=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
= 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. =
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=