our search for further information
online is a little frustrating, with only a handful of sources repeated over
and over again. This article will represent 1 of 3 articles that are searchable
online at this writing. There will undoubtably be more to follow as more people
learn about warspying, but for now, in order to facillitate disscussions, we
have set-up a warspying section in the forum at SPFD2600 here:
http://www.spfd2600.org/fhome.asp
Warspying gives the geek Galileo yet another world to explore. And although
I have heard of complaints about the price of the equipment, our entire set-up
was no more than $60. If you are afraid of law enforcement, don't be.
Intercepting video is exempt from wiretap laws. It's only when you attempt to
recieve the audio that these cameras also carry, that those laws apply. So if
this sounds like your idea of fun, I strongly encourage you to try your hand at
it. We have already entertained ourselves for a few weekends with this. And
once our equipment upgrades are in, a scan of the entire city is in order.
Below is the two articles that preceeded this and pictures of our warspying
adventure. Cheers.
http://www.securityfocus.com/news/7931 --Kevin Poulsen's "Warspying" in San
Fransisco
New York Times April 14, 2002 Sect. 1 Column 1 Row 1 "Nanny-Cam May Leave a
Home Exposed"
Pictures:
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying01.jpg --monitor showing my
headlights pointing at a office cam
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying02.jpg --the office cam
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying03.jpg --a cam in a pawn shop
that turned out to be in a backroom adult video section.
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying06.jpg --a chinese restaurant
with a cam pointed at the door.
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying07.jpg --from the spot where
we took the above photo, our reception of their cam.
http://www.spfd2600.org/pics/Warspying/warspying10.jpg --a wireless cam
pointed out of a bank teller window
http://www.spfd2600.org/turnspike/equipment.jpg --RF modulator,
Monitor, and x10 reciever
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x05-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 5 ]
[ Project Loki Archives, Pt. 5 ]
[ Danger Girl and alienbinary ]
[ 5 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x05
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Here it is, yet another installment of the Project Loki Archives. Last
issue pulled itself together so well, I didn't have a chance to actually go out
with Danger Girl and pick out things for the issue. In the meantime, however,
we've both kept our eyes open and a couple of peculiar things have started up
around Boston's Berklee College of Music, on Mass Ave. For one, it seems that
someone has found a new use for postage labels, in addition to creating their
own style of abstract art. I should make a note to point out that, contrary to
popular beleif, abstract art is not just a bunch of lines or splotches on paper
or canvas. In order for something to be an abstraction, it has to have a basis
in realism as well. When you look at Picasso's "Portrait After Greco," you
could argue that the lines are arbitrary and it's just a poor excuse for a
portrait. You could, but I think you'd be missing the point.
In an abstraction, you take what you see, or an image in your mind, and you
make a representation of it that bears little resemblence to what it actually
"should" look like. Or, in the case of an idea, you use the lines and
brushstrokes to communicate an idea. I kind of feel a need to clarify this,
since a lot of people use the term "abstract art" to describe almost anything.
This is a misnomer. However, along Mass. Ave, from boston into roxbury, I've
noticed an enormous number of peices of abstract pseudo-animals built into tags
and put on postage stickers, stuck to everything. I gather there is more than
one artist in this particular group, since the styles do vary, and some peices
bear different signature tag lines. Regardless, it's made for a really couple
of dozen interesting walks, watching the results of some midnight prankster
affixing stickers to mailboxes and utility poles, creating a whole pantheon of
bizarre animals. Keep in mind, these are abstractions. But I have to say, a lot
of these are more cleverly done than some of the high brow art you find in
museums. In addition, right before the whole animal thing began, we happened
upon one of the stranger things I've seen. However, I'll show the menagerie
right now:
[ the menagerie. ]
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki10.jpg - This is one of the most
signature peices that I've found, since it bears the tag straight up, as a
voice bubble. You'll notice, there is only a single line thickness/quality,
suggesting it was done with one marker. I'd be interested to meet the person
who can come up with such a creature in just a few simple lines. Look at it
long enough, and you'll think of H.P. Lovecraft's smaller monsters.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki11.jpg - same image, different angle.
Notice how for some reason, the artist managed to make it look almost as if the
design belongs on the news vendor.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki13.jpg - The really great part about the
strategic placement of this sticker, is that when you take into account the
fact that the street it was on is a main artery of commerce, the word "sheep"
comes to mind...
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki16.jpg - This is a really slick peice. I
have to give credit to whoever Aura is, because the overall composition of this
peice is so well done, I kind of want to peel it off and put it on my wall.
Sometimes, when I'm looking at these peices, I feel like I've stepped into an
indy art show.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki6.jpg - Here's the work of another
artist who placed his "sheep" a little farther down. It's almost as if the
taggers of the greater boston area are holding a dialogue. One person starts
the thread by putting up the very first animal(ish) thing, then two days later,
you have a hundred or so replies. Kind of like a concrete jungle UseNet.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki7.jpg - I'm almost positive that this is
supposed to be elvis. You'll see the same design in a couple other pictures.
After a little while examining one of these I found in an independent
bookstore, I came to the conclusion that it's probably a silkscreen. The only
change in the image as it goes on is where it's placed, and the detail.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki8.jpg - Like I said, it seems as if
everyone's posting in a forum using graffiti. You'll notice, the elvis picture
is just below the "sheeple" picture.
Now, I'll have to admit, Danger Girl and I went running from store to store
to see if someone knew where the hell the following little dude came from. It
seemed to me at the time, and still does, strike me as a kind of cyberpunk
mascot. The quality of the vinyl stickers makes me question whether it's for
some band, or something similar, but whatever it is, Newbury Street found
itself peppered with these pictograms. It should be noted that the colors and
props in each instance varied due to location.
[ Mass insurrection. ]
Following some major party event, I really cant remember which, some
individual or individuals took it upon themselves to decimate an entire row of
vending machines for mainstream media publications. A guy I think I recognized
as an art professor from MassArt (I could be completely wrong, but he looked
damn familiar...) stopped to watch as I adjusted the aperture on my palm's
digital camera. He, Danger Girl, and I engaged in a short conversation about
the artistic method the looters threw everything around. It's important to
understand, there were no remnants of cars, so it didn't look like a car
accident, yet these things were BOLTED TO THE CONCRETE, or chained to the fence
behind them. If this was done by hand, they had enough hardware to sink a
rowboat.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki3.jpg - This was the first shot. I
couldn't not take a picture. Only once in a while does something like this
happen outside the confines of a mental institution like a college.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki4.jpg - so much for mainstream
newspapers as being favored over the underground publications. It looks like
someone finally got tired of reading newspapers written as if the editors were
under the assumption that all of their readers were at a fifth grade maximum
reading level.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki5.jpg - You get the idea.
[ monitor man. ]
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki17.jpg - This is the first time I saw
the character. I thought it was probably one of the coolest designs I'd ever
seen. The entire anatomy of this creature is comprised of computer and
electrical components. This pink and white design was put next to an ice cream
store. Keep that in mind as they change color and size.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki22.jpg - This has the clearest shot of
the creature. Here, strangely, he's turned red, and he's dropped his keyboard.
The irony is, this one was in a bookstore, right near the 2600 Issues.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki19.jpg - I think if I was sure that this
was nothing more than a tag, I'd get this as a tattoo. Now, remember what I
said about location? This one was place in front of the "Army Barracks"
Army/Navy surplus store. Whoever did this planned ahead.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki20.jpg - the bars above are the railings
to the store right below the barracks. Someone, for whatever reason, decided to
adorn the Army Barracks with it's own army of little monitor men. By the way,
this is all public property, not private. Whoever did this, unless they worked
for the city, was actually "vandalizing" in the eyes of law enforcement, so
it's unlikely that this was done by any of the businesses that got custom tags.
[ public service announcements. ]
It's always nice to see people finally putting up public service
announcements, or slightly modifying street signs to convey a different
message. Personally, I've always wanted to paste someone's face on the top of
the stick figure drawings you find on pedestrian crossing signs.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki15.jpg - I'll admit, I don't know what
this guy was trying to convey, because I'm unfamiliar with whoever the fuck
"roseland" is, but whatever it is, here's a pretty blatant image. It sort of
speaks for itself. I put it in here because of the political connotations.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki1.jpg - Finally someone found a solution
to the issue of all the increased air pollution and excess traffic. I've had
this photo in my archives for a while, but it only seemed appropriate in this
segment.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki14.jpg - This was right outside of a
"Wendy's." It should be noted that EVERY SINGLE CUSTOMER OBSERVED THE SIGN
before walking in. Some even decided against dining there. I think the next one
is a little more blatant.
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki12.jpg - This, I have to admit, made me
laugh out loud in the middle of the street causing a whole lot of people to
stare at Danger Girl, as if to say "is he with YOU?"
http://thorn.e-lite.org/loki/p9loki2.jpg - This doesn't need explanation.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x06-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 6 ]
[ Still Life ]
[ Artemis ]
[ 6 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x06
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
So I suppose you'd have to call me weird. I would prefer it to useless at
least. I wanted to be somewhere else. I'm pressing my nose against thick glass
staring into a fallen snow, age old trees who live a greater life than any of
us each day, and feeling the heat tease me in an awkward silence. The window
would fog up before me reminding me that all I'm likely doing is inhaling some
kind of dangerous fume from the window pane im almost biting. Sometimes It
seems very close to me , its array of twirling greens and blues flooding that
tiny round of land. Finally I am looking at a still life painting with a
meaning; with worth. It hangs there reminding me that it is easily in grasp but
something about it seems too crazy for life: The notion of living on an island
and I want to feel that.
From my skills with sea kayaking, I can tell its only about a mile and a
half off shore, maybe two miles of paddling: Not a big deal. I begin to get
into the technicalities of it. Get together the right friends, buy cheap
nonperishable food and waterproof bags, and fill our hatches with it. Strangely
enough, that ends the list. What? The average person needs more than that in
one minute. Need? Alright, not need. They think they do. I think a little
storybook called Society told us that. It would have been more useful if we had
all remembered the story of Cinderella. At least we would learn that you should
never live your life as just a housewife.
So I have got some hypothetical company, mediocre tasting food and a kayak;
maybe I would even splurge and bring an extra paddle. Now I just have to wait
for the right conditions; fairly clear skies, no white tips in the distance, I
can go now. I would get there and I could be free, looking back towards the old
shore. There I should stand on my new land of freedom. Sounds like deja vu to
me. Nonetheless, here I am with companions, sexual desire, food, and oh...I
forgot...shelter.
By now my mind has switched to the basic animal instincts still deep inside
of me. One of them being avoiding death at all costs. No danger I could think
of except the possibility of a storm marooning us without shelter or a chance
to be saved. Kayaking back in such a storm we hold the danger of capsizing with
no return. Staying on the island, we would have no shelter. We would be naked
and at mercy of a natural disaster. But my hope is to die naturally anyway. Not
by a histronic lunatic, not by some plague started by the carelessness of
mankind, not by rotting in a web of hospital needles, not anything but a
passing storm. To die here in the white sands of a paradise with no V's would
be beautiful in the romantic, hypothetical sense.
Let us continue hypothetically. So even at my young age, I wonder, so what
if I were to die on this dream of mine? Was I right to dream of it? Should I
have gone a different way? Well, first of all I'd owe my friends, the real
ones, some sort of explanation. I will not want to leave my friends wondering,
where did she vanish off to? Is she safe? Is she alive? Was she even my friend?
I don't want to leave them fishing for vibes in the breeze that indicates some
existence. No, I suppose I'd want to be found. They better not do anything to
my body though; they better not touch it with their coverup stick to make me
look almost undetectably different to the point that it could scare my
friends. I would want a funeral but let us call it a celebration that I lived.
It is what I would want for my friends, if indeed they cared. Those who really
did should come but there will be no open casket, no tired prayers, no mask on
my face or standardized uniform on my body. They can play Hotel California the
whole time and keep me in a box made out of fallen twigs and ivies, topped with
white poppies. They could embalm me like the Egyptians did if they will let my
friends hide me somewhere I will never become an autopsy. They can put me in a
chest for treasures and send me to the bottom of the ocean. But no silk lined
casket. How does that have anything to do with me? I want to die beautifully,
and if any of my true friends wish to look upon me before I am sent to whatever
ends, then let them if it will give them some sort of closure. All I'd want is
the best and easiest life for those who loved me. By love, of course, I mean
the actual sense of it, not the one used in really fake families. I don't want
anyone to look upon me who will only use me as a reason for their problems; as
an excuse for pity.
So I would be elsewhere; they will be there. My island therefore, is a sort
of higher being. It is never doing nothing because it never knew the meaning.
It never was told tainted stories and it was never called useless. It would
just be sitting with nature on a swing and coming and going with no worry. It
was still life. The island to me, is more than just living beautifully. It is a
beautiful end. Knowing that, there could be no regrets. Simple as it is, it
fulfills what every human being is paying their happiness for a basket of
plastic money as useful as the stuff at Chuckie Cheese. They are too busy
building tall dark walls surrounding them because someone told them their
paradise was in the sky, but failed to tell them they cannot climb.
This piece of writing is not supposed to be creepy, and by all means this
is not about a near future. In fact, I will most likely bring plenty of flares
or a radio because I like this earth and no need to gamble in this case.
Somewhere deep inside I know they are wrong for calling me nothing; for calling
me useless. Life has nothing to do with tasks and accomplishments. It has to do
with being, helping out the world in the way that you care, and above all
living happily. If I looked back at my whole life and had to choose a time to
die I would have chosen my trip because for the first time I was doing nothing
in the sense of society. I was at peace with the real earth, I was helping real
people for real situations. I was climbing alongside a silent companion who was
always ready to catch me. I was doing everything all at once. In the end, all
that mattered was music, my art, my happiness and my loved friends. So you are
probably wondering, what is the point of this piece of writing? Well, there is
none. I thought of it while I was trying to go to sleep at some odd hour of the
night. I wrote it down because I could not stop thinking about it and I wanted
to go to sleep. I'll wake up and look at that still life painting again, and I
hope one day you and I will break the glass.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x07-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 7 ]
[ The Love it Or Leave It Syndrome (is getting old...) ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 7 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x07
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
There was a bizarre clink and then my posture stooped. Ammonia wafted up
from the porcelain urinal I was standing in front of. I could hardly focus so I
stared for a second at the brick of antiseptic the janitor had left in the
bowl. Uric acid had eaten away at it so badly that the plastic was starting to
corrode. As I watched the urine and water mingle with all the bodily fluids
that one is wont to find in a public high school urinal, I couldn't help but
notice the scarlet dribble that was coming from somewhere near my forehead. The
water and the urine and what was obviously thick blood had started to marbleize
into a surreal landscape. I wanted to look at it for a little bit, I wanted to
watch. I couldn't, though, because the blood was pouring from my head.
There's something to be said about the state of mind you can find yourself
in when you're put in a situation too peculiar to universalize. I don't know if
I was shocked or enraged, but I definitely wanted to hold on to that blood,
because I needed it. That sort of thing's important, especially raining down
from your head.
My assailant was about five nine with an attitude problem and most likely
held a strong propensity for anabolic steroids. He had his hands up ready to
shove me into my own refuse, in the urinal behind me. I looked at him for what
felt like much longer than it was. It's important to understand that this
couldn't have taken more than a couple of minutes. Somehow, time stretches out
and lets the rules slip on these special occasions. As I said, the kid was
poised for another strike. I was at least sound of mind to ask him the question
that was most pressing on my mind: what the fuck was that for, or more
specifically, what the hell just happened?
Ready to fight, he was strutting his stuff, preening and posturing for a
crowd that wasn't there, and isn't really likely to form inside a musty
restroom in the rear wing of a public high school. His hands were all wrong and
ready to fend off a punch I wasn't going to throw. This pissed him off even
more, contrary to logic. I didn't fight then, I didn't feel like it, and I
didn't know what I was fighting for. I suppose some people would point at that
previous sentence and suggest perhaps I would have fought to defend my pride,
but that's difficult to do when you're all of what, 15 or 16? I didn't have any
pride, and I didn't care. This kind of thing happened all the time.
In retrospect, I think I should have just kicked out his legs and gone to
the infirmary to get some liquid stitches and antiseptic for my now bleeding
face. He didn't answer my question, not the way you answer a simple question
like mine. In fact, the retort he gave me was so perplexing, I had to spend the
better part of an ice cream eating session sorting out what he was talking
about.
My flag's upside down.
That's what he said.
He was, to his credit, an observant guy. At the time in which he grabbed my
packet of cigarettes, crumpled them into the latrine, pulled the flusher
mechanism and then slammed my face into the metal plumbing that one usually
finds atop urinals, I did in fact have an American flag safety-pinned to my
backpack. The flag certainly was upside down. I remember all of this, because
it was a silk flag I had bought a long time ago at a Rand MacNally, that I
removed from it's based and stand, inverted, and affixed it to the rear of my
bag. This, apparently, was the entire basis for the confrontation. It was
really peculiar, to say the least.
According to my unworthy opponent, his attack was one of patriotic defense,
and it was customary to attack people who "insult" the United States. I'll get
back to this in a little bit.
The purpose of the flag was a protest. At the time, I was upset about two
separate issues involved in united states politics, and I wasn't ready to be
silent. For the record, one of the issues I was upset about was that although
US troops had been deployed in Kosovo as Peacekeepers, they seemed to be
blowing up an awful lot of hospitals. Admittedly, I know now that it was and
still is much more complicated than that. So there I was with an invisible
target vest. I was a self-styled anarchist, believing that people should be
able to govern their own actions without the influence of a father figure. (As
an aside, I'm not unaware of the acute irony posed by the fact that some dolt
proved this sort of society impossible by misbehaving in precisely the way I
professed was avoidable.)
Nevertheless, it's nice to have ideas. Regardless, I was known as an
anarchist, a troublemaker and I think I was also indicted on the high charge of
being a pretty big fan of the great Reverend Marilyn Manson. For these very
reasons, I had been targeted by some guy who, unfortunately, really did fit the
"jock" image, since he was the quarterback of the High School football team,
and he was doing exactly what the stereotype professes these people to be
likely to do: beating on counterculture kids who did nothing to provoke them.
Still, I didn't fear for my safety. Actually, I don't think I cared about it.
What I was annoyed at, was the fact that I had lost my flag and my cigarettes.
When I left the restroom, blood pouring like chocolate syrup in small
rivulets down my face and collecting on my T-shirt, I headed back to the
cafeteria and attempted to bum a cigarette. In exchange for a Camel, I told
what had just happened. Sadly, violence begets violence, and this was no
exception. I was given an unhealthy supply of cigarettes, change for the ice
cream vending machine and instructions to stay where I was, as a vigilante
posse all clad in black and leather with chains flailing and sleeves rolled up
jumped over the tables to find my former aggressor. I didn't even have a say in
it. I have an idea of what happened to him, but it's not important.
This story sticks out in my mind quite a bit. Although it didn't bother me
then too much, it really irritates me in hindsight. Every time I go to take a
leak, a part of me can't help but use the reflection of the plumbing fixtures
to gauge any potential assailants. I know I'm paranoid, but they are out to get
me.
But when I think about the snapshot of my face dribbling blood and my
t-shirt collar ringed with crimson, I can't help but also think about the
mythology of a free country set somewhere in the middle of north america where
people are encouraged to express themselves, even to express dislike for the
policies and cultural normative values of the societies they inhabited. There
is no "free" America. And don't give me that "love it or leave" it shit,
either.
It all comes back to that flag, to tell you the truth. I bought that flag
with my own money, pinned it on my bag, a made in america bag, to be exact, and
I went to school hoping that the land of the free, from which the
constitutional right to free speech and expression was protected, would accept
my harmless protest. I didn't go rubbing it in peoples faces, I didn't make a
big to-do about it. I simply showed dissent. In this country, that's what we're
supposed to be allowed to do. Some people, it seems, are too indoctrinated in
the cult of patriotism, though, to actually embrace the ideas of and become a
citizen of the United States of America. Instead, they wave their flags and
beat the hell out of anyone who exercises the legal right of dissent.
I think it's safe to say that those of you who continue to perpetuate the
"love it or leave it" slogan of the 1960's have no idea what country you
actually live in.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x08-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 8 ]
[ Rescue ]
[ mephyt ]
[ 8 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x08
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
[ Editor's Note: When I read this, one of the first things that came to mind
was a quote from one of my favorite Pantera songs, Cemetary Gates. It speaks
directly to anyone who wants to find something to make sense of their lives.
I'll include a passage here: "I must reverse my life, I can't live in the past.
Let me set my soul free, belong to me at last. Through all those complex years,
I thought I was alone, I didn't care to look around and make this world my
own." - Pantera, 'Cemetary Gates' ]
Rescue.
I find myself, slipping into that same tunnel, once again.
I'm still as lost as before. I know that I need to find direction, and that I
need to find somewhere to rest. 'No rest for the weary', I hear people say. So
I don't rest, I keep on going, and trying to find something. I am looking for
something every waking moment. For a light, for a signal. I'm looking for a
beacon in the darkness. What I find is less than that though.
I wander around aimlessly, completely confused, every moment of every day.
I know that I can't run through life on my own. I know that life isn't a
competition to see who can get to the finish line first. Its a long journey.
It's an arduous trudge through cities, deserts, fields, and graveyards. I just
don't know if I can go through it much more on my own. I keep trying though. I
keep pressing onward. If I can just make it a little farther, I'll find
something to make it easier.
Sometimes, I feel like I could take on the entire world. I could take the
bull by the horns, and slam it into the ground. I could stand on top of the
whole pile, victorious. Once in a while, I can almost feel the energy to do it.
But the feeling is fleeting. I soon realize I have noone else to help hold me
up, or balance me out, and I fall off my plateau. From down where I end up
laying, I can see other people climbing their own mountians, their own demons
biting at their heels. They seem to have safety nets though. Something to fall
back on. If they fall, they won't go very far, and they won't have much to try
to recover in distance if they do fail.
When I sit alone, as I do every day, I try to think of what I'm doing
wrong. What I've done thats so much different than they've done. What made them
succeed where I've failed. It can't be the system that they operate on. I've
tried a million different things to find my Rescuer. I don't think it is the
effort either. I've tried so hard, and desperately clawed for a handhold,
something to hold onto while I reach for a hand. But the hand hold always
crumbles, and the hand I'm reaching for never extends.
A person in my life I've respected more than most once told me,
"If you try your hardest, even if you don't succeed, you
can be validated in knowing that you put in your best, that
you gave it everything you had, then you can never be wrong."
I've taken this advice as seriously as anything I've ever done. I always
try to do the best that I can, if for noone elses benefit than my own. It's
never enough though.
I've debated with myself what I require many sleepless nights. There's the
obvious things, food, shelter, clothing, but I can't live on those alone. I
might be able to survive on them, but survival isn't living, it's surviving.
I'm tired of surviving. I want to live. I want to wake up and be excited about
what I'm going to do. I want to know that what I do will affect something
besides whether or not I can buy extra food for the week. I'm tired of the
cycle. I'm tired of the same trip, over and over again. I'm weary. I don't want
to try climbing another mountain, because I know I'll just fall again. I've
never thought that life was supposed to be 'fair', and I've never known it to
be.
I need someone to find a beacon, a light. I need to find someone who can
lend me a hand if I'm starting to fall. If I just had a little push once in a
while to get over that last step, I could take a million more. Time is quickly
passing though, and I've not found anyone to extend a hand. I'm getting to the
point that I don't need a Rescuer, I need an Angel.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x09-----------------------------------------------------------------[ 9 ]
[ Bring on the Harmful Matter ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 9 ]-----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x09
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Harmful Matter, as determined by the U.S. Criminal Code, varies from state
to state, but essentially, it is anything declared to be legally obscene, and
of no Literary, Artistic, Political, or Scientific value. Harmful matter,
especially when distributed to minors, becomes the subject of tremendous
controversy and lots of discussions which generally, if not always, lead to a
new Act being passed in Congress, an umbrella legal document that contains
hundreds of subsections regarding all aspects of the topic in question, and the
changes to be made, if any, to the criminal code and enforcement. This sounds
like a rather dull process, but it's not. Reading these laws and reading the
court proceedings that turned them out is as frightening as reading about a
thrill killer while you're on angel dust. It's scary, scary shit.
Long before the RIAA pulled the trigger on Napster Inc, putting two of my
friends from online out of jobs and painting that rockin' cat logo as the new
face of terrorism, an entire history of first ammendment violations done in the
name of family values where carried out.
Many members of the hacker community learned about the legendary Jello
Biafra when he made an appearance during one of the most important holidays of
the year, specifically, he delivered the keynote speech for the Hackers of
Planet Earth 2000 conference. The topic that year was hacktivism, and the
organizers felt that someone as influential a speaker and as knowledgable in
fighting the system as Biafra would be a roaring success for the opening of
H2K. It was so well done, and he was so versed in such a variety of t
opics,
that I still carry that speech in mp3 format on my iPod. I also really, really
wanted to learn more about this man.
It's easy to run into disturbing information on the internet, possibly
easier to do than it is to run into pleasant, happy things, and this was no
exception. Not long into my search about Jello Biafra, I found out that his old
band Dead Kennedy's had the record for the first album ever put on trial.
--- "Frankenchrist" and "As Nasty as they Wanna Be" ---
On April 15th, 1986, a joint task force of San Francisco and Los Angeles
Police Department officers raided Biafra's San Francisco appartment, two of
which held guns to his head. He was informed then, that he was to be charged
under suspicion of "Distribution of Harmful Matter to Minors," under the
California Penal Code, section 303. According to Biafra's spoken word album
"High Priest of Harmful Matter," he found this incredibly curious. So curious,
in fact, that he had to ask what the hell that was. If you think about it,
that's a really ominous, but broad term; "Harmful Matter."
So, following their most successfull tour yet, the Dead Kennedys members
found themselves facing obscenity charges relating to their latest album,
entitled "Frankenchrist." The official charge brought against band frontman
Jello Biafra by former District Attorney Michael Guarino was "Distribution of
Harmful Matter to Minors," Section 303 of the Californian Penal Code.
The case was focused on an insert that included the work of world-reknowned
surrealist artist H.R. Giger of Switzerland. The peice in question was Giger's
"Penis Landscape," also known as "Landscape XX." The artwork was an insert set
into the packaging for the album "Frankenchrist", released in 1985 on
Alternative Tentacles Records. On April 15th, 1986, according to Prosecutor
Guarino in a later press release, nine San Francisco Police officers raided
Biafra's San Francisco Apartment and arrested the defendent on "Distribution of
Harmful Matter to Minors," part of the obscenity and indecency rules for the
State of California. According to Biafra, in a spoken word account called "Talk
on Censorship" also off the same record label, the officers held automatic
rifles to his head while they systematically tore apart everything he owned,
under the auspices of searching for pornography or evidence linking him to the
distribution of such material. Ultimately, after a highly publicized trial that
ended in a 7-5 hung jury, Biafra and crew were aquitted, but not after enough
damage was done to the finances of the defendents to bring them close to
bankruptcy.
It should be noted that "Frankenchrist," for all of it's satire and acclaim
among the punk rock community, including myself (although much later), has a
serious undertone to it in legal circles regarding the first ammendment, most
likely setting the groundwork for Luke Records Inc. vs. Nevarro (1992), in
which the Florida Broward County Sheriff pressed charges against the members of
the notorious rap group 2 Live Crew. In the first trial, Skywalker Records Inc.
lost to Sherriff Nicholas Navarro, and the record was declared legally obscene
by a Florida Judge. However, In the appeal, Luke Records Inc. vs. Navarro 1992,
the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 11th Circuit overturned the ruling, pointing
to something known as the "Miller" test.
In order for a record to be declared legally obscene under the Miller test,
it must meet three criteria. Although the court agreed that the first two
conditions were met by the test, the third was trickier. The third prong of the
Miller Test involved something known as the LAPS test, an acronym for Literary
Artistic Political or Scientific value. Under the LAPS system, a composition
must be proven to have no literary merit, no artistic merit, no political
significance whatsoever, and to be without scientific value. (Why they included
scientific merit, I'll never understand.) The Judge for the Appeals Court ruled
that since the hearing for the initial ruling was done by a single judge
without a jury, and the only evidence provided by the Sherriff was a single
cassette tape, the Court found it difficult to beleive that the judge was
appropriately qualified to judge that by simply listening to the album, he was
able to discern that it held absolutely no value, whatsoever. If "Nasty" had
met all three prongs of the miller test, then the result would be a declaration
that a work of art was legally "indecent," and therefore subject to ban.
However, since the Miller test standards were not all met by the evidence
provided to the court, the recording still had protection under the first
ammendment.
The legal precedent in the Biafra case has incredible significance for the
right to freedom of speech; it was the first record ever put on trial for
obscenity charges. Although in both Biafra and Luke, the artists won, both
record labels were almost driven to bankruptcy. In 1995, Luther "Lucas"
Campbell filed for bankruptcy on behalf of Luke Records, having been forced
into Chapter 11 by extensive legal fees in both the original and appelant
cases. Biafra fared slightly better, as Alternative Tentacles is still around,
but the lawsuit brought such a strain on the group that eventually, the group
disbanded, and a little later, filed suit against Biafra for royalty
infringements.
In both cases, the courts found that the artists were ultimately protected
under their first ammendment rights. However, both cases were also backed by
the Parent's Music Resource Center, a pet project of Former Vice-President Al
Gore's wife, Tipper Gore. Having infinitely more capital than their opponents,
the PMRC was able to censor in both cases by driving the defendents into
financial ruin.
--- Land of the free. I don't think so. ---
As long as people are blind to the events that are so significant in our
recent history, groups such as the PMRC and the Eagle Forum can continue to
target our culture and our music, making the world a sterile, silent void of
free thought. It's up to everyone who has ever found themselves moved by a
peice of music to educate themselves on these issues, and ultimately, know when
to step in and fight. It's also for this reason, I won't buy commercial
records. As long as the industry continues to knuckle under to legislation
prohibiting the freedom of speech, I see no reason to give them a nickel.
--- Current Legislation ---
This brings me to the current state of "Distribution of Harmful matter." As
of a few hours ago, (right before I drank a loving amount of NyQuil to take a
nap) I read a post by PA1N co-editor Turnspike about how the Supreme Court is
ready to begin proceedings regarding the state of the internet, and the ready
availability of pornography.
The current United States Supreme Court is led by one Cheif Justice William
Rehnquist, a former aide to Richard Nixon, with about as much regard for the
average person's civil liberties as the Former President he worked under. At
the same time, the current chairman of the Federal Communications Commission is
one Michael K. Powell, the son of Colin Powell. He has as much of a sense of
humor as a nun in solitary confinement. After the recent stunt at the super
bowl, the entire commission has been running up a wall trying to tighten
regulations on anything they consider to be legally obscene. Meanwhile, the
senate is urging the supreme court to consider laws removing first ammendment
protection from the internet because of "pornography." The word pornography was
in quotes, because the definition is so lucrative, it's hard to know what's
pornographic in the eyes of the senate at any given time and what isn't.
They don't get something really, really key. The internet is not restricted
to the United States of America. Not at all. In fact, the majority of the
"Harmful Matter" that has Bush's panties in a bundle so badly is hosted outside
of the united states, taking jurisdiction away from the courts. It's the job of
everyone who has a clue as to the impact a law allowing the abridgement of free
expression, in any form, (whether you like punk rock, porn, hr giger, hip-hop
or you refuse to listen to anything but polka and haven't masturbated or had
sex in ten years,) to see to it that this is not allowed to slip through the
cracks. If at any point the Commission or the Executive branch is allowed to
bend the fortifications of the First Ammendment protecting our human right to
free speech, we're undeniably screwed. Without something to stir up emotion,
prurient or not, the water stagnates. A stagnated society is sure to decay. So,
I suppose I'd have to say the only way to go for me, is to throw my arms up,
smile, and yell "bring on the harmful matter!"
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x10----------------------------------------------------------------[ 10 ]
[ Kello's Wardriving FAQ: Part Two ]
[ Kello ]
[ 10 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x10
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
[ Continued From PA1N Magazine Volume 8, Article 11... ]
Part III: Your Wardriving Rig
Please give me an overview of a wardriving rig.
This is a fairly typical setup, and very close to the one I use. The GPS
receiver may be inside the vehicle. Some GPS receivers connect to the computer
via a USB port, and take their power from the USB port, thus making the "Y"
connector from the GPS receiver unnecessary.
What sort of antenna works best for wardriving?
You want some sort of omnidirectional vertical antenna, ideally one that
can be mounted on the roof of your vehicle. Again, an external antenna is
optional: You can wardrive with no better antenna than the one on the end of
your Wi-Fi PC card. Such antennas are poor to begin with, and when they're
inside the vehicle the metal structure of the vehicle shields them from AP
signals to some extent. You will gather a lot more stations using an external
antenna. In my own tests, a roof mounted omni antenna increases the numbers of
stations sensed by at least 50%, and in some cases 100%, over a PC card's
built-in antenna.
The antenna I use is quite popular: FAB Corp's 5 dBi omnidirectional
mag-mount, shown at left. The assembly rests on a magnetic disk that sticks to
the (metallic) roof of your vehicle, with a length of low-loss coax to take
signal to your WI-Fi adapter inside the car. FAB has the same antenna on an NMO
connector, in case you're willing to drill the roof of your vehicle for an NMO
mount and run low-loss coax down into the vehicle.
I've also had reasonable success wardriving from the back seat of a taxi by
literally hanging a blade antenna from a suction cup stuck to the taxi's rear
window. The cabbies look at me funny sometimes, but have never objected.
Why not use a directional antenna?
You can, and some do, in certain special circumstances. If you're standing
somewhere (on top of a building or hill) and want to sense stations at a
distance, you can use a directional gain antenna to "warscan" by rotating it on
a camera tripod or just aiming it by hand.
Is a Pringle's potato chip can good for warscanning?
In a word, no. That is, it may work, but it won't work as well as a
"cantenna" made of a metal can like a coffee can or (my favorite) a spaghetti
sauce can. If you're going to go the distance to make an antenna yourself, make
one that works well, not one that works so-so. Pringle's cans are nonconductive
cardboard, and thus do not operate in waveguide mode, as a metal can does. Rob
Flickenger's shotgun yagi adaptation of the "classic" Pringle's antenna works,
but it's a lot more work, and in my experiments doesn't do as well as a single
tin can without the yagi elements.
I don't do a lot of warscanning, but I've tried several different things.
At right is a handheld waveguide antenna made from a tin can that once
contained a bottle of spiced rum. (And yes, it's propped up on an old Tom Swift
book!) It works, but it's extremely directional. A shorter can would make it
less directional. I've had better results in warscanning by mounting a
directional antenna on a camera tripod, and steering with the tripod pan
levers. Holding a highly directional antenna steady long enough for NetStumbler
to get a good fix is a bit of a challenge, especially for distant stations.
I provide detailed instructions for building cantennas like this in my
book, including all the math and plenty of photos and technical diagrams.
What is a pigtail?
A pigtail is a short (emphasis: short!) length of microwave-friendly
coaxial cable with connectors on both ends, used to connect a piece of Wi-Fi
gear to an antenna. It's a microwave jumper cable, basically. It must be short
because coaxial cable is very lousy at microwave frequencies, and the loss is
proportional to the length of the cable.
Pigtails typically have an industry standard N female connector on one end,
and one of the several species of Wi-Fi specific connectors on the other end.
You select a pigtail based on the length and on the type of Wi-Fi connector.
(The N connector on one end is usually a given.) For wardriving you'll probably
need one of only two kinds of pigtails: One for the RMC connector used with the
Orinoco PC cards, or one with the MMCX connector used for several of the lesser
known cards. Such pigtails are typically 19" long and are quite flexible.
Longer pigtails are less flexible, because lower-loss coax is inherently
stiffer.
Ready-made pigtails are available from several firms online, including FAB
Corp. They cost from $20-$30 typically, depending on the length and the kind of
connectors.
That's a lot of money for 20" of wire! Wouldn't it be cheaper to just make
pigtails myself?
Yes, a little. However, it's very easy to attach coaxial connectors to
cable badly, especially the very tiny connectors that are most often used in
wardriving. At microwave frequencies (where Wi-Fi operates) losses in coaxial
cable are high, and those losses skyrocket when a connection is badly trimmed
and soldered. Think of it this way: You might save $5-$8 on the cost of a
pigtail by doing it yourself, but unless you have considerable experience
soldering small connectors to coax, you could end up losing 25% of your station
count (maybe more) on a typical wardrive. Let the professionals do it.
What GPS receiver works best?
Pick one; they're all good. Any GPS receiver that can get pick up enough
GPS satellites to get a fix on your position will work fine. Most people choose
a GPS receiver in terms of what other uses they can make of it beyond
wardriving. Many GPS receivers are designed for independent use (in other
words, without connecting to a laptop or PDA) and have small graphic screens
for displaying your current position. Products like these are a good choice if
you're a hiker or go offroading out in the wilderness. The downside to using
such receivers is that they're typically kept inside the vehicle, and sometimes
that makes it difficult for the receiver to pick up enough satellites for a
fix.
The GPS receiver I use is an entirely different concept: It's a little
magnetic puck that sticks to the roof of your car, with a single USB cable
leading in through a window, to plug into your computer. There's no screen or
any other kind of readout on the receiver itself; it's designed to work with a
computer and not independently. The one I use is called the Holux GM-210, shown
at left. The Holux line is popular in Europe but is little known in the US. I
found it at The GPS Store. It costs $150 at this writing (early 2003).
Note well that NetStumbler does not directly accept GPS coordinate data
from USB ports. The Holux is a USB device, but it comes with an installable
"port bridge" driver that grabs one of the PC COM ports (I use COM5) and places
data arriving from the receiver on the USB port onto the COM port, where
NetStumbler can find it. This works very well, and because power is provided to
the receiver over the same USB cable as the serial data itself, this makes a
separate power cable and connector unnecessary. I also use the Holux to display
a "you are here" marker while we're traveling by car, in conjunction with
Microsoft MapPoint, so its use is not limited to wardriving. (My wife does the
navigating and reads the laptop screen, by the way. Watching a laptop while
you're driving is dangerous, and illegal in some areas!)
Part IV: NetStumbler
What is NetStumbler?
NetStumbler (more formally, Network Stumbler for Windows) is a stumbling
utility for 32-bit Windows. It is a free and relatively simple installable
program that listens for Wi-Fi access point beacons and logs them to a disk
file, with all the information that the AP makes publicly available. Where do I
find it? NetStumbler is free and may be downloaded from the NetStumbler.com
downloads page. Unlike much free software, new releases are posted
infrequently; you needn't check every day or even every month for a new
release. And although NetStumbler is free, the author, Marius Milner, welcomes
donations, which may be sent to him via PayPal. See Marius' blog for details on
how to donate.
Is NetStumbler a wireless network cracking utility?
Emphatically not. Netstumbler is a good and courteous listener. It only
records those elements of data that the access point (AP) makes public. It has
no machinery for sniffing packets, reverse-engineering passwords, or even
connecting to an unprotected network. Furthermore, NetStumbler respects the
wishes of network owners in terms of the public visibility of their networks:
If the owner of an AP disables the AP's beacon broadcast, NetStumbler will not
detect it.
What is NetStumbler typically used for?
NetStumbler has three major uses:
Wardriving, as described earlier in this FAQ.
Detecting rogue access points in large networks used by many people.
A rogue access point is simply an access point that has been connected to a
network without the permission or knowledge of the network administrator. These
are a hazard in a number of ways, but primarily in that they are connected
behind the company firewall and thus short-circuit most of the network's
security technology. (As someone said on the NetStumbler forums, it's like
hanging a category 5 network cable out the window down to the parking lot.) To
find rogue access points, an administrator simply walks around the area where
the network reaches with NetStumbler running on a laptop or MiniStumber on a
PDA. If any access points are in the vicinity of the network, NetStumbler will
report them, and the network administrator can remove them if they're not an
official part of the network.
Directly sensing the coverage of an AP's radio field.
NetStumbler includes a high-resolution field strength and signal-to-noise
ratio display. By walking around with a laptop running NetStumbler, you can
find weak spots and dead spots in an AP's coverage, as well as determine with
fair accuracy the outer limits of an AP's useful range. NetStumbler is also
useful in testing the relative effectiveness of Wi-Fi antennas, by placing a
laptop running NetStumbler in a fixed position, and then aiming antennas at it
from some distance away. If the antennas are all at the same distance from the
laptop, NetStumbler's readings will accurately reflect how well the antennas
work with respect to one another.
What client adapters does NetStumbler work with?
NetStumbler author Marius Milner actively enhances the product, adding more
supported client adapters on a regular basis. He posts a list of supported
client adapters in the read me file for the NetStumbler software. This read me
file is included in the NetStumbler download archive, but it's also posted on
the Web. This is the first place you should look to check for specific client
adapter support.
On the other hand, there are similarities in drivers and in client adapter
hardware, and often an adapter that is not on the official "supported" list
will be similar enough to a supported adapter to work. This whole business is
made worse by the fact that some adapters will work using Windows XP drivers
and won't work using drivers for other operating systems. If you have an
adapter that isn't on Marius' supported list, try it! This is especially true
if you're using Windows XP. Your chances improve if you have the latest
firmware loaded on the adapter, and also the latest OS drivers from the
manufacturer.
Much discussion of this issue happens on the NetStumbler Forums. I advise
using the Search function to look for the names of specific cards that you're
interested in. Use Search. Don't just post a question that may have been asked
and answered fifteen times already.
What is the best client adapter to use with NetStumbler?
There is no one answer to this question. The way to approach it is to look
at the four variables that govern a client's suitability for use with
NetStumbler. I list them in their order of importance:
Technology.
802.11b is the only wireless technology supported by NetStumbler. 802.11a
and draft 802.11g do not (currently) work at all. TI's 802.11b+ chipset has
been reported by some to work, but my experiments with D-Link's DWL-650+ PC
card have not borne this out.
NetStumbler compatibility.
As I mentioned above, not all 802.11b Wi-Fi clients work with NetStumbler.
You'll have to check Marius Milner's list of supported cards regularly, and
monitor pertinent traffic on the NetStumbler Forums.
Antenna jack.
Although not strictly required, it's very difficult to get effective
results with a laptop using a PC card's tiny integrated "bulge" antenna. A
fairly small cohort of PC cards has a tiny coaxial jack into which you can plug
a coaxial connector leading (via a short run of coaxial cable) to a vertical
antenna on top of your vehicle. My experiments have shown that using a PC
card's integrated antenna alone will gather only 50%-60% as many stations as a
vertical antenna outside the vehicle.
PC card receiver sensitivity.
Some (but by no means all) manufacturers of Wi-Fi PC cards publish a
receiver sensitivity figure in dBm. This figure specifies the amount of radio
power that must be delivered by the card's antenna to the receiver circuitry
for a station to be effectively received above the noise. The number is usually
from -80 dBm to -90 dBm. The larger the number, the more sensitive the card,
because the values are negative. -90 dBm is less power than -80 dBm, so if a
receiver can pick up a signal at -90 dBm, that's better. (Such receivers are
rare. Most fall in the -80 dBm range.) Caution: Sensitivity is something to
consider, but only if the card is known to be compatible with NetStumbler. In
practice, differences of a few dBm will not be significant in terms of numbers
of stations logged.
The bottom line is that you need a card that works with NetStumbler and
also has a jack for an external antenna. The most commonly used cards that meet
both of these criteria are the Orinoco Silver and Orinoco Gold. Most people use
the Gold card; the Silver card is identical except that it only supports 64-bit
WEP, which doesn't matter for wardriving. If you don't already have a PC card
adapter, get the Orinoco Gold card; it's cheap, reliable, and completely
supported by NetStumbler. Another reason to use the Orinoco PC cards that is
not widely known is that their firmware discriminates against something called
"weak IV" values. Weak IV values are one way that crackers break into wireless
networks. I explain this in detail in my book; it's off-topic for a wardriving
FAQ, but weak IV discrimination is a very good feature to have in a Wi-Fi
client adapter and access point.
Do CardBus PC cards work with NetStumbler?
Whether a client adapter is a 16-bit PCMCIA card or a 32-bit CardBus card
doesn't matter to NetStumbler. However, it may matter to your laptop. CardBus
is a fairly recent technology, and laptops built before 1999 generally don't
have CardBus slots. If you buy a CardBus card and your laptop lacks a CardBus
slot, the card won't fully insert and will not function at all.
How do you use GPS with NetStumbler?
NetStumbler accepts GPS data through any of the PC's serial ports. Note
that "serial" does not mean "USB" here; NetStumbler only accepts serial data on
COM ports. (There is a dodge around this that I've used; see below.) In terms
of GPS data formats, the older versions of NetStumbler only accepted NMEA
(National Marine Electronics Association) 183 data. The latest version will
also accept Garmin Binary, Garmin Text, and Tripmate formats. Any GPS receiver
that can emit one of those formats should work with NetStumbler. You select the
COM port and the GPS data format from the GPS tab of the Options dialog. You
bring up that dialog by selecting View|Options from NetStumbler's main menu.
GPS receivers that communicate primarily through a USB port often come with
"port bridge" software, which is an installable utility that "maps" a USB port
onto a COM port. The receiver still reports its data through the USB port (and
draws its power from the USB port, which I consider a big plus fewer cables!)
but the bridge utility also sends the data to the COM port driver. Software
like NetStumbler that listens for data on a COM port can thus acquire data from
a USB receiver. Marius has indicated that he intends to expand direct USB
support of GPS over time, so you need to watch for updated releases of
NetStumbler.
Part V: The Practice of Wardriving
What wardriving approach gathers the most stations?
Easy: Go slow and stay off the superhighways. Consensus is that a speed of
about 35 MPH is ideal for wardriving. Stumbler programs need some time to work,
and if you roar past at 80, the more distant stations will not be within range
long enough for the stumbler software to log them. My experiments also show
that if you spend most of your wardriving time on limited access highways,
you'll miss stations compared to driving on surface streets. On a superhighway
you typically go faster (unless you're in LA, I guess) than surface streets,
and you're also farther away from buildings where the APs are and will thus
miss more of them.
Note well that Kismet is much slower to scan the full 802.11b channel space
than NetStumbler, so if you're wardriving with Kismet it's even more important
not to scream down the street at 75 MPH. Kismet, being fully passive, has to
take time to listen for APs; NetStumbler, on the other hand, emits 802.11b
probes frequently to speed of the process of AP discovery.
How can I make sure I've logged every station in my area?
It's all about planning and record-keeping. Do what I do: Get a street map
of the area, and block it out into sectors with a highlighter. Then, starting
with one of the sectors, go up and down every last street shown on the map
within that sector, and highlight the street as you stumble it. Repeat for each
of the sectors. This approach guarantees that you won't miss anything within a
given sector, and has an additional benefit: Logging a station from several
different directions (as you stumble nearby side streets) allows mapping
systems like WiGLE and WiFiMaps to triangulate an AP's precise position and/or
coverage area. (More on WiGLE and WiFiMaps later in this FAQ.) This, of course,
assumes you have GPS data coming in while you wardrive.
What is a "standard wardrive?"
This is my term for defining a route and then wardriving it on a regular
basis (say, weekly or monthly) and keeping the logs for each drive so you can
track the changes in the Wi-Fi network installed base over time. The easiest
way to do this is use your daily commute, if it takes you past enough stations
to be useful. If not, then simply pull out a map and choose a route that will
net you at least fifty stations, the more the better for statistical
usefulness. Each time you stumble your standard route, save the log file with a
name that includes the date and the name of the route taken. (I have three
standard wardrives.) By all means merge your logs into a master logfile
containing all your stumbled stations from all routes and runs, but keep
separate copies as well for analysis.
Part VI: Mapping Sites and Software
How can I plot the stations that I log on a map?
There are several different ways to plot stumbled stations on a map. The
systems I have used myself are WiGLE, WiFiMaps and Stumbverter. For any of
these systems, you must have used a GPS receiver to add geographical coordinate
data to your stumbling log files. The coordinates provided by GPS are what
locate the stations on a map. The caution, of course, is that your GPS receiver
reports your position as you received a station's beacon, not the position of
the station itself! (This should be obvious but it's easy to forget.) Multiple
readings on the same station allow some utilities to triangulate an
approximation of the station's position and range, but how accurate such
approximations are is a little unclear. WiGLE seems to do the best job on that
score, but even then, if you only sense stations from one direction, the
triangulated position will be skewed in one direction.
How does WiGLE work?
WiGLE (Wireless Geographic Logging Engine) is a complete system for mapping
stumbled APs, and includes a Web database and several mapping clients. As best
I know, it's the oldest such system in existence, and has been in operation
since September 2001. Here's how it works, from a height: Users upload log
files containing records of stumbled APs, which are processed and added to a
database. "Map pack" data files may be downloaded by county (US only) and
plotted on-screen using one of the WiGLE clients.
Like WiFiMaps (see below) WiGLE performs triangulation calculations on
multiple readings of each stumbled station, in order to more precisely
determine the actual physical location of the station. (Remember that the GPS
coordinates recorded for a station during a wardriving run are your location
when your Wi-Fi client adapter hears the station, not the coordinates of the
station itself!) Each station is plotted as a point on a map, and you can pan
and zoom to get the full picture of any given county.
The WiGLE system includes several different clients:
JiGLE is the oldest, and is written in Java. It should run anywhere Java will
run.
DiGGLER is a native-code Windows client written in Delphi. It does basically
what JiGLE does, but does not require the Java VM. It's small, fast, and
doesn't mess with your registry. (Can you tell I'm a Delphi fan?) It is,
however, limited to running under 32-bit Windows.
PRInGLE is a client for Palm OS, which is not yet released but should be soon.
The clients come with sample maps, but in actual use, you must request a WiGLE
map pack for download. These are free, and are available for any county in the
US. (You must register with the WiGLE system to download map packs.) On the
backend, WiGLE map packs are generated by RiGLE, the using public domain TIGER
geographic databases distributed by the Federal Government. The generated maps
are thus not encumbered by anyone else's copyrights.
Wardrivers may upload log files in any of several formats, including
NetStumbler and MiniStumbler (export as text); DStumbler text, and the Kismet
CWGD, CSV, XML, and GPS formats. Uploads are handled through a page on the
WiGLE Web site. Uploaded stations are immediately available for downloading in
a map pack. You can upload the results of a wardriving run, and then
immediately download an updated map pack reflecting the results of that run.
There are currently over 260,000 stations present in the WiGLE database. (April
2003.)
How does WiFiMaps work?
WiFiMaps.com is a Web site operated by zhrodague.net, which allows
wardrivers to upload NetStumbler's exported text-format log files, and then
plots those uploaded logs on street maps. You can then look up the maps for a
given city or town and then pan around to see where all the access points are
located. For access points that have multiple readings in the database, the
software triangulates a coverage region, which is shown as a shaded circle of a
suitable diameter. (If an AP has only one reading, or for some reason not
enough readings to allow the triangulation to work, it's indicated as a small
triangle and its SSID.)
All wardrivers are invited to upload their exported text-format log files
from NetStumbler and Kismet to the WiFiMaps.com database. Supported upload
formats are NetStumbler's text export (full) and Kismet CSV.
How does StumbVerter work?
StumbVerter is a free utility from Sonar Security that converts NetStumbler
export logs into Microsoft MapPoint maps. StumbVerter uses the MapPoint server
and puts a MapPoint map in a window, showing any imported stations as small
icons.
The downside to StumbVerter is that it requires the use of MapPoint, which
is fairly expensive as commercial software goes. (StumbVerter itself is free.)
On the other hand, MapPoint is extremely useful for travelers, and generates
nicely rendered maps for the entire US. (Maps are available for some areas
overseas, but I've not tried those.)
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x11 --------------------------------------------------------------[ 11 ]
[ Competency ]
[ Manuel O'Kelly ]
[ 11 ]--------------------------------------------------------------- PA1Nv9x11
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
This week I realized something important about society. We might
be screwed. This is not to say that doom is imminent but there is a
definite trend that I have noticed in myself and others that may
suggest the need for change. It all started when Microsoft's
wonderfully stable and reliant operating system crapped out on me. A
simple reboot (soft as can be) and then FATAL ERROR! Prepare to FUCKING
DIE!!! You have no tech! No music, no videos, no news, no processing,
and no communication! Papers to write, programs to code, and your
fucked! I could have just popped in the CD and had my main partition
erased, files, e-mail, and pictures. Which is of course the price
you must pay for easy computing, the monthly wiping of your
externalized memory. Important things that I had collected in the
two days since the last backup.
If you abuse the electronic drug as much as I do you
know that windows has problems, problems that aren't easy to fix on
the consumer end. So, this time a number of important files made
me hesitate. Instead of trying to use the 'repair' disc I dusted
off a burned ISO of Mandrake Linux 9.1 that I had always meant to play
with, you know, when I had time. I popped it in and decided to
figure out how to use the space on one of my larger drives
to salvage my more important files. About half an hour through
the installation I was set, the GUI came up and I was breathing a
little easier as a new task unfolded, re-learn how to use a computer.
KDE I must say helped, having probably the closest approximation to
the windows interface of the four or five interfaces. Although I
recently upgraded to 9.2 and found the sound problems irritating.
As a complete newb I was happy to be able to fire up XMMS and play
a little rantradio in the background while I toiled over the terminal.
The thing is though, after I burned a CD using CDRECORD in
the terminal, I left my new OS going. My computer hummed away as
I slept that night. I liked the idea of an operating system that
followed the "It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake,
it's because I screwed it up," rule. What was supposed to be a quick
fix became a day, and the day turned into a week. When I needed
a program I found FTP sites with RPMs. Some things were hard
(graphics drivers), other things just damned entertaining like
'Frozen Bubble.'
This brings me to the idea of competency. This should not be an
intimidating word. In this world of free customer service things that
are simply difficult are seen as impossible tasks to be attempted only by
an 'expert', especially when it comes to technology. Experts are there
to expand technology not to maintain it. If the average person cannot
handle their system (me included) then maybe we should just leave it
alone and abandon it for better things, perhaps maybe getting off our
collective ass and getting a little exercise in the mountains. However
if we feel the advantages of technology are worth it such as, limitless
knowledge, communication, and, !truly! automated tasks, then we are
going to have to treat technology in the same way we have treated the
three R's (readin', 'riteing, and 'rithmatic). That's one of the
foundations of the hacker movement, right? Technological literacy.
I do not wish to be the techno bigot looking down my nose
at those who don't use Unix, those who don't have time to learn how to
use a computer again, or even those who simply don't want to, but might
I suggest that we have grown soft? Although perhaps soft is not the
proper description, perhaps we have grown too hard! We study hard at
schools to learn how to manage and process a tiny collective of
knowledge, constantly dumbing down the product of this for those who
have no time to process our portion because they work on their own.
Then we work harder at jobs where all mental or physical capacity is
drained from us for the day leaving nothing but the desire to vegetate
in front of the TV or Internet. How many passive forms of entertainment
have replaced active hobbies? I would like to suggest that this, although
effective from a traditional economic stand point, is not the best
way to store the entirety of our knowledge. The more knowledge that
you can accumulate personally in your life time, the better. Why die
the smartest person in the world? Because to not strive to do so is
to doom society to a slow stagnation.
Examine the great cultural revolutions of history, the renaissance started
when people got this crazy idea to master several dozen skills before they
died. The Socratic method of teaching emerged not as a way to further a single
person's knowledge so much as a group of students or peers. The concept of
science was developed to throw out much of the junk knowledge of the day and to
form models that are easier to comprehend. These three examples should be the
basis of someone's search for knowledge and ultimately this central idea of
competency.
What is competency? The ability to provide for oneself or
others in life. A Father or Mother who provides for their children and
themselves should be considered competent. An adolescent growing up into
man or womanhood has achieved competency. However, I speak of a simpler form
of competence, how many different things can you do? I am not suggesting that
one needs to be an expert in all things, simply that they should strive to do
most things well. No time? Don't worry you have your entire life ahead of you
to learn, and there will be many, more experienced then you to help out. Even
though this is true it is important to maintain an efficient pace in your
education, so logically the first step is to re-learn how to learn.
First, since time is essential and I realize not everyone is a college
student you must schedule your time efficiently, this does not mean you plan
each day into intricate detail, "6:00 am.. wake up drink coffee.. 5min, read
news.. 10min, look at porn... 30min...etc." One, this takes time, two, its
worthless, you will never meet your expectations (even on the porn). Instead
generalize, do you work everyday from eight AM to six PM? Then don't expect to
study for those fifty hours a week. However this still leaves another 118
hours. Next, if you sleep, your weak! Nah, just kidding, but try to keep a
balance if you sleep in today do you get to sleep in tomorrow and the day after
that? Yes. Err, No. Now we still have sixty-two hours. What about travel
and fun? Hell, why not split it right down the middle. Thirty-one hours to
get where your going and to catch a movie, read, whatever. Even if it takes
you one hour to drive to work, one hour back, you still have twenty-one hours
to play. "So, if we really have Thirty-one hours plus or minus emergencies to
study. Why is it that I'm not a genius yet?" Well truth is, you thought you
didn't have time to study so you never tried.
Thirty-one hours is unfortunately not a whole lot of time, and you
shouldn't expect it to be, but it is more then you had when you thought you
had nothing. Also, this is most likely to be a maximum, which is why it is
important to also study how to be efficent in your education. Keep a clean
desk, buy a fairly large table for this purpose, or my personal favorite
take two file cabinents and a piece of cheap, smooth, press board. This
setup will cost thirty dollars, tops. Keep two pencils and a pad of paper
around at all times. Try to save your time for studying when you can. If
your stuck at the bus stop study a subject that requires more reading like
history or politics. Save your 'desk time' for mathmatics and other subjects
that are hard to study without directly applying the knowledge to paper.
Test your knowledge, pick problems from a book at random and give yourself
an hour to do them. Write a five paragraph essay at the end of every
chapter you finish in a book, reading should always be combined with writing.
Having now discussed several methods of study I would also like to go
into book selection. Studying alone is hard because without a mentor you
will often feel like you are bumping against walls. A good book will help
prevent this, but selecting a good book can be a wall unto itself. It is
hard to nail down the qualities of a good book, but everyone has had at
least one that they absolutly could not stand to work from. This is a start,
going to a library is another way to get a good start. Modern libraries
these days can have a poor selection, where I live, budget cuts and modern
day BOOK BANNING have made it hard for me to get books in the past. Do not
discredit your library because of the dissatisfaction I have with mine!
The key is to explore several books on a subject, don't read them cover to
cover before decideing. Make an educated guess then do work from one.
What should out weigh all of these suggestions is evolution. This
is a highly personal process, if its not working, change it. If the system
works for you, try changing small things about the process for the better.
Another subject of importance is habit, form one. This could take weeks of
dedication, don't be discouraged if you try to get into the flow several
times and then quit, before you really get it. (but don't use these words
as an excuse to forget, that is not my point).
The more tasks that you can do yourself the more freedom you will
have to move within society and create new things. If self study is too
hard then take a class, your education is worth the time. Getting a degree
will also help you prove your knowledge to an employer. Well documented
portfolios can work else where. An old teacher of mine, once recieved a
business degree from a highly accredited college after creating a large
portfolio of his old construction business. Mentors are everywhere, but
don't expect them to be as patient as professional school teachers. This
study that I have been refering to is also a freedom in itself, no one
will ever fail you. No teacher will ever force you to do anything. The
only limitation is your foundation of knowledge, and how you plan to
expand it.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x12----------------------------------------------------------------[ 12 ]
[ Spring Broken ]
[ alienbinary ]
[ 12 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x12
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
[ Ed. Note: the following is a compilation of writings, a combination of two
active threads I've had running on my iBook for the duration of the spring
break. It shouldn't take long to figure out why I called it spring broken. ]
* * *
Blood is thicker than salt water. I would rather bleed than cry. Every time
I let myself get stuck in this situation, I just feel as if the blood is being
let out of my body en masse. Of course you can trample on my feelings. Go for
it. That's what they're there for. After all, I've been treated as the world's
punching bag for a long time now, I think I deserve some credit as being a
veteran in the industry.
Punching bags are probably the most noble of all inanimate objects. They
take the abuse of anyone with some gloves and extra energy. They sacrifice
their position in the world so that others may somehow, eventually, pull
themselves by the hair out of the situations they put themeselves in. I should
make some things clear right now. I should, I bet. It would be almost immoral
to leave you in the dark about why I feel like a ball of rage, and just move
on. That would make you, the reader, uncomfortable, maybe a little on edge. You
might wonder if you're the reason I'm upset.
Don't give yourself too much credit. I'm too fucked up right now for any
one individual to be causing me this much pain. Any one of you who is under the
impression that I'm pointing a finger at them is being self-righteous. So sit
down and keep reading.
"All the things I want to tell you,
are all the things I never will."
- Rollins Band, 'Shame'
The vast majority of individuals on this marvelous blue and green ball of
life and beauty are actually toxic morons who wouldn't know common decency if
it arrived at their front door with a ribbon tied around their neck in a nice
bow, holding an identification card explaining what civility was and how it
worked. After all, most people don't care enough to even read anymore. If you
think that I'm arrogant, or self-righteous at any point in this essay, please
do feel free to tell me in person. You'll be amazed at what I can do with my
bare hands to people who desperately deserve a dose of their own poison.
I wonder about the paleolithic age. Did people try and govern other
people's lives through fear and intimidation that far back? Is it conceivable
that Cro-Magnon Man was as cruel and manipulative as the motherfuckers I see
dragging eachother down by their feelings every day? Why did nature allow such
a monster to evolve? Mary Shelley suggested in Frankenstein that perhaps the
things we create, and call evil are actually representations of the people who
created them. Shelley argued that Dr. Frankenstein was the real monster in the
story, not his corpse-assembled erector set of an elephant man.
When people carried swords, there was a sense of honor. If you were to
approach me, and it's handy that I can use almost any primevil weapon out
there, with a sword or mace in hand, and you wanted to call me out for
something you beleived I did wrong, I would have the chance first to defend
myself and prove that I in fact did not do that which I would be accused of.
Should such a ruling prove inadequate for my naysayer, I would be challenged to
a dual of some sort, a fight to the death. I'm not for violence, just justice.
I wonder if I'm a better person for respecting the wishes of the person I care
about, or if I should confront the person who needs to be confronted. I wonder
a lot of things though, and I rarely find out the answer, because ultimately,
I'm too fucking polite. A part of me is losing it's grip on what I can and
cannot say.
* * *
Nemisis and I had a talk a little while ago. It felt really good to talk to
him about the things that were eating away at me. I wonder why I never think to
call him first. I still remember when I met him. Maybe I'll embarass him a
little bit by telling the story of how the two of us met eachother...
Snap to biology class, sophomore year of high school. I had my powerbook
open, and I was making little folders to store my notes in, because those days,
I typically took notes with a computer. I still do, now that I think about it.
So there was a little commotion behind me, and I turned around. A kid whom
everyone obviously respected and liked, something I could tell from the way
they took in stride his pole vaulting over two tables just to sit next to the
new kid in school, began to make a series of acrobatic movements enabling him
to pretty much fly into the seat next to me.
Nemisis wasn't bluffing when he was being cool to me in bio. Walking
through the halls of the really badly designed monolithic public high school, I
couldn't help but feel vulnerable. Indeed, there were times when I was in quite
a jam. The kids there really didn't like counterculture kids, and I became a
target. Soon, I was introduced to the rest of the gang. A motley assortment of
misfits, artists, stoners, and truancy experts were hanging out in the reserved
cafeteria region that had been commandeered by Nemisis' friends. I found the
courage in myself to take him up on his offer to hang out, and I made my way
through the throngs of students to his group. After the introductions, I knew
that I was going to get along with at least two people in the school, and to be
honest, that's more than I had expected in the first place.
There was a lot going on in everyone's lives that year. Recently, the movie
"Thirteen" came out. I have it on DVD now, and it's probably one of the most
incredible movies I've ever seen in my life. Some of what went on in that movie
hit all too close to home for me. That year, I fucked up my life in so many
ways it would take an abacus and a calculus major from one of the technical
schools around here to count them all. Through the whole thing, though, I think
the one person I respected more than anyone in my immediate environment was
him. After all, if he hadn't shirked all the norms and the rules about "new
kids," I never would have found a niche anywhere. There was no initiation,
there was no rite of passage to be included. We just were.
These days, Nemisis spends most of his time buried in Sindome MUDs,
creating a universe that's unique to him, and modifying it as he sees fit.
Still, I get to place a call to whatever planet that world is on, and intrude
for a little bit. It keeps me sane.
* * *
If I ever wanted to do irreversable harm to myself, I think I'd go to a
catholic school or a country western club. That's all. Just something that
popped into my head.
* * *
"...And the seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to."
- the 8 rules of Fight Club
The hardest thing that I've had to learn in my life, is that nothing, and I
really mean nothing, is ever truly over. That is, nothing is ever truly over,
until every card has been dealt, ever king is in mate, every peice has been
captured, and all the wrong letters were guessed until the hangman had his
charge. This, I probably don't need to tell you, is an unfathomably difficult
thing to deal with. What comes with such a concept is the underlying concept
that we are never able to just give up when things get too tought, because we
don't have a say in when they begin or end. All we can do, is choose how we're
going to prepare for the next battle.
I've got a lot of scars, I don't know where most of them came from. Every
day that I get up, I must reconcile the fact that I will probably gain another
scar in the day that I've just started. Like so many people, I find that the
longer I live, the more cruel the world can become, and conversely, the more
forgiving I must ultimately become. However, one must draw the line on places
where the heart and the mind can come to agreement. I cannot accept, nor
forgive the actions that are too heinous for commission by anyone not truly
disturbed or sick, I can only try my hardest to find it within my soul to pity
the people who perpetrate them. As far as pity can go, I must also never be too
generous when it comes to those who don't share my love for other people.
There's a time when I think everyone realizes that there truly are people
out there that find no solace in other people's comfort. Instead, they only
feel at peace, or can enjoy the slightest pleasure when someone is suffering
uncontrollably on the floor, completely at their merciless hands. To consider
the possibility that I might share an elevator with, give up and offer my chair
to, serve coffee to, show courtesy and be compassionate to someone who is
incapable of compassion is a starkly brutal concept. To recognize this is to
admit that the dictators we read about in the news, and the serial rapist we
keep constant watch against, was just a person at some point. Just an ordinary
human being with ordinary features and a life of their own.
When someone tries to take your life, and I mean to take control, not to
deny someone of the right to live, you have to acknowledge that you have met
one of those people you have always watched out for, and steered clear of.
Sometimes, I feel like they come at me in waves; or that at any given time
there are large quantities of these psychopaths daydreaming new ways to defeat
me in a fight I'm not aware I'm an opponent in. The wieght of the knowledge
that this isn't just paranoia is astounding. To carry on your shoulders the
burden of having been branded an enemy for something you had no direct part in
is a heavy load to bear. But you have to. Or maybe, only I have to. No matter
how much I want to throw in the towel and dump out my bag of tricks only to
slump to the floor until everybody leaves, I know that no one will relent even
if I were to wave a white flag. That being the case, I can't surrender, I can't
back down, and I must be mentally armed at all times.
My weapons are comprised of logic, experience and instincts; some skills
I've been born with, others have developed to help me survive. I must carry
myself like an obsidian knife, ready to cut through someone's plot and go for
the jugular. My eyes are tired from watching over my shoulder, but I've found
that the second I close them and give up, someone won't let me. This isn't
fair, no. But this is reality. Reality is something that hurts so bad sometimes
that it's sheer existence can annhilate a person's will to live, but will
deprive them of any choice in the matter. I've decided to never give up
fighting. Fighting is what I do, I have become a warrior. I must pass through
the throngs with the gait of a ranger, ready at any time to counter-feint a
strike. I know that a lot of people need my help, and I know that I can no
longer deny that my most compelling purpose in life is to be there to provide
it.
* * *
Why the fuck is it snowing? It's March 8th, 2004, as I write this. I woke
up with that feeling someone gets when they wake up in strange places after
sandblasting their own throats at full velocity with multiple anonymous
partners. There's a mixture of blood, tar, and gatorade lining my trachea, and
it hurts like hell. I put "Garbage" on the stereo. Shirley Manson's raspy but
sensual voice speaks to me this morning on a different level than usual. I feel
like I could just sink into this song and let the vibrations enter and engulf
my very being. I don't care much for this land of meat. My body is breaking
down from weeks of non-stop abuse. I keep promising myself, every time I do
something that's detrimental to my health, that it'll be the last time.
Breaking a promise you make to yourself is the same thing as slapping yourself
in the face and getting mad at yourself for slapping you at the same time.
I still don't get the snow deal. I know how how precipitation cools and
eventually we get snow, and how it all compounds into dense clouds of white
fluffy weather. I don't care about the science, I care about the fact that I
don't want to be inside today. Being inside today makes me realize that I have
work to do. I hate when professors assign work over spring break. Perhaps it's
a revenge issue, though. God knows, if I had to deal with some of the assclowns
in my criminal justice class more than once a day, I'd find some way to make
the little rich bastards pay as well. I'm getting far too cynical in my old
age.
This just in: it's still snowing. You care, c'mon, you know you at least
find it marginally interesting, because you ARE reading this memoir, so you
must at least be enjoying my misery. All I can say to that, is, well I do my
best.
-?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??----
PA1Nv9x13---------------------------------------------------------------[ t13 ]
[ RANTRADIO IRC, March 2004 ]
[ Rantradio Community ]
[ t13 ]---------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x13
-?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------??????????????????
Some people might question why the hell I put quotes from the IRC into each
issue of PA1N. After all, if someone wanted to see them, they could just join
the IRC channel, right? Well, actually, that's one hundred percent true. I'll
explain how for those of you who aren't technically adept in a minute.
The IRC (and the RR/SPFD forums) is a place where the community of misfits
known as rantradio logs in and just chills. Everything that's wrong in the
world can be put a little bit to the side, as code and banter stream down the
computer screen, full of people talking about either nothing at all, or
everything that matters. As far as I'm concerned, it's one of the best stress
releivers out there, although some would say it creates stress, and as far as
technical support goes; jesus, half of the community consists of programmers
and techies like myself. Anyway, it helps bring a sense of community to each
issue. Yeah, something like that.
How to get into the IRC (Internet relay chat)
Download an IRC client, such as BitchX, mIRC, IRCii, Ircle, even Trillian
has an IRC client. Then, connect to the otherside servers. The one that I use
is bhudda.othersideIRC.net. Once you're logged in, /join #rantradio, and an OP
will voice you. Easy, huh?
-------------------------------- learn something new. -------------------------
<sNake> im going to VA this summer to work for them again
<sNake> but this time
<sNake> im in like flynn
<sNake> no call center bullshit
<alienbinary> yeah. I never got that phrase.
<alienbinary> who the fuck is flynn that he's in everything?
<sNake> In Like Flynn, classic spy spoof movie
<alienbinary> you're shitting me.
<CaponeX> I once had to go to the clear channel offices in nashville to
deliver
something.. poor
receptionist... they couldn't just answer "clear channel radio" they
had to recite ALL
the fucking call letters... they had 8 stations there.
<alienbinary> clearchannel and aol should get together and just, well,
kindly
go away.
<sNake> CaponeX: suck
<alienbinary> go bowling or something
<sNake> alienbinary: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089332/
--------------------- cereal, malicious code... healthy breakfast. ------------
<cenobite> i came to my box and had 1064 spamed emails
<sNake> olga.net is fucking almighty
<cenobite> and i dont ever get spam
<cenobite> fucking realtors
<alienbinary> I don't have to do anything though. I just keep an eye out
and
watch the traffic, take screenshots whenever I dissect a payload
<alienbinary> print em, and put em in a binder
<case> whoa... i didn't get any new worms!
<case> heh
<alienbinary> sorry.
<alienbinary> that's like opening a box of cereal and not finding a
prize.
<cenobite> pfft
<cenobite> my inbox is full of .scr .pif .exe
<case> heh
<cenobite> i tried to run a virii under wine
<cenobite> it didtn work =[
??1;31m? SignOff PiD: #rantradio (Quit: IRC is where MEN are MEN, women are
men, and children are really FBI agents!)
<sNake> the sick thing is if i opened up my cocoa puffs and a .pif popped
out i
wouldnt be suprised
<alienbinary> lol, why the fuck did you do that?
<cenobite> i was bored
<cenobite> it was there
<alienbinary> contained?
<cenobite> yeah
<cenobite> it didnt do anything i scanned my system
<alienbinary> so, just kind of like a pet virus?
<cenobite> yeah
<cenobite> i wanted it to chill with me
<cenobite> but it didnt want to
<cenobite> =[
?1;33mcenobite/#rantradio feels rejected
<alienbinary> there's a couple guys at MIT who have setups like that.
<alienbinary> very, very, very, lonely guys.
<cenobite> i would have swore it should have worked
<cenobite> oh well
<cenobite> i wanted to be the first linux box in our building to get
infected
with sky
<alienbinary> hahahahahha
<cenobite> so i could be like all our windows users
-------------------------------- applied science. ----------------------------
<Manuel_OKelly> I've been locked in a room with a million chemistry
problems
<MaryRebelledVirgin> ewww chemistry
<Manuel_OKelly> yeah, I just need to pass two semesters of it and I can
actually start taking some compsci courses
<alienbinary> chemistry rocks until you actually have to sit down and
work on
covalents and ionic bonds. then it gets
dull. but while you're just blowing shit up and making shit glow,
that's some fun times.
<MaryRebelledVirgin> i've never been a science person
<MaryRebelledVirgin> i like anatomy and social sciences if that counts?
<case> you have to take chem to take csci?
<case> thats bizzaro
<AfricanLoveTurtle> blowing shit up and making it glow sounds cool
<Manuel_OKelly> I don't have to, it just seemed like a good Idea at the
time
<case> hmm
<Manuel_OKelly> If I take chem I can take that and calc at the same time
<alienbinary> ALT, my sen. year in high school I taught science as a
student
teacher. That's what we did. :D
<Manuel_OKelly> when is deception on tonight?
<case> i went to college part time my senior year
<case> and i still cant graduate in 4 years ;)
<alienbinary> that, and we made a pneumatic cannon.
??1;31m? SignOff Shie: #rantradio (Ping timeout)
<case> damn i suck heh
<alienbinary> the cannon should put styrofoam through a window.
??1;31m? panther [~Panther@anon-293045.columbus.rr.com] has joined #rantradio
??1;31m? mode/#rantradio [+v panther] by Cow
<AfricanLoveTurtle> woah that sounds cool
<alien
binary> it is. it looks like the railgun in q3
<panther> I am here!
<SpyAFK> oh joy of joys
<panther> ;-)
<panther> Yea, I have that effect on people.
<SpyAFK> ;p
<alienbinary> I built it on the same principle as a railgun's chamber,
namely
to move current arround over and over until
you release it, sending the object rocketing out like a
motherfucker.
<AfricanLoveTurtle> i took some pneumatic hose and some electrical wire,
a
terminal slice, and a vac pump from work and
made a fucking really cool automated bong with a momentary
switch
<alienbinary> lol, that's applied science my friend!
<AfricanLoveTurtle> word!
----------------------------- QUOTE OF THE DAY(s) -----------------------------
[QOTD] [03:06 12:24] <Alpha736> is a baby's brain small enough to fit on
a CD?
------------------------- single serving one liners. --------------------------
<[-Soultrance-]> she was an equestrian whore, she road western in
competitions
and such
<juggaloofevil> does your router have more hops than budwiser? THEN
FUCKING
LEAVE
----------------- ever get the feeling that somone is watching you? -----------
<[-Soultrance-]> I;'ll get her for that, lol
<PiD> haha :D
<[-Soultrance-]> Did she do it for Chrys ?
<PiD> uhh dont think chrys was on at the time
<[-Soultrance-]> ...
<PiD> i could only see u in the background :P
<[-Soultrance-]> oh okay
<[-Soultrance-]> lol
<PiD> so i asked who was on the couch :P
<PiD> no as if she stuck the cam in yer face :P
<PiD> altho she did leave it on after she went out ;) ;)
<[-Soultrance-]> oh okay, I thought the cam was on me or something :P
<[-Soultrance-]> she did ?
<[-Soultrance-]> lol
<PiD> ;)
<PiD> yes she did
<PiD> lol
??1;31m? BF1942Missy is now known as MissConduct
<[-Soultrance-]> Guess I shouldn't have jerked off then
<[-Soultrance-]> :P
<PiD> dam right
<PiD> nice wang btw ;)
<PiD> haha
<[-Soultrance-]> I hear that a lot
<[-Soultrance-]> :P
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[ Watching the Snow ]
[ alienbinary ]
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There's a gentle breathing in the background as she sleeps on my bed atop a
bedspread made in the Himalayas. A foot or so to her right is the windowsill,
partially open with the draft of winter's last stand coming through. I've shut
off all the lights in the room, but there remains enough light with which to
see. Looking outside, the snow is falling in sheets, covering the ground in a
desperate attempt to prove that the storms of February weren't nearly all
nature had in store for us this dismal winter. The squalls are competing for
the lamplight outside, wrestling for dominance under the yellow glow of a
streetlight.
The snow makes me feel clean as I watch it fall to the ground. All the
filth, cigarette butts and candy bar wrappers will be covered in a white
funereal veil, buried until the sun shows to uncover the new ground below. In
the time between when the storm starts and the plows, there's an energy in the
air that I can feel in my head. The storm is brewing and the atmosphere is
holding on for as long as it can, finally letting go in a raging tsunami of
pure white powder. The snow will insulate me from outside influences for a
little while. For now, it's just me and my slumbering companion, clad all in
black, contrasting against the strong cadmium red of the bedspread. You can
taste the air it's so thick.
Watching the snow fall outside my dorm room reminds me of doing the same
when I was at boarding school, a long, long time ago. It seems long, any ways.
I think everything seems farther away both physically and chronologically in a
blizzard. This is fine with me, I'm tired from the passage of time; a little
respite could do me wonders. When I used to watch the snow collect outside on
the railing of my dorm room all those years ago, I would think of all the other
people who were being wrapped in the very same blanket. There was at once a
sense of unity and individuality. While I knew that many, many other people
were watching the snow just as I was, I knew that they felt equally as alone.
A lot of my time in boarding school was spent alone. I worked as a
volunteer techie for a nonprofit organization, devoting my time to something I
thought, and still do, to be a worthy cause. By the time I would find myself
home, I would be worn out and tired, too jaded from the computer monitors at
work to give a damn about the two large televisions at full blast in audio
warfare, or the kid swearing at the playstation and throwing his controller.
When it snowed, I would sometimes hope against hope that the snow would keep
going, so I could stay the night at the building where I worked. I never liked
going back. As much as I felt like I was without a peer in the workplace, I was
unduly without peers most of my time in school. When most kids were determined
to bide their time until they could leave and make a whole lot of nothing of
themselves, I was determined to remain undetermined. That's why I liked the
snow. When the weather would break out in a passionate storm, nature was
reasserting herself as the master of the earth, reminding the people on it that
they could not function without her support. Even the people who did nothing
but try and rush us on to whatever appointments we had for whatever reasons
would have to stop what they were doing and put on work boots and walk from
dormitory to dormitory checking in on all the other inmate students. When this
happened, the faculty that had remained behind for an extra hour for whatever
reason would be forced to stay on campus, to share in the hell we had to
endure. Indeed, when it snowed, hell really was a frozen landscape.
I would look out at this landscape and imagine myself mounting the wooden
railings on the fire escape I had willfully disarmed long ago and jump;
tumbling into a white abyss. I would land in a bed of flakes, my tracks would
be soon covered up by the snow, and I could wander the earth free. I could have
done it at any time. I always packed survival gear under the bed just in case I
couldn't stand the place any longer.
Still, I was content to just passively watch the snow fall for hours and
hours, knowing that the entire city, perhaps the whole world had decided to put
the brakes on the every day grind, admitting defeat to mother nature. All the
people bound to their watches would fret, all of us who didn't care would
finally relax. In the snow, it doesn't matter what time it is, because even if
you do have somewhere to be, you can't rush there. Snow forces you to take your
time and appreciate what you're doing. I liked the idea of anything forcing
these people who were trying to tell me what to do with my life to submit to an
even higher authority to which there was no appeal. I had no control over the
weather, true, so I couldn't claim to be more powerful than they, but I lost
nothing when the snow fell. It was because I was at rock bottom with nothing to
lose that I was the only one who could get anything from the dismal weather. I
would sneak outside and smoke cigarettes, playing with the freshly packed
powder, then I would come back in and go back to my bay of computers. With the
rest of the physical world forced to leave me be, I would retreat farther into
myself, and thus into the digital world until I was untouchable.
I suppose you could say that not a whole lot has really changed since then.
Although I'm now the one who is allegedly in charge of my own life right now,
no matter how old you get you can feel the constraints of society at least
dimly. You can always feel them pulling at you, except for when the earth gives
you some time to relax. It's times like these that we are free. Times like
these remind those in power that they cannot control everything. And in turn,
that means that we gain control, because we realize that it was never theirs to
begin with.
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[ Outro ]
[ alienbinary ]
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"A free society is one where it is safe to be unpopular"
-- Adlai E. Stevenson
At the moment, legislation is underway that seeks to ban all forms of
expression that would be considered "indecent." As of a little while ago,
Howard Stern was dismissed from the airwaves, and South Park, as of very
recently, can no longer say the words "asshole" or "assrammer," despite the
fact that cable television is not a common carrier. These, admittedly, are
small defeats in the fight for free speech. They are minor until you realize
that this is just the beginning. We've all been skeptical of the mainstream
media for a while, but now it looks like we have to be skeptical of the whole
damn industry. Independent Regulatory Agencies, Government Legislatures, CEOs,
concerned parent groups... these people are all trying to make life in America
about as much fun as a root canal in the Dead Sea.
So what does that mean for us? That means that it's even more important,
more important than ever, to support independent media. Indy music, literature
and art is the only remaining bastion of free expression left, and without
support, that could too erode. At PA1N, we say what we feel, we print what we
think is interesting, and although we do think about the consequences, we
beleive that free expression is more important than searching for a safer
society. There is no safe society when you cannot say what you think. There is
no safe society when you cannot paint what you see in your head, or speak
freely what you beleive. As we speak, certain government and non-governmental
lobbyists are pushing for a constitutional convention that would quite possibly
rewrite, or utterly annhilate the first ammendment. Don't be silent while this
goes on.
As a community, we must recognize that if there is to be any freedom left
in this world, someone must protect it. As the American Civil Liberties Union's
slogan puts it "Freedom isn't free." Now's the time to get armed with
information, knowledge and if you have access, contact information to people
whose job it is to understand that you DON'T want your world to be sugarcoated.
Remember, the FCC may take complaints about broadcasting, but they also take
complaints about their own activity. If you feel that some entity has gone too
far, make some noise, get heard and get out there.
As for PA1N... well, we're not going anywhere. This is the official
magazine of Rantradio. Before during and after the dot com bubble burst,
rantradio is a landmark online. Don't discount the power of independent media.
The community that exists among all the various subsections of Rantradio,
SPFD2600, e-lite, shoutboxradio, etc., these communities are unique, unique in
their power to keep the idea alive. We exist all over the world. We are the
cyberculture. Now's the time for them to be afraid. You know, very afraid.
Afraid because we are very very pissed off, and we're growing in numbers. I
hope you enjoyed this issue of PA1N, keep watching the forums, volume ten is
underway. Thanks.
March, 2004. alienbinary.
