Poetry #10: Hypocrite!

[This was originally published in F.U.C.K. poetry Issue #10. The publish date is approximate.]

        All poetry sucks. No talent, eccentric
        subjective creativity is not art
        and does not hold meaning.
        Anyone can scribble, we can all force
        So what makes 'good' poetry. If
        YOU like it. Nothing else. Like
                        it is in the eye
                        of the beholder. Simple
                        as that as my
                        pen runs dry.

Poetry #09: No Particular Order

[This was originally published in F.U.C.K. poetry Issue #9. The publish date is approximate.]

unknown likeness in the distance
mutual spirit close to heart
never ending friendly surprise
daily routine repressed the spark

curiosity, maybe even destiny?
always meant to be, in one form or another
one with true concern
silently provoking, such a tease

never met, already known
content with eternal comfort
to find the solace of you
kindred hate if nothing else

four. that mean something to me.

#462: Hacker Blues

[F.U.C.K. is an e-zine that I started on January 24, 1993 and ended on January 24, 2000. One concept is that articles should be timeless if possible, so they were not released with dates. As such, the date on this blog is not exact but I will try to use a date as close as possible.]

You mail me with bizarre requests…

You message me on IRC with stupid questions…

You ask me questions when the answers are flashing in front of you…

And you dare to call yourself a hacker by any definition of the word.

Instead of having a baseline of respect, instead of learning more about the person you ask questions of, you quickly denounce me as a lamer for not giving you everything on a silver platter. The first time I don’t give you a full dissertation on why Windows95 can’t spoof like a *nix box can, you call me a fake and try to flood me.

You ask me how to get free soda from coke machines…

You ask me how to get free cable and adult channels…

You ask me how to pirate video tapes or make fake IDs…

When I politely tell you that I can’t help you, you call me a fake. A wannabe. A loser. Someone who doesn’t know anything. You say I shouldn’t run Windows and laugh at me. I ignore you and log into another one of my Sparcs. I begin a new compile for the latest version of SSH and glance back to my IRC window. There you are again, unable to take the hint.

You ask me for exploits to operating systems you can’t use…

You ask me for PBX information but don’t know what it stands for…

You ask me for credit card generators that haven’t been practical for years…

I have been here for almost a decade. Some months I am not right here, but I am always around. I am on IRC to chat with my friends, not hold your hand. I prefer to stay on a few channels to talk with groups of friends. You join uninvited, don’t bother to see who is here, interrupt our conversation, and yet I am the dickhead for ignoring you.

You call me a loser for being on IRC… by messaging me on IRC…

You insult my mom because I don’t care to decipher your cryptic requests…

You try to flood me because I don’t want you on my channel…

Why can’t you see how pathetic you are? Hiding behind ‘elite’ nicknames that are the result of sticky shift keys. Giving me shit from your AOL and Compuserve accounts. You mail me and whine because I deny you from my FTP site. You act like it is your right to access my private system, to use my bandwidth, my CPU time. The thought of passively watching and reading lost to you.

You go so far as to threaten my life over a bunch of 1s and 0s…

You threaten to ruin my credit and disconnect my phones…

You say you will hack my system and ‘rm’ it for being mean to you…

And you wonder why I get so disgusted at people like you? You don’t know what things like “local loop”, “ESS”, or “RCMAC” are, yet you think for two seconds you can disconnect my phone? Companies like TRW, CBI, and Equifax are foreign to you, and you think you can ruin my credit? You portscan my system and have to message me asking what some of my services are, and you think you can ‘rm’ my system?

You quote articles I wrote to me trying to look more intelligent…

You tell me to go read the files on a website… that I created…

You tell me to check out the files on some server… that I run…

And after all this, I am still the ‘lamer’. I have no life and no clue about how things work. I sit on IRC 24 hours a day. My parents weren’t married when I was born. I am 14 years old, 5’0″, 310 pounds. I have no social life, never go outside, and get beat up in school. Or at least… that is how I must be according to the rest of you.

When are you going to wake up and realize that ankle biters like you are nothing in this world. You can’t even get respect in an online world that basically accepts everyone as equals. You get banned from channels run by newbies, because they are willing to sit patiently and learn, while you are running around yelling about how “eleet” you are.

Your third grade antics give the rest of us a bad name. You do nothing productive for the scene, online community, me, and worst of all, you do nothing for yourself. What does it take to teach people like you a lesson? How can people like me help you with technical information when you need help in so many other areas? Why do you live for strife while claiming to be seeking information? Why can’t you see what is going on? Why do you refuse ANY help for ANY reason? Isn’t this all about learning and helping one another? Why?!

Poetry #06: map of my night

[This was originally published in F.U.C.K. poetry Issue #6. The publish date is approximate.]

more eclectic, eccentric, out of touch    another kernel compile,  more mail
A              all meaning lost to all    2.0.55 bombed shortly after 2.0.31
small slice                  except me    another man page, another util now
of my random thoughts                I    known.  continued wonder of lamers
and the strange day that i keep having    with power they cannot comprehend.

several  calls    freestyle a blessing    the apocalypse looms around us all
throughout the    for without form the    calling out for the world of souls
night, present    mind can wonder mean    next day, next year, next whatever
company in one    thought down the new    more childish fear or maybe a tool
form,  comfort    trail, chaos of mind    for lemming mass control. i bet it
of friendship.    a simple expression.    is the latter. just one faithless.

cascading flame the warmth    1:52 and disarray is    sleep comes for us all
red and blue dance around.    all there is.  vague    maybe some music so he
mesmerizes poets young kid    glimpse of something    can relax,  let broken 
enthralls taunts and tease    to come. yesteryear.    dreams take his pains.

Poetry #05: samurai

[This was originally published in F.U.C.K. poetry Issue #5. The publish date is approximate.]

dull flicker, the room dances with life;
whisper of trance pours from the speakers
bowing head, warrior prepares for strife

so much time crashes by;
its the longest minutes of his life
and his duty begs him to cry

as he wishes he was dead
silent warrior kneels among the bodies
while the field runs red

#459: Goth, Hat, and Tie

[F.U.C.K. is an e-zine that I started on January 24, 1993 and ended on January 24, 2000. One concept is that articles should be timeless if possible, so they were not released with dates. As such, the date on this blog is not exact but I will try to use a date as close as possible.]

It occurred to me today, and yesterday, and the day before… that a lot of little things go on in our lives and we have no fucking clue why. Is there any logic to the moments of madness in our lives? Or maybe I should qualify that. In particular I am talking about little things like clothing, custom, etiquette, or ‘society norms’. I know I have touched on a few of these in the past, but I think that put together, you may question a lot about your daily activities. Especially if you work, and even better, if you work ‘normal’ hours.

When I go to work I have to do a few things that seem absurd. Not only because I personally don’t like to do them, but because I can’t figure out the true logic behind them. Sure, my boss says ‘our customers do it or expect it’. Gee fucking wiz, they are living the same demented lives without logic or reason, just like us. Two stupids don’t make a right.

First off, I shave. It has been custom for how many years that people in a so called professional environment should be either clean shaven or have a full beard (or mustache). Think about it, the two extremes of facial hair are ‘good’, while having a light beard is ‘bad’. It used to be that long unruly beards were the norm, but now short well kept beards are. What’s the difference? As long as it is well kept (not going down and meeting with the chest hair), and at any length not to exceed ‘unruly’), what does it matter?

Next thing I do is put on work clothes. Sure, I will go ahead and agree that nice pressed pants and nice pressed shirt are aesthetically pleasing, especially when the entire office dresses that way, but I do draw the line at the tie. The tie is the most ridiculous piece of clothing a person can put on. Aside from hanging a noose around your neck, do you know why a tie is part of tradition? I found out and laughed. The tie is worn to cover the buttons on your shirt. The buttons on your standard white dress shirt are near invisible as is. Aside from that, follow this login: a dress shirt has buttons which aren’t pleasing to the eye (cough), so we put a tie around your neck to hide them. Yet if we wear a nice white tee-shirt, that isn’t dressed up.

Of course all this is more absurd since I don’t deal with customers on the average day. So now our office is dressing up, even when not needed, despite not seeing a customer, all on the whim of one conservative director. Oh yeah.

So I am driving home and notice another annoying trend. Cowboy hats. It’s dark out, sun has been down for a while, and this schmuck is driving down the road in his pickup truck wearing a big black cowboy hat. Why? Because it is now a fashion statement, nothing else. And a ridiculous one at that. This big unwieldy piece of something is stuck on your head and blocking half your peripheral view.

Most of the ‘cowboy’ fashion is just past trends with lost reasons. The big belt buckle yet another one. Half these wannabe hicks run around wearing the stuff and have no clue why.

I am kicking back at a club nights afterwards, laughing half the night. The club is called “The Dungeon”, which halfway implies a more industrial, gothic, or bondage club. Low and behold, you have a wannabe rave on one dance floor, and ambient on the other. I dig ambient, but not to dance to at a club. So I am in the other room watching these people. Most are rave kiddies bouncing around doing their style dancing. The other is a mix of club rejects (or something) that seem out of place. You have one or two goth types that stick out in new ways. One dances like a rave kiddie all night, not a graceful bone in his body. The next tries to ‘vogue’ like Madonna… to all the rave type songs. No originality in dancing, no style, no grace. Yet they dress that way because it is popular. How do I know that is the reason? Because it is in their actions, who they talk to, how they dance, what songs they know, how self-conscience they appear, and more.

I don’t know. Just seems a lot of things we do are pointless and not worth doing. Yet we plod along as if they are requirements to life or something. I don’t think I need to go into what you can do to change this problem, it is only a matter of action. All I know is that doing what I want to do, when I want to, and not worrying about how others view me physically makes me feel comfortable. Why would anyone want any different?