.__________. .- -. .-' .- -' '- -. '-. / .;P' '$b \ .-' $8' ';$ '-. $ $$' '$$ $ $ $$ nine $$ $ $ $$ $$ $ | $$ $$ | | $$ ;; | $$ $;' '$;. $$ $$$ $$.__z$$$b_ _d$$$z__.$$ $$$ $$$ $$ $$$$$$$ $$$$$$$ $$ $$$ $$ '$. $$$$$.' '.$$$$$ .$ $$ '---. $$ . ---' $' 'l;' '$ ------------------- $$ '' $$ --------------------- '$$. .$$' '!-!_!_!-!' ~'$$$$$$lll;;, ~Z$n_. _4 ~$$$$~ ~$$$$~ '$$' ''$ .$$' '$$. .4$$ $$$ $$ \ $$ ;$ $$' '$$ ' $$ $$$. $$ / \\ $; $$ $; ;$ $$ $$'$$. $$ // \ . $$;. .$ $; ;$ $$ $$ '$$.$$ .'/ \ \ $$$$$$$.;:' $$; ;$$ $$ $$ '$$$$ / / \ '. $$' 4$$$$$$$$$$k $$ $$ '$$$ .' / _____\ $$ $$' '$$ $$ $$ '$$ /____ '-. __$$__ __$$__ __$$__ __$$__ __$$__ __$$__ .-' ------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 ___________________________________________________________________ ------------------------------------------------------------------- "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. -?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??---- 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 topics, 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. ------------------------- im going to VA this summer to work for them again but this time im in like flynn no call center bullshit yeah. I never got that phrase. who the fuck is flynn that he's in everything? In Like Flynn, classic spy spoof movie you're shitting me. 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. clearchannel and aol should get together and just, well, kindly go away. CaponeX: suck go bowling or something alienbinary: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089332/ --------------------- cereal, malicious code... healthy breakfast. ------------ i came to my box and had 1064 spamed emails olga.net is fucking almighty and i dont ever get spam fucking realtors 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 print em, and put em in a binder whoa... i didn't get any new worms! heh sorry. that's like opening a box of cereal and not finding a prize. pfft my inbox is full of .scr .pif .exe heh i tried to run a virii under wine it didtn work =[ ??1;31m? SignOff PiD: #rantradio (Quit: IRC is where MEN are MEN, women are men, and children are really FBI agents!) the sick thing is if i opened up my cocoa puffs and a .pif popped out i wouldnt be suprised lol, why the fuck did you do that? i was bored it was there contained? yeah it didnt do anything i scanned my system so, just kind of like a pet virus? yeah i wanted it to chill with me but it didnt want to =[ ?1;33mcenobite/#rantradio feels rejected there's a couple guys at MIT who have setups like that. very, very, very, lonely guys. i would have swore it should have worked oh well i wanted to be the first linux box in our building to get infected with sky hahahahahha so i could be like all our windows users -------------------------------- applied science. ---------------------------- I've been locked in a room with a million chemistry problems ewww chemistry yeah, I just need to pass two semesters of it and I can actually start taking some compsci courses 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. i've never been a science person i like anatomy and social sciences if that counts? you have to take chem to take csci? thats bizzaro blowing shit up and making it glow sounds cool I don't have to, it just seemed like a good Idea at the time hmm If I take chem I can take that and calc at the same time ALT, my sen. year in high school I taught science as a student teacher. That's what we did. :D when is deception on tonight? i went to college part time my senior year and i still cant graduate in 4 years ;) that, and we made a pneumatic cannon. ??1;31m? SignOff Shie: #rantradio (Ping timeout) damn i suck heh 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 woah that sounds cool it is. it looks like the railgun in q3 I am here! oh joy of joys ;-) Yea, I have that effect on people. ;p 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. 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 lol, that's applied science my friend! word! ----------------------------- QUOTE OF THE DAY(s) ----------------------------- [QOTD] [03:06 12:24] 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 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 haha :D <[-Soultrance-]> Did she do it for Chrys ? uhh dont think chrys was on at the time <[-Soultrance-]> ... i could only see u in the background :P <[-Soultrance-]> oh okay <[-Soultrance-]> lol so i asked who was on the couch :P no as if she stuck the cam in yer face :P 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 ;) yes she did lol ??1;31m? BF1942Missy is now known as MissConduct <[-Soultrance-]> Guess I shouldn't have jerked off then <[-Soultrance-]> :P dam right nice wang btw ;) haha <[-Soultrance-]> I hear that a lot <[-Soultrance-]> :P -?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??---- PA1Nv9x14----------------------------------------------------------------[ 14 ] [ Watching the Snow ] [ alienbinary ] [ 14 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x14 -?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------?????????????????? 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. -?------------?------------???????????????????????????-------------------??---- PA1Nv9x15----------------------------------------------------------------[ 15 ] [ Outro ] [ alienbinary ] [ 15 ]----------------------------------------------------------------PA1Nv9x15 -?------------?---????????????-----------???????????---------?????????????????? "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.