144 lines
6.5 KiB
Plaintext
144 lines
6.5 KiB
Plaintext
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
|
|
...tbc...
|
|
_________
|
|
|
|
maybe i am wrong.
|
|
|
|
maybe fuck is still the same. maybe nothing else has changed.
|
|
|
|
but me.
|
|
|
|
|
|
there existed in my history a period where my fingers would get the shakes.
|
|
my ears would tune out everything else to try to find the clicking sound.
|
|
if i went a few hours without typing, if i did not get my daily dose of
|
|
radiation emitting from my twenty-one inch screen at work, i would be succumb
|
|
with a hunger not even food nor sex nor anything else could quench.
|
|
|
|
i've been telling myself there has to be a better life, that in a few years i
|
|
may be at the point where i no longer need to depend upon the machine. a few
|
|
years may be turning soon into a few months. last week i had my first quasi-
|
|
dry week in 4 years. my work finally shipped me off to networking class at
|
|
the hilton. the first two days were spent in theory with no computer to work
|
|
on. by tuesday my fingers ached. they had not touched keys since Friday.
|
|
but for some reason i decided just to gaze at, but not to flip on, my home
|
|
PC.
|
|
|
|
day 3 we hooked up the lab net with ciscos, bays, and 3coms. internal net
|
|
only. could i last the week without the Net? without email? configured the
|
|
routers with notebook pcs. minuscule doses of radiation, if any. no amounts
|
|
of chocolate could satisfy my cravings. didn't check voice mail either. and
|
|
i didn't bring my beeper. and i'm bad with phones. so basically for a week
|
|
i
|
|
|
|
cut off all external forms of communication.
|
|
|
|
and i survived. i read my books.
|
|
|
|
now i have a whole new perspective on my work.
|
|
|
|
i hate it!
|
|
|
|
if i could only trash this keyboard. ram it through this insanely huge idol
|
|
of a monitor glaring at me. subtly controlling me. tiny shards of glass
|
|
could bounce off the springs as they uncompress and careen across my cube.
|
|
if only i could cut the tail on my mouse, slice circles from my much abused
|
|
sand-filled stress balloon, and tape them on for ears. i could yell
|
|
|
|
"andele andele fly be free"
|
|
|
|
at the top of my lungs. maybe just maybe i would have a better excuse to not
|
|
touch technology for a month, due to the bouncy walls that would then
|
|
surround me. for some reason i think at least there i would get a
|
|
|
|
glimpse of peace.
|
|
|
|
no traffic. no responsibility.
|
|
|
|
no car that beeps at me when i turn the key,
|
|
telling me that it needs to be serviced.
|
|
|
|
no cell phone
|
|
|
|
nothing forcing me to stay connected where'er i go.
|
|
|
|
because physically i couldn't go anywhere.
|
|
|
|
but mentally mentally
|
|
|
|
mentally mentally
|
|
|
|
emotionally
|
|
|
|
i would have the time
|
|
|
|
to create a thousand universes
|
|
|
|
and at the same time
|
|
|
|
be present in every one.
|
|
|
|
no Nashville calling about server problems that i did not create. no
|
|
listservs spewing senseless email about a topic long lost and forgotten,
|
|
long after i thought i sent in my unsubscribe. so now with my lungs filled
|
|
with air, ready to cry out for
|
|
|
|
death to technology!!!!!
|
|
|
|
i wonder why i am typing this now. that breath alone damns me in my
|
|
hypocrisy while my fingers continue to strike these keys. what would they
|
|
think, those who will read this? will they care? will they deem me insane,
|
|
or
|
|
|
|
damn me in my shame?
|
|
|
|
and if they do, will they think any different of me now then before? without
|
|
technology, would i then be less of a person, in their eyes? in mine own?
|
|
for many of them, as has been for me in the past, technology is not merely a
|
|
fascination, but a livelihood, a passion, a religion. and thus to them,
|
|
have i?...
|
|
|
|
i have committed blasphemy.
|
|
|
|
and if i plan in my future endeavors
|
|
to do away with technology in its entirety
|
|
|
|
to the extent that a five year old asks "mother, what is that?" while
|
|
pointing to a p39 like when i recently heard one ask that at office max while
|
|
pointing to a word processor and in reply heard "dear, i think that's a
|
|
typewriter."
|
|
if i succeed in my future endeavors
|
|
|
|
will they not say
|
|
|
|
will not this five year old boy
|
|
who thinks tv is antiquated compared to his own home pc
|
|
|
|
fill his lungs with air
|
|
|
|
and shout with the top of his voice
|
|
|
|
DEATH TO YT!
|
|
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
|
|
= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
|
|
= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
|
|
= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
|
|
= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
|
|
= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
|
|
= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
|
|
= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
|
|
= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
|
|
= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|
|
= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
|
|
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
|