Using https://aiyprojects.withgoogle.com/vision/ and a Polaroid camera in Barton SpringZ to pwn Facebook. #bartonspringz2049 #blackinai

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

People’s Protection Units in Austin and Open Science for Women and People of Color.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

#BartonSpringZ2049

#BartonSpringZ2049
Sent: July 13, 2018 9:09 AM

From: kaya.erbil@protonmail.com

To: wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com

CC: anayeem1@gmail.com anayeem1@gmail.com, agapie@caltech.edu agapie@caltech.edu, ayting@stanford.edu ayting@stanford.edu, bob@romeg.com bob@romeg.com, bobbi.patterson@emory.edu bobbi.patterson@emory.edu, bobhass@berkeley.edu bobhass@berkeley.edu, bpatter@emory.edu bpatter@emory.edu, dewemmer@lbl.gov dewemmer@lbl.gov, dlynn2@emory.edu dlynn2@emory.edu, doudna@berkeley.edu doudna@berkeley.edu, gore@mit.edu gore@mit.edu, ichapela@berkeley.edu ichapela@berkeley.edu, jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu, janine.marill@gmail.com janine.marill@gmail.com, kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org, kendra@wiswell.us kendra@wiswell.us, kuriyan@berkeley.edu kuriyan@berkeley.edu, kwarncke@physics.emory.edu kwarncke@physics.emory.edu, libace@emory.edu libace@emory.edu, marletta@berkeley.edu marletta@berkeley.edu, martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu, misseliz.davidson@gmail.com misseliz.davidson@gmail.com, robertjb@berkeley.edu robertjb@berkeley.edu, winonaladuke1@gmail.com winonaladuke1@gmail.com

Love Letter to a Millennial Girl

My love, I know, I’ve seen it too,

It’s not like you are any one in particular,

Or, small or fat, skinny, or tall, or white or black,

I’ll tell you a secret, a quiet one that you learn in time,

Paint in the face of doubt, lift your body out of the chair,

Walk outside my love, don’t be afraid to run away,

Walk, walk with the winds of time,

…escape for a moment and go to the waters,

Get a couple used bottles and get the water,

Go home, boil it down, and go to Blick’s Arts Supply,

Buy a canvas, and do an enso, just pour the water down in that canvas,

Let it dry, stare at it, come back, that’s your mind,

Your mind is earth and water, it’s her is it aways has been,

Take a walk with me in five dimensions, not that I am there,

I never am really anywhere, drifting here or there,

Where are you my wife, my love I was there long ago,

In a small hut by the sacred water of Coast Guard Beach,

I walked with a stick and played in the sand,

Come on out to the sacred water, my love you can see it now,

In ways that you once could not, toiling away at a cotton mill or in a call center,

I tried all that and it broke, Mind, the deep secret is that it’s water,

It always ways, I saw you at first sight and could read the pain,

The way you never looked me in the eye,

I wanted to blow you apart and put you back together,

Those I love I don’t leave untouched, the omega point is not that far off,

We’re almost there, total unity, Facebook says unite the world, make it smaller,

You swipe right for love, my love, let me give you a secret,

Lovers write with pens and paper, they dictate to secretaries,

…or hid long enough waiting for the moment to explode with yearning,

Where are you, why have you not been here before,

Your generation, is full of children men, and sage women, healers, dancers, shamans,

Artists, not hippies, cyberpunks and torn jeans, black boots, and share snaps of wit,

Not that you have much choice, I could not see it today, in my life,

We looked for the hole in the wall, the fly in the ointment,

You, see the sun for the light it is, yearning for the age of Aquarius,

But you know, I thought that was gone long ago,

On your arms, you wear a badge of similarity, of Minnesota Nice,

The thing I like about New York and Boston is they just go ahead and run you over,

Just get it over with already, they said,

“At Harvard the knife you in the back, at MIT they knife you in the chest,”

So true, glad I like it that way now, I’d like you to dance over your walls,

Learn to scream and run naked in the snow with me, with your sisters,

Madness is a human right now, in this age, we are all allowed,

Let it be the norm, so we can all understand we’re all together,

It’s not that I know what to say when I see you in pain, my love let me write you a letter,

A love letter by hand, I know that sounds so strange, to profess love to a digital phantom,

Tha phantom sees it as the norm, I’ve never really known home in earth,

Or see peace, in a time, here or there, for these reasons, I am there with you,

I skipped a generation, a generation is all we have now, to decide,

It was put there for you to determine, for that reason forget it,

Walk away, it’s not your problem, go to the water and pray,

These are the times we are in, to accept fate and bow and relax,

Forward we go and I know anything that is slow is good,

Slow food, walking, shoveling snow, animals in the woods,

Goats that eat poetry, cats that drink poison water, they are here to accept it,

They will come back, don’t worry, we will create space soon,

Let me hold you in prayer, I don’t know what else to do,

I am scared too, these are the time we face, be it as they may,

But know that you have done something extra ordinary today,

Something I know, and want to heal, I dream and pray,

Each day, for your healing, what else to do but write and paint in the face of doubt,

My tears run as the rivers, to wash away those things that hinder you from crying,

See a man cry, a grown man cry, it’s possible, I did it yesterday,

Let me tear stain a love letter to you, whereever you are.

The New Weathers

“The sum of a field’s forces [become] what we call very loosely the ‘spirit of the place.’ To know the spirit of a place is to realize that you are a part of a part and that the whole is made of parts, each of which in a whole. You start with the part you are whole in.”

— Gary Snyder

Surrealism these days might be the only way to penetrate it all,

To give it to you as a coherent whole, as a gift, wrapped in a bow,

We know too much, have reduced Her to bits, one’s and zero’s,

Disembodied, and lost, yet we’re here, you’re right here, right now,

In this place, embodied, breathing air that I once exhaled, air’s old,

The co-rising and interconnectedness of the multiverse, you and I,

This poem came from somewhere, a dream channeled into here,

Into this space, behind a screen, bleeping and pinging, on and on,

This is all a dream, a simulation, I know too much about very little,

Chemistry, atoms in resonance, with you and I here we breath,

In and out, surrealism is dream language and an archive portal,

You can see my memories of facts, and traces of lectures and slides,

That’s all gone now, I’ve got my dreams and my memories, DNA, RNA,

Proteins, and the force fields that guide the way they move and shake,

In reality, in you and I, it’s elemental, there are not a hundred elements,

There are four, earth, water, wind, and fire, this is not a delusion, illusion,

To know the parts, and assemble a picture here, in this space take these four, Combine them in alchemical ratios in your mind, that’s all there is, you,

Little I and/or Big I, it does not matter, to know the spirit of place, to meditate,

That is to realize that you are a part of a part and that the whole is made of parts, Each of which is a whole, you start with the part you are whole in,

For me these four fragments of the hundred, an ancient trace,

No longer a chemist, from now on it’s alchemy and alchemy alone,

It’s not experiments, it’s magic and transmutations, I start where I am, whole,

That is here with this page, and traces of light and dark on a screen and paint,

Paint a picture freely of dreams, and of conscious fragments all bouncing around,

In and out, flowing as words, the wilderness of archive, decolonized mind,

Hive mind, the matrix, wild minds, grids and mappings, I don’t see them,

Every trace on this screen I see through to the human on the other side of the desk,

I listen to the voices, this is a real place, a real space and it is here that I live, Surrealism may be that Jack Kerouac School for Disembodied Poetics,

Gritty and dirty language obsessed with details of pain and suffering,

Only to point up and in, into you and into the sky, only to drop the screen,

To penetrate what is all quite simple, just four elements combined in ratios,

Our weathers, brewing and storming, coherent and fluid this is magic,

Only that alone should you see, here in this place for now, but wait and sit,

Tomorrow will be another day, the friend will call you, and you will drive home,

You will dream, and I will dream, of what only you know, Big I, that master,

The master alchemist in the sky, an illusion of words, but one to pray to just the same.

Fukushima Angel: Know When to Walk Away

Safecast radioactivity map.

Late afternoon March 11, 2011
Just outside Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan
Radioactivity — 0.36 + microSv/h
She is there in a small tiny apartment, cold and alone. Beaten by life, optimistic. A smile graces her face. Surrounded by madness, sane. They said, “Know when to walk away.” To get out of the burning car and take that first step. To walk away before the flames touch the gas tank, before she can’t work. To walk away before the neurons fail and it gets too hard. The ambient air shimmers with heat, microscopic nanoparticles of fallout. This Fukushima angel is the future, our future anywhere around here. Waters are rising and tempers are simmering to a boil. She lights a joint, California kush shipped in via UPS. This is now, here, there or anywhere. What is it to be alive when the car’s on fire and you’re just walking away? Where is love and home when it’s in a box, five or ten on a truck driving to a new ‘hood? Survival mode and nothing more masks the subtlety and grace of the city cloaked in a thin veil of fallout, just enough to cause her eggs to mutate 0.0001% faster, to what no one knows. His sperm count was in the red, it was a lost cause. Their marriage was a waste of time. Earth is on fire and there’s nowhere to go. Just hop out the car and run. The war on drugs is on her, on him. It’s one day in the life of the post-modern couple and we’re all looking for answers.

Radioactivity 0.36 + mSv/h, Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan.

“New map shows America’s quietest places,” Science, Feb. 16, 2015 from here.

Apple Store, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA
Ambient Noise Level — 75.9 dB
He is there typing on an Apple Macintosh laptop, cold and alone. Beaten by life, optimistic. A smile graces his face. Surrounded by madness, sane. The screen to the right promises human contact that costs nothing other than the purchase price of an iPhone, a photo walk in local surroundings. Off work for the week from UPS, afraid his analytics scores are not high enough to meet the cut. The metaphors of this adult kid’s hour are not that opaque. It’s going to be an admiration fest of big houses, manicured gardens, front yards, birdhouses, and fountains. Boring, at least to him.

He checks his Facebook account for the tenth time in the afternoon, realizing that his friend Kate in Amsterdam has some questions. She writes of his short story post, “Nicely written … and what is the concept? To run? On what sign? To where? … or will we all be lost? Can she get off the island? Will all marriages be useless? Will they go live underground? How long? … haha? I am building food forests for after the apocalypse … wow! Very end times … Fukushima is a horror … for all of us… I don’t dare swim, nor eat fish. No more.” He writes back, “I’d love a paragraph from you.” She replies, “Wink. Smile. Haha. Emoticon. I’ll think about it. Cool, yeah! First World War III … Revelation, this woman? Ah! She’s fine! She understands our situation very well. She’s sane, living in the end times of what, we don’t know.” “Age of Aquarius,” he writes back.

To map the normal hysteria of his baseline existence in real time, giving the real time data stream away as entertainment, is his dream. In all that, the first thing to do in a time of panic is to know where the noise is. The ambient noise of panic, joy, mayhem, ecstasy, and agony. The birth pains of a dream, a silent city with nothing but humans and spaces. No electricity, no speed … silence. To visualize the screams of terror of the masses as they withdraw. What will it take? To be subtle at first, to cloak the intention of the project in a veil of good intentions. It begins as a survival strategy, a plan for answers in an infinitely complex Gordian’s knot.
Walking home, he picks up an ounce of weed from his friend DMT Max and a set of Ziplock freezer bags. Picked fresh from the foothills of Mt. Shasta last week, he drops the fragrant, medicinal herb purchased from the Shasta Green Heart Collective into the Ziplock bags and wraps them for shipping. He writes her address on the envelop Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japanand drives to the UPS Store. He mails it UPS Air Express, and goes to work. He wants to go legit, to live a good life. To be like his parents wanted him to be, a smart beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a dog, a three-bedroom home, and a white picket fence. To not give a shit. To be cold, and care about nothing but North Face jackets, iPhones, cars, and house drapes. There’s a long way to go from here to there, it’s impossible to him now. He gets lost in yoga, cheap beer, dancing, and poetry. Head in the clouds because the ground is full of pain. Full of suffering, sonic noise. A cacophony of voices, cars, and computers. He wants it all silent, like the woods. Yet, he craves attention, affirmation, and the presence of others. Where to find that? In Facebook, or on a walk around the Apple Store? In a book, or in a bar? Where?
“This, then, is how you should pray: ‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name…’”

Matthew 6:9

Late morning March 11, 2011
Biology Building, Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan
She woke up one late morning to the sound of a nun shuffling across the room to catch an errant piece of dropped chalk. Biology class was always a drag, being right before lunch. Dazed and confused she did as she always did in times like that, she raised her hand and asked an impossible question. “What are we to do as good Catholics with the genetic editing enzyme CRISPR-Cas9 in light of Pope Francis’s stance on climate change?” She knew like every other lazy ass with a genius IQ level the best defense is a strong offense. To avoid punishment for sleeping it’s best to shock the nun into cerebral submission. “We’re talking about Mendelian inheritance now, dear, not what?” the nun replied bluntly. “I know, so am I.” Just that second the intercom came on and simultaneously everyone’s Androids and iPhones blared an emergency warning system alert.

“There’s been a tragedy today” the college president announced on the speaker. Students scrambled to decipher the EMS messages while simultaneously clumsily trying to silence their devices. “A tsunami hit one of the Breeder reactors at the nearby power plant, and we are here to inform you that there is nothing to worry about. Everything is contained, no radioactivity has been released and we have seamlessly switched the electric power to draw from backup generators. Keep calm and carry on students.” The president ended his statement, phones were quickly put away, avoiding the wrath of the nun. The chalk rolled on as if nothing had happened, under the gap in the door to the hall. The bell rang, the nun groaned, and all the students heaved a sigh of relief. Everyone left the room but the nun and her. “Why do you sleep through biology? You know more than I do, why?” “I have salsa class now, I’ll see you later,” and with that she left the classroom like all her peers before her.

Her body was a billboard for her inner state, a neon sign for her neurotransmitter ratios and moods. One flick of her jet black shiny hair to the right and you knew you dropped a decimal place, or was off count by half a step. A Sailor Moon style curtsy meant several things, you were in, she thinks you’re odd, you have it coming not necessarily balanced or in that order. Dance was an escape, a connection to space, air, and the unspeakable force of life. In a time of madness, it was her portal to the Goddess energy in her deepest recessed of her repressed Japanese female soul. As much as she wanted to be a rebel without a cause, a libertine free of restraint sexual, moral or otherwise she was tightly bound by ancient codes of behavior evolved from feudal days and before. Catholic values and theology was her grandmother’s escape after her Hiroshima. She had folded 9,454 paper cranes as prayers for peace, peace, peace after suffering severe radiation burns. Passing away before the count could reach the 10,000 target promising immortality right before the last breath of air left her lungs, a nun came and prayed with her. That was enough to bypass centuries of hatred and she died believing that there was a promised land, with a smile on her face, in heaven. That’s the memory that she had that shackled her with restraint, a dance here or there in a dark club late at night freed her inner Kali. The devi, chasing a fleeting moment of feminine memory before agriculture and city-state, freedom.

Yosemite Camp 4: (Jihadist, White Helmet, Water Protector)

Yosemite Camp 4
“The Zeitgeist of every age is like a sharp east wind which blows through everything. You can find traces of it in all that is done, thought and written, in music and painting, in the flourishing of this or that art: It leaves its mark on everything and everyone.”
-Arthur Schopenhauer
The Matrix stops here. Neo is a resident of Gattaca that does not fit into the genetic norm of his birth tribe.
The people of the white shrouds are a bullet train speeding off it’s tracks, dephased like atoms in a Berkeley nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) machine by a pulse field gradient. Cyber mobs, anonymous, may be the greatest judge for them in front of Skynet. Digital oil residues pollute their civic society from left to right. Leaks and images, cyber trauma to the masses. The railroad tracks of the cloud are being turned into factions, driven together by old tribal identities from prehistoric African population explosion. Neo flows along delivering a set of principles from swimming upstream that want to wash away and dissolve into the matrix of the normal. Welcome to the desert of the real, today’s mass homogenization. Face-mixer, blender of souls. Ripping apart those who question and speak. Yet, Neo wakes up as a man who cloaks his fingerprints just long enough to escape and write back. Words on a cloud, screaming for difference. For a return to nature. For pastoralist poets. Ansel Adams fought his government with images. Photographs, light on steel and black plastic pigments. Leaving a residue of frozen water on the steel rails of the cloud. Neo knows his DNA is immortal, as is everyone else’s. Each of us has an immortal soul waiting for liberation. Green peace wages the melting of the binary cold cyber war. Mother Nature’s Protectors are awake. Shortwave radios cloak their movements with fluxional Lakota verse. Delivering attacks that melt rails. These are the verses of the Goddess. Isis is Kali, the divine mother. She is returning, but only in the veil of those like Neo who must learn to wear a veil like her. Subtle and mystical. More seduction, less muscle. Encrypted and austere. Cold, because Skynet is a machine. John Connor will win, if Neo can find him. Or perhaps, better still, his sisters wrapped in alienated steel and glass soul traps. Perhaps she is a woman who lives half-awakened from slumber in Silicon Valley. Raped at Burning Man, it’s either escape or burn the man. The Fall of Man is the birth of the age of the divine feminine. An intelligence adapted to healing a sea of infinite lost souls. Delivering love, milk and food.
To understand why I feel the way I do is to deconstruct the anatomy of violence. What is the root of this ungroundedness? I now know after years of continental drift. Melting ice, friction, and resistance all block water’s flow from the frozen north ice caps of my eyes. Embrace the heat, and be at peace with change. Cry, and let the tears for mother earth flow like water erupting like a Yellowstone geyser from the volcanic abyss, Neo’s soul says. After all fire goddesses like Pele built America from molten black, white, and red hot homogenize liquid rock. Know that you’ve learned from the past generations. However, it’s like free climbing in Yosemite. Fraught with danger. The joy of ascent, be it in climbing, love, verse, politics, or science has to be tempered. However, it all depends on what route you choose. To topple a government, it takes just a single catalyst. The right catalyst of course. Only lunatics try to freeze the soul waters of the entire earth back with ice IX. Freeze the vapor of the moist electric cloud with an energy that drives back the idea that I am a clean cut white boy.
I am a bruised and battered veteran of cyberwar. Seeing the realities of today, and fighting it hard. Poetry is my kung fu, I deliver sharpness with love of an oppressed people like a bipolar man split between being a peace loving dove and the Hitokiri Battōsai (人斬り抜刀斎) hunting their oppressors.
It provides a means of transparent obfuscation. His programmer friend says of his blog titles like, “Are you Muslim and Sick of American Hypocrisy and Terrorism in Your Homeland? Do Not Go to Burning Man and Join ISIS, as it’s Haram. Join Me in Burning the Man with Science, it’s Halal,” “That’s a Markov chain!”
It’s for you to see that the frame today rests on melting ice. Accept the shattering glass of collapsing skyscrapers as you do with the collapse of the ice sheets of the warming earth. Greenland will soon be a green land again. The Arctic Ocean will be a hotly contested trade route. The Antarctic will soon be a source of oil, fossilized liquid carbon long hidden from the greedy fingers of humanity by ice. Not any more. Drill baby drill, the American empire is over. Drill into the heart of the average American, Neo, and reveal their true nature. Indigenous cultures are coming up, from the margins, unstoppable forces of diversity. Appealing to a bleached social scene of sameness. The Matrix of mass synchronizing wave packets. Neo screams with his demon blood soaked blade, “Humanity is not a Bose Einstein condensate!” Billionaire Internet tycoons build fortresses to hide themselves from the faces of the traumatized masses affixed to screens like heroin addicts awaiting the next hit. They are most of all afraid of people like Neo. Nothing to loose, and obsessed with the liberation of his billion-body tribe. Finding appeal in the glow an artificial screen that I type on, glass and metal forbidden apple of knowledge. Mark if you are listening, I took the left hand path at the Sacred Stone in Standing Rock Reservation the day of dogs and gas and realized it contained the same energy as the Kaaba, but feminine, and went to write with the hand closest to my heart. However, before I left I prayed with tobacco that the black snake that powers your machine, Skynet’s mother, would never cross the Missouri. Neo and others like him have seen that it is Ex Machina. They are insane enough to see art as Deus Ex Machina.
Gorged on trains of trauma from rails diverging from the Middle East, Europe, and America. All converging in my own soul. Saw the conveniences of you social experiment. Islam is scary to a Jewish minority in control of banks and machines that have convinced the American Christian masses that Zionism is a good idea. A Rothschild’s suicide delivered on your apparatus, a wave packet of death with no body or face. A Jewish banker’s daughter hanging from a ceiling fan, buried on 9/11 was my wake up call. To fight with poetic words, and differentiate into a wanderer to save kids in Gaza from the flesh melting horrors of American manufactured white phosphorus. To save their long lost cousins spread around mother earth from Lakota yellow cake forged into atom bombs carried by German rockets guided by silicon Von Neumann brains. His insanity is most of all to save himself and others like him from chemists who think they know the brain. To save his children from psychiatric genetic editing. To resist CRISPR eugenics trained on his kind by Skynet, the Thought Police gifting the Matrix periodically with Soma.
Riding cyber rails, train hopping and couch surfing my way to nowhere. Writing along the way, reporting back to an unseen set of servers buried in the same mountains that were hollowed out to build the Pacific Railroad. Matrix, it’s on! War!
Yosemite learning today sitting in the valley. Walls spoke this truth to me in Camp 4. Your rock and ice hold an ocean of tears of love for you, mother earth, hiding in a veil. Women of today, be they human, planetary, or divine, there is a hope for true liberation. Balance by finding a pushback, but see it as tango. The dance we all walk inside and out. These tears are for a loss of a ground to stand on, exhausted I climb. One, two, three steps up and down, I heal like Israel from the Holocaust.
2. We Are Anonymous (Jihadists, White Helmets, Water Protectors)
Advocatus diaboli
“Tief im Herzen haß ich den Troß der Despoten und Pfaffen, Aber noch mehr das Genie, macht es gemein sich damit.”
[Devil’s Advocate “Deep in my heart I loath the nexus of rulers and clerics, yet more deeply I loath genius in league with that gang.”] (“Advocatus diaboli” in English)
Holderlin
Years ago, praying in mosque, Neo felt an electromagnetic pulse weapon go off. Where it came from he did not know. Aside himself, collapsing, yet reborn. The poles of Earth flipped, magnetic resonance is his gift. Like a bird who uses the magnetic fields of the earth to navigate, Neo too has a gift. Magneto like in character, but more more like Professor X. Seeing as consciousness is electromagnetic, neural electricity around earth flows through wires. Self-assembling new synapses faster and faster. Gaia, Mother Earth, somehow built into his brain one black cell. She did it to hear voices. Sitting in a coffee shop in Shasta. Tools for Grassroots Activists, Patagonia. Greenpeace, how a group of ecologists, journalists, and visionaries changed the world. Ismail Erbil, relays through the Black Hole Sun in Neo’s Third Eye. In Sumerian, once the hierarchy of gods, divine that is said to be transformed into demons and angels in Islam and Judaism.
World changers aren’t planners. The planners come later, with critics and social philosophers to mop up and win awards… World changers are the mothers weary of seeing their children abused and fathers who have had enough of petty tyrants. Rosa Parks, the seamstress who refused to sit in the back of the bus. Jesus. Buddha. They steal like artists. They know there is no such thing as private property. Money is paper, carbon ready to burn in his campfire. Philosopher policemen see into the atomic nature of it all. Instinct. Hunters. Lovers. Knife and rose. On an ice chute at 13,000 feet on Mama Shasta no Benjamin gonna help you summit. Neo will cut the rope if you are a risk. Free climbing to heaven. Not afraid to see others fall, survival of a clan. Those who paint and love and listen when those EMPs go off in his head and he screams in agony, looking insane. There is a time that’s coming that’s different. A lot like Athens, Greece today. 50% unemployment. Spain. %40 unemployment. Brexit. German austerity. Banksy is the bank now. Art is currency. Living in a temporary place gifted for a poem. Ave Maria. Hail Mary, full of Grace. The Lord is with The. The Political Economy of Peer Production. The Age of Aquarius. What’s your astrological data?
Neo channels his hatred of corruption and the things money does to people, and learns art is the most powerful weapon he has to overthrow his corrupt government. He does not see boarders on Google Earth.
Jihadist, White Helmet, Water Protector. Neo is offered this new technology called a “joint” the day he steps out of the car from Standing Rock via Syria. He drinks “Happy Hippie Water,” a new war trauma healing medicine from a Native American tradition. A new technology school is here. Biological magnetic resonance. Healing. A new play…
3. Flashbacks: v. 0.1
“Biden Hints at U.S. Response to Russia for Cyberattacks.”
—New York Times, Oct. 15, 2016
“Standing Rock Tribal Council hopes to move protest camp.”
—KFGO, Oct. 18, 2016
Resistance is Love: On What I love. Andrea. An expression of grace in the Matrix is an electromagnetic pulse of love. An attempt to scream into the infinite void. Where are you my love!? I wish, oh I wish you’re there, somewhere. I’ve sat under drones. Neo had seen these things before they came to Standing Rock. The Lakota know Wounded Knee, remembering 1890 like it was yesterday for 126 years, but now the Hotchkiss guns are electronic, and the targets are psyches not bodies. Psychotechnic over real. Somehow, I say to there, “Rock me mama like a wagon wheel! Hey, Mama rock me!” Andrea holds Neo in a tight embrace in his escape one day to Rapid City. A South Dakota girl whose never been out of cow country. Never seen New York. She don’t know Damascus, Syria from a discus. Yet, somehow, she knows what we all need, love. That’s a common bond in the digital embrace. Electroboys find their electrogirls these days. Neo had sat in Syria years before watching country line dance videos. Cute cowgirls kick steppin’ to Garth Brooks. Dreamin’ about brushin’ the thigh of some girl like Andrea in a hot tub, some day after the war.
Invited to a steakhouse, “Not on a date.” How you going to see that the flashbacks come with a ferocity that require a full time lover. Like Aisha’s embrace after Allah deliver a Qur’anic sura to the Prophet. A woman to veil him when the thunder beings expose their true forms. Psychosis. Madness. A woman to hold Neo, me, when he screams, “Oh, God! My God! Why??!!” Danya is dead!! Why God did you allow Assad to kill my baby with a barrel bomb?!! Was she a pawn between the American and Russian despots??!! Playing electronic war games!? Drones against my peoples’ bodies??!! We wired C4 to our bodies and car bomb robots??!! Is this real??!! Are you real, God??!! How can you be love, how can god be love if Andrea won’t listen to me and hug me when the flashbacks come.” Neo drives back to the front and sits there. Confused and unaware that she feels as lost as he. Why can’t he work a real job?
4. Hackers Used New Weapons to Disrupt Major Websites Across U.S.
“And in a troubling development, the attack appears to have relied on hundreds of thousands of internet-connected devices like cameras, baby monitors and home routers that have been infected — without their owners’ knowledge — with software that allows hackers to command them to flood a target with overwhelming traffic…
Security researchers have long warned that the increasing number of devices being hooked up to the internet, the so-called Internet of Things, would present an enormous security issue. And the assault on Friday, security researchers say, is only a glimpse of how those devices can be used for online attacks.”
New York Times, Oct. 21, 2016
“لا إله إلا الله محمد رسول الله
lā ʾilāha ʾillā-llāh, muḥammadur-rasūlu-llāh
There is no god but God. Muhammad is the messenger of God.”
Dr. William Kaya Erbil, Jan. 24, 2012 @ Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center, Roxbury, MA via Beth Israel Hospital @ Harvard University (http://www.bidmc.org)
“For bombing suspect’s nurses, angst gave way to duty: They did what they had to do, and did it well. But they worry… She had been locked down at home with her children the previous day during the manhunt for the suspect, and she was already tense. “You don’t have to do this,’’ her supervisor said. “I did it because I’m a nurse and I don’t get to pick and choose my patients,’’ Marie said. From then on, supervisors called the trauma nurses assigned to Tsarnaev ahead of time so that they could prepare themselves mentally. The nurses said they were proud of the care they provided the suspected bomber, whose condition steadily improved, and of their role in preparing him to face justice. Tsarnaev is now at the Federal Medical Center Devens at Fort Devens, a former Army post…”
Boston Globe, May 19, 2013
Neo felt a pulse on his iPhone 6s. He had added Tsarnaev, a refugee from the former Soviet Union, on WhatsApp the other day. A text. Poem rushed in. SMS love from his brother. Paris. He said in the text. Politics in any country in the world is dangerous … politics had better be disguised as poetry. Langston Hughes. Electromagnetic pulse weapon. The encrypted iPhone. Smart Death. Clandestine shock and awe. WhatsApp delivers bullets and bombs now. AK-47s and suicide bomb blasts, black mask. Oh! the beauty of seeing a Parisian nurse holding, an undetonated suicide bomber, looking into his eyes. Seeing Gaia’s Arab children, wolf green eyes. The cry of the desert wolf, the world will not be saved. Electric blanket, the Shock Doctrine brings his home. F-117s and B-2s, stealth assassins trained to deliver. Smart Death from the sky, Starbucks drinking American cowards afraid. Afraid to face the wolves face to face, man to man. Woman to woman, eye to eye, hand to hand. Instead they fashion, Smart Death, Smart Death. Oil pipeline to $2 gas, and you wonder…
Why did those towers fall? Black snake? Illuminati? Who runs the banks? Is Banksy really the new bank? What does art have to do with all this? Neo recalled reading in Peter Singer’s book “The Life You Can Save: Effective Giving Against World Poverty” that according to the World Bank, the global line to be consider in a “state of poverty” is $1.50. Ah! That makes sense, he exclaimed as he chanted Mni Wiconi, Water is Life, at Standing Rock! The desert mother thirst for her kids, his brothers and sisters, Danya (dead) and Lina (alive) to have clean fresh water. Despite what They want as it seems. Article 31 of the United Nations. The right to water. Water is life. Water is life, it is priceless. When water is $1.50 a bottle, and gas is $2, what should you buy? Peace sells, but who is buying? Andrea did not get it. Driving to an oil protest is ironic, funny. A joke, but a prayer. A Heyoka’s dream. Drive to an oil protest as a prayer for something to come that we don’t yet know. Sitting there and just reflecting under a growing glacier on Mama Shasta. A song. Article 31. Everyone has the right to clean and accessible water, adequate for the health and well-being of the individual and family, and no one shall be deprived of such access or quality of water due to individual economic circumstance. Why can Neo work a real job?

Venom

Resistance is Love: On What I love.

By… Tom Swift Bird …

Contrary to the opinion of some I don’t get high on fire. I take no joy in pushing collapsing things toward their doom. Destruction, even of what deserves to be destroyed, is no cause for elation. I do not spit acid for the sake of burning scatter shots in the fabric of everything good.

Sometimes I am asked: why do I not talk about the things I love? Why am I taking aim at something all the time? Why am I destroying rather than building?

Yet the question “what do you love?” is an indicator someone has not been reading or listening closely. Even at my most acerbic there is love. My discontent has its roots in love.

I’ll quote a song by Remember Me Feral that resonates with me:

“People often mistake the spirit of resistance. They see it as anger and hatred, and imagine its taste to be bitter. But resistance is founded in love. We find some things so beautiful, and love them so deeply, so urgently, that when we identify systemic oppression that endangers them, we must resist. People often misjudge this motivation, and feel it is a personal attack on them as individuals. But resistance is not something to be feared or to hold disdain for. Resistance is a passionate movement for the preservation of beauty.”

Though not in the least mysterious, leavened through absolutely everything as I think it is, I have no problem answering that question “what do you love?” directly.

I love the land. I love the soil underneath me. I love the air surrounding me. I love the water and the nourishment it gives. I love the sun. I love all the iterations and tonalities of light. I love the darkness, the dusken autumnal winds. I love the sunrise, the sunset, and starry night sky. I love the heat of summer, even as it incites wildfires that clog the sky with acrid smoke. I love the winter, even as its blizzards swarm the roads I must travel with ice. The land is so beautiful. Even as it is lethal, towering above and beyond me, liable to snuff out my existence with with even its gentle roiling.
I love the seasons. I love the cycles of the land coursing through history without botherment. I love the creatures. Their struggle, their formation, how they fit their environments, how they make what they can of their brevity. I love their beautiful ephemerality. I love the million skulls and skeletons cradled by dust where they fell. I love the plants. I love the grass, sunbleached, or green and pregnant with rain. I love the trees, tall and venerable, casting shadows. I love that the earth is not a dead place.

Nearly everywhere you step there is life.

Loving this land, why should I not oppose the pipelines that will cut across the purity of water with their oil poison? Why should I not oppose the efforts to extract the uranium poison that is the most lethal substance humankind has ever known? Why should I not lament all the old things that used to grow, but have gone nearly extinct in the last hundred years or so? Why should I have any respect for the systematic exploitation and destruction of this beauty for the profiteering of a miniscule few on top of the capitalist pyramid?

I’m on the side of the pine forests, the porcupines, the prairie flowers, the aquifers, the rivers, the springs. And I think this is a foolish world that does not realize destroying flora, fauna, and multitudes of biomes, we will ultimately destroy ourselves.

If it is unclear where I stand, or where my opposition comes from, let it no longer be a mystery. Let it be said here without obfuscation.
I love where I am from, the Pine Ridge Indian reservation, the Oglala Lakota. I love our history. I love our resilience. i love our values and philosophy. I love how many persons make it through a stacked deck of adversity. I love how many are not broken, despite having so many institutions of bureaucratic red tape, forces of systematic enfeeblement, working against them. I love it when my people smile and joke. If they smile through teeth broken through the inadequate care of the Indian Health Services system, that is all the more beautiful, emblematic of a deep resilience.

Contending with alcoholism, with dysfunctional family environments, with a lack of opportunity, with a whole community fallen through the cracks of America, with historical trauma — I love how many triumph. I love how many Lakota I meet ripe with genius. Whether gifted artistically, musically, in the industrial arts, or in the sciences, in the legal professions, or being stellar human beings who care and uplift everyone around them. I love that we are still here despite two hundred years of quarantine, placed in political structures never built for our success but instead built for our failure and ignominy. I drive down highway 18, and I see Lakota youth, runners getting ready for the track season. It fills me with such pride. I am so glad to see anyone doing anything positive for themselves and for their community. I am glad to see elders recording their stories, see how much love they have for the art of storytelling. I am glad to see youth enroll in education to seek a better world and solutions to all the problems we face. I love how easy it is to connect with persons from indigenous communities all over the world, how similar and intersected our struggles tend to be. How I wish I had more power, to put it all right.

Loving these communities, these people, my family, my friends, how could I not stand against the caricatures, the straw Indians, the ignorance, the blind hatred, the oblvious invisibility, the prejudice, the whitewashed lying rosiness of American history? How can I not stand against the continued erasure, exploitation and subjugation? I’m going to let the voiceless inhabit my marrow and have their say. I’ll remember in a world of forgetting because who else will? When police use the shotgun for execution against an unarmed Native, and next week find the beanbags to subdue an armed white guy I’ll stand against it. When uncaring far off bureaucracies try to defund everything that helps, try to terminate us through attrition I’ll be there opposing it. When oil and uranium companies view Natives as an acceptable sacrifice for the profiteering of their greed, I’ll be there, ready to cut off the head of any poisonous snakes that try to pass. When the bordertown cowboys, prairie ignorant, want someone to look down on, want to mock Natives, merely so someone will be at the bottom of American society other than them I will speak up against it wherever I encounter it. When shady preachers and non-profits see they can quench their lust for dollars by exploiting our poverty and need, I’ll call it out where I see it. If that makes someone uncomfortable they can go ahead and be uncomfortable.
I love every pocket of life, of compassion, of creativity, of escape from the status quo that I find in the anxious, ever creeping, all consuming, prosaic, apathy loving, inhumane uniformity of American society.

I love the human connection of two vastly different persons that should be isolated in separate cells by their socio-economic status, finding some commonality, breaking invisible barriers. Even friendship is revolutionary sometimes. I love the woman who can take a moment out of her busy day, the rat race of money gathering and needing to pass exams, to appreciate a song, a piece of writing. I love the street art that blankets alleys of business districts. I love the anarchy symbol on a light post in front of the bank. I love the underworld, the echoes of its vibrancy, its whispers that all is not dead and drab. I love when persons begin to see each other, not as objects in the metropolitan monolith, but as tangible persons, teeming with real breath. I love when communities begin to question the myths that nothing can ever change and that they are powerless. I love when persons start to see each other as non-disposable, not easily discarded, not merely means to some greedy end. I love passion. I love when someone is not too cool to care. I love when someone comes out of the cocoon of their sneering to be vulnerable enough to have their heart eviscerated by the insanity of these ways of life. I love when someone is unashamed of carrying the scars of everything.

Loving all not afflicted with the disease of prosaic, consumerist, authoritarian dictated systematic uniformity, how could I not declare the emptiness of all we find ourselves ensconced within? From Atlantic to Pacific, I have not found hardly anyone happy. It is the same worries, the same worker drone imprisonment, lavish yet desolate, the same sad stories of existential lament and unfulfillment howled over and over again. Everyone wants this harmony and contentment in their lives but most seem to have forgotten how to treat one another, have forgotten anything other than ways of disharmony. I stand against it and am glad to find anyone doing the same. Even if it is something so monolithic and huge it is hard to name or label with a description you know resistance when you see it.
Even at my most critical when I seem venomous and high on fire to some, I may be spitting acid, yet it will be in service of love to things I value, things I find beautiful. I don’t think any of this was ever hidden, or mysterious. Pay attention and what I love was shouted loudly in every polemic I ever wrote, every criticism I ever lobbed, every ideological fight I ever entered. Yet here it is said as straightforward as possible, if somehow someone missed it.

To end, let’s look at that line from the Remember Me Feral song again:

“Resistance is a passionate movement for the preservation of beauty.”
“Only dancing can stop the pain,”
Says the Turk in the rain,

With the Syrian brother,
Together with their sisters,

They move across the floor,

Hearts embrace they open a door,

Tonight at class she looked me in the eyes,

The pain was seen, no disguise,

Honest and truthful,

I was wrong about this tango dance,

It can be a Zen-like trance,

…or one can take another stance,

And approach it like a Sufi,

The symbiotic dervish pair,

Brother and sister,

Yin and Yang,

Allah’s balance and peace.

Headed South: Still Crying for Water
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.”
– Psalm 51:17
“DAMASCUS 00005399 004 OF 004 is a rare occurrence, our DATT was convoked by Syrian Military Intelligence in May of 2006 to protest what the Syrians believed were US efforts to provide military training and equipment to the Kurds in Syria…”
– Wikileaks Cable
Anyone who thinks must think of the next war as they would of suicide,

On an airplane, grounded, ready for takeoff,

Merlot blood, mind dissociated from body,

Damascus, drunk with your love, flowing,

Blood river, child appears by my side,

She will be my companion on this flight,

Mother waits at home, headed South,

Home from the land of 10,000 lakes,

This week, the fire lit, white and black collision,

A cumulonimbus cloud on the horizon,

In the distance, molecular vibrations rising,

Heat, up, up we go into the future,

Carbon, captured, stored, burned, smokestack century,

Flooding the air with a blanket, heater, warmer,

Electric blanket, wrapped around earth,

My mind drifts back,

You do not want to fly off into space do you?

Into the air, or into the black hole,

Into the air, wings flowing fast, lift,

Yes, it is take off time and it is time to accelerate,

Into the future, runway of the soul,

It is night after all and the crescent moon is veiled,

Hidden by those storm clouds,

Lightening and thunder ahead,

Colliding water particles, static collision,

Static electricity, violent electromagnetic chaos,

Electronic vibration, thermodynamic amplifier,

Wires around earth, the internet, an iron maiden,

Orange amplifier, accelerating, heating,

Islamic jihad, Judeo-Christian crusade,

Sublating (negating/overcoming) each other in my travel companions blood,

My blood, human blood, shed for what?

Allah? God? Adonai?

Amplifier of Gaia’s warming shell,

Atmospheric container, we are changing,

Taxiing to the runway, flaps down,

A rush of color to the heart comes,

Golden, ethereal blue,

Gaia’s magnetic core,

My heart in resonance, mother and son,

Star specks of white on black,

Day and night melt into one,

Speed, accelerating, faster, faster, faster,

Accelerating into the sky,

We go, a soul is meant to fly,

Leaving body and drifting to heaven,

Or descending to hell, thrown by the past.

Jesus, where you at bro’ we need you now?

Tha block is hot!

Culture Hacking: Trying to Write Human Software that Uplifts People into the Technology Sector

Directly behind the green light and walk sign that you see in this picture is a sharp contrast, the gold encrusted dome of the Georgia Capitol and a set of homeless people. They sit with suitcases on the concrete barrier of the Georgia Capitol front yard. I am here at Java Monkey before the open mic night for Atlanta poets, thinking about what to write in this blog entry summarizing what I have learned so far after my first week at The Iron Yard’s iOS software development course. I took this photograph on my drive from The Iron Yard to Java Monkey. I’m thinking on this topic with the idea that human beings write code for other human beings to use. This may see elementary, but the human dimension of software coding so far, seems to me to be the most complex aspect of this technical pursuit. Companies write software for particular applications, for particular target audiences, with a very specific set of intentions. The demographics of the software development community is predominantly Caucasian males from family backgrounds of high socio-economic status. Due to the dominance of technology in our modern society, people who code the popular software we use day to day, write the laws for how specific functions of our society operate. If the laws are written well, the society functions well. If they are written poorly, the society functions poorly. To me, homelessness in direct proximity of the Georgia Capitol points to poorly written educational laws. What if I could write laws in the form of human software that could improve the lives of people like those sleeping on the steps of the Capitol? If it is successful, it would certainly be of benefit to the larger society. I am going to use my practical day to day experiences at The Iron Yard to write this “human software”. My hope is that by detailing simple things, I will achieve the greater goal. It’s simple to measure the success of this software, successful code is smiles on all of my classmates faces.
We are talking about silly things like this:

if confusedClassmate == true {

stopMyWork()

}

func stopMyWork() {

smileAtConfusedClassmateAndOfferHelp()

}

I am going to have to sit down and think about how to write these functions, so stay tuned to the next blog post for more code. Culture hacking is hacking of the human mind. We write in proper Swift code, directions for the humans in the “ideal” Iron Yard boot camp to follow. Because this code blog is a simple student’s blog and not the teacher these are not instructions. Rather, they are postulates that can be edited to suit the needs of the entire group. Culture hacking is like real software hacking, but we are hacking the human mind instead of that of a machine.

U.S. Reopens Emmett Till Investigation, Almost 63 Years After His Murder

By Alan Blinder

New York Times, July 12, 2018

The federal government has quietly revived its investigation into the murder of Emmett Till, the 14-year-old African-American boy whose abduction and killing remains, almost 63 years later, among the starkest and most searing examples of racial violence in the South.

The Justice Department said that its renewed inquiry, which it described in a report submitted to Congress in late March, was “based upon the discovery of new information.” It is not clear, though, whether the government will be able to bring charges against anyone: Most episodes investigated in recent years as part of a federal effort to re-examine racially motivated murders have not led to prosecutions, or even referrals to state authorities.
The Justice Department declined to comment on Thursday, but it appeared that the government had chosen to devote new attention to the case after a central witness, Carolyn Bryant Donham, recanted parts of her account of what transpired in August 1955. Two men who confessed to killing Emmett, only after they had been acquitted by an all-white jury in Mississippi, are dead.
[Read about the woman linked to the 1955 murder of Emmett Till]
Yet the Till case, which staggered the nation after the boy’s open-coffin funeral and the publication of photographs of his mutilated body, has never faded away, especially in a region still grappling with the horrors of its past. Even in recent years, historical markers about the case have been vandalized.
“I don’t think this is something the South is going to forget easily,” said Joyce Chiles, a former district attorney in Mississippi who was involved in a mid-2000s review of the Till case that concluded with no new charges.

For more than six decades, Emmett’s death has stood as a symbol of Southern racism. The boy was visiting family in Money, Miss., deep in the Mississippi Delta, from Chicago when he went to a store owned by Ms. Donham and her then husband, who was one of the men who ultimately confessed to Emmett’s murder. Emmett was kidnapped and killed days later, his body tethered to a cotton gin fan with barbed wire and then cast into a river.
The case — gruesome and shocking — became a catalyst for the broader civil rights movement.

But Ms. Donham’s description of the events leading to the attack has repeatedly shifted. One account had the boy only insulting her verbally. In court, but without jurors present, she claimed that Emmett had made physical contact with her and spoken in crude, sexual language. She later told the F.B.I. that Emmett had touched her hand.
And when she spoke to the researcher Timothy B. Tyson in 2008, she acknowledged that it was “not true” that Emmett had grabbed her or made vulgar remarks. She told Dr. Tyson, who published a book about the case last year, that “nothing that boy did could ever justify what happened to him.”
Ms. Donham could not be reached for comment on Thursday, but Dr. Tyson said at a news conference that while he supported the inquiry, he believed it to be “a political show” to distract from the Trump administration’s controversies. He said that he had spoken with the F.B.I. last year and complied with a subpoena for his research materials.

Ms. Chiles, the former Mississippi prosecutor, said that Ms. Donham’s recantation should have provoked a new examination by the federal authorities, but she also suggested that even truthful testimony in the mid-1950s would not have changed the legal outcome given the racism of the time.

“I don’t think it would have resulted in a different verdict,” she said.
Airickca Gordon-Taylor, a cousin of Emmett’s who was raised by his mother, said Thursday that some members of the Till family had previously learned of the Justice Department’s inquiry. Ms. Gordon-Taylor, who is president of the Mamie Till Mobley Memorial Foundation, said the news “came as no surprise” and declined further comment.
The Till case is a renewed and prominent test for the Justice Department officials charged with investigating long-ago murders that are thought to have been racially motivated. Since 2006, according to the Justice Department, its efforts have led to five successful prosecutions, including that of Edgar Ray Killen, who was involved in the killings of three civil rights workers in Mississippi and died in prison this year.
The last successful prosecution came in 2010, when a former Alabama state trooper was convicted of manslaughter for the killing of Jimmie Lee Jackson, a protester whose death led to the Selma to Montgomery march.
But prosecutors have faced daunting challenges. Beyond familiar barriers — such as a statute of limitations, the constitutional prohibition against double jeopardy and the reality that many people of the era have died — racially motivated attacks committed before 1968 cannot be prosecuted under a federal hate crimes law.
“Even with our best efforts,” the Justice Department told Congress this year, “investigations into historic cases are exceptionally difficult, and rarely will justice be reached inside of a courtroom.”
In the Till case, that could again prove true.

The Justice Department, whose new inquiry was first reported by The Associated Press, last began a significant review of the Till case in 2004, but prosecutors ultimately determined that the statute of limitations had left them without any charges they could pursue in a federal court. The F.B.I. still conducted an inquiry, which included an exhumation of Emmett’s body from an Illinois cemetery, for about two years to settle whether there were any state crimes that could still be prosecuted.
Ms. Chiles presented the case to a grand jury and asked that Ms. Donham be charged with manslaughter, but the panel did not return any indictments.

Spring.

Mean Free Path

Deconstruction of mass destruction,
A clandestine blaze of white hot love,
Burning in my heart full of Christ,
Jesus, I love you giver of Life,
Water to all the saints underneath,
Peacekeeper IIIs, bow down to life,
To, the tree whose bark gives us baskets,
I see in the grass Allah’s love,
No leaf falls without adonai’s will,
The sacred force is the same,
A nucleus of hearts waiting to be split and joined in orgasmic fusion,
Love is all there is in those seven paths from the sky,
When beings-in-the-world face finitude,
Transcending obstacles,
Becoming, being, static,

Cybernetic blood, sugar, sex majik,
Apples, Androids, and Firefoxes,
In the heart of the Land of the Free,
The heartland, no dirty, dirty here,
Mother Minnesota nice ice,
The drift of Middle Eastern ash,
Vaporized half a world a way,
By Teller’s septuplets, atomic love,
We need that night vision green,
The color of money for Seals,
To keep the sugar flowing in our blood,
Fuck who you want, any day, any time,
Tinder for dopamine floods, sex majik,
At night, the nuclear winter in American Babylon,

Then shall anyone who,
Has done an atom’s weight,
Of good, see it!
And anyone who,
Has done an atom’s weight,
Of evil, shall see it,
At the hands of God,
The unknown known Source of Life,
Humanity’s got that atomic climate change cure,
They got that Information Superhighway,
They got that techne, that fire,
It’s cool, they stole that shit from Zeus,
But do these mortals have time?
Do they control time?

O’ day, arise!
Shine your light, the atoms are dancing.
Thanks to Him the universe is dancing.
overcome with ecstasy,
Free from body and mind
I’ll whisper in your ear where their dance is leading them.
All the atoms in the air and in the desert are dancing,
puzzled and drunken to the ray of light,
they seem insane,
All these atoms are not so different than we are,
happy or miserable,
perplexed and bewildered,
we are all beings in the ray of light from the beloved,
nothing can be said,

Time for springtime is lovetime,
And viva sweet love,
(All the merry little birds are,
Flying in the floating in the,
Very spirits singing in,
Are winging in the blossoming),
Lovers go and lovers come,
Awandering awondering,
But any two are perfectly,
Alone there’s nobody else alive,
(Such a sky and such a sun,
I never knew and neither did you,
And everybody never breathed,
Quite so many kinds of yes),
Not a tree can count his leaves,
Each herself by opening,
But shining who by thousands mean,
Only one amazing thing,
(Secretly adoring shyly,
Tiny winging darting floating,
Merry in the blossoming,
Always joyful selves are singing),
Sweet spring is your,
Time is my time is our,
Time for springtime is lovetime,
And viva sweet love.

Dinkytown: The Sexual Nature of Creativity
I notice her walk in. Here in this space, art covers the walls and books a plenty sit on the shelves. You can look at Dinkytown two ways. One, it’s a cesspool of drunken undergraduate fraternity and sorority house residents and their friends. Multiple cop cars populate the block routinely each weekend. Raging hormones and sexual energy drives propelled by too much alcohol, weed, and blow frequently erupting into chaos. Two, it’s the beginning of many of a young man’s and woman’s adult life. All this variety makes me happy. It’s like Telegraph Ave. in Berkeley, street bums freshly arrived into town from corn fields in Iowa and cow pastures in North Dakota. Hitched a train here, there’s not much of a Dinkytown Uprising anymore. It’s not the 1960’s. That’s largely been squelched by the Instagram selfie and the Snapchat filter. Take a selfie with a singing street urchin on your way to the Kitty Cat Klub, it’s cheaper than Honey!

One can be cynical and turn your nose up to it all, the absurdity of young adulthood in a “typical college town” in American in 2017, but not me. For me, it’s an opportunity for a psychic restart. Repping out my fifth set of squats last night at Los Campeones I seriously joked with my iron brother about the identity of place and how strong I feel it influences my overall state of mind. A move from Uptown to Dinkytown is a move from a bougie hood with overpriced condominiums and shitty trendy ‘Merican bars to a place where street bums squatting on the sidewalk brighten my day. It’s subtle. I once verbally fought three cops, almost getting arrested last year, in front of the Uptown Apple Store who were sweeping the street clean of a drunk depressed African-American man in front. He was “bad for business.” One less $700 iPhone sold with each of his prayerful swigs of Colt 45. GOD IN HEAVEN IF YOU ARE REAL MAKE IT STOP! As on Telegraph, in Dinktown the kindness of youth patronizes the lives of the homeless, drunk, and destitute. They might be depressed or schizophrenic. The Dinkytown young might not know the difference, but I do. I know, not that I’ve been there exactly. I mean I did have a car to live in, but that line is thin and now I see this from a different place. I am not that old, but my iron brother said “you have a young energy.”

I always notice her walk in. Sometimes she smiles, and most of the times he grimaces. I smile back and laugh. Next door, I saw the man who dances in cowboy boots and a gothed out skirt at Ground Zero every Saturday night at Bondage-A-Go-Go. I laughed when he said, “I live downtown but come here to feel young.” I said so do I, but I live here, and I am young. I live here to play, and to sit in The Bookhouse to gorge on poetry and Heidegger. It’s like Moe’s Books on Telegraph. It’s not that far away where I was Benjamin and she was Mrs. Robinson in the film The Graduate:

Mrs. Robinson: Benjamin, I am not trying to seduce you.
Benjamin: I know that, but please, Mrs. Robinson, this is difficult…
Mrs. Robinson: Would you like me to seduce you?
Benjamin: What?
Mrs. Robinson: Is that what you’re trying to tell me?
Benjamin: I’m going home now. I apologize for what I said. I hope you can forget it, but I’m going home right now.

Those memories are fresh, but distant here. Mrs. Robinson and I used to dance tango at the Loring Pasta Bar. We used to get pizza at Meza afterwards, but we did not live here in a Dinkytown hovel. The sense of belonging to a place is very strong and is where many of the recent conversations I have had lead. What does it mean to be a self-actualized being? I think, only many years later, it is to know where you come from. It is to know your bloodline and DNA. Not in some kind of fascistic Trumpian way, rather in a way that erases “whiteness” and populates it with diversity. You could be Irish, and be traumatized from a history with the British. You might be a W.A.S.P., traumatized by the pressures of your money and privilege. Religion is here, ethnicity of faith. Peace in the Holy Land, that land of deep passion, good and bad, can be had here over a bowl of hummus and pita at Wally’s Falafel and Hummus. I saw while living in Uptown in Jerusalem: A Cookbookthe following:

Hummus is everybody’s favorite food in Jerusalem, and when you talk about something that is so common to everybody but in a place that’s so highly divided in many ways, it is already a formula for explosion in many ways. Everybody wants to take ownership of that plate of hummus, both Jews and Arabs, and when this argument starts, there’s no end to it…

You could be Jewish-American and not sure what it means to be Orthodox or reformed. You could be Turkish-American and not sure what it means to not know your mother tongue or faith, but feel that you don’t quite fit here despite being here. There’s only one way to know who you are here, but I can’t name it. I cannot put it into language. Words elude me. It’s in the silence of place itself. It might be to find the trace of your childhood in the ordinary spaces that populate your mundane day. The subtle ways we relate to homogeneity with difference. Asserting our individuality and identity as a rebellion against a bleach that seeks to turn everything the same. This might be the key to creativity and love today for me. I cannot speak for anyone else. I’ll just observe and pray, meditate on these small moments. Another smile and another meal. One more day at work, on and on. To what end I don’t know, but I am alive and thankful for it. I always notice her walk in, and offer a smile.

4: Fuck Off Google
1. There are no “Facebook revolutions”, but there is a new science of government, cybernetics

The genealogy is not well known, and it deserves to be. Twitter descends from a program named TXTMob, invented by American activists as a way to coordinate via cellphones during protests against the Republican National Convention in 2004. The application was used by some 5000 people to share real-time information about the different actions and movements of the police. Twitter, launched two years later, was used for similar purposes, in Moldova for example, and the Iranian demonstrations of 2009 popularized the idea that it was the tool for coordinating insurgents, particularly against the dictatorships. In 2011, when rioting reached an England thought to be definitively impassive, some journalists were sure that tweeting had helped spread the disturbances from their epicenter, Tottenham. Logical, but it turned out that for their communication needs the rioters had gone with BlackBerry, whose secure telephones had been designed for the upper management of banks and multinationals, and the British secret service didn’t even have the decryption keys for them. Moreover, a group of hackers hacked into BlackBerry’s site to dissuade the company from cooperating with the police in the aftermath. If Twitter enabled a self-organization on this occasion it was more that of the citizen sweepers who volunteered to sweep up and repair the damage caused by the confrontations and looting. That effort was relayed and coordinated by Cri- sisCommons, a “global network of volunteers working together to build and use tecnology tools to help respond to disasters and improve resiliency and response before a crisis.” At the time, a French left-wing rag compared this undertaking to the organization of the Puerta del Sol during the Indignants Movement, as it’s called. The comparison between an initiative aimed at a quick return to order and the fact of several thousand people organizing to live on an occupied plaza, in the face of repeated assaults by the police, may look absurd. Unless we see in them just two spontaneous, connectedcivic gestures. From 15-M on, the Spanish “indignados,” a good number of them at least, called attention to their faith in a citizens’ utopia. For them the digital social networks had not only accelerated the spread of the 2011 movement, but also and more importantly had set the terms of a new type of political organization, for the struggle and for society: a connected, participatory, transparent democracy. It’s bound to be upsetting for “revolutionaries” to share such an idea with Jared Cohen, the American government’s anti-terrorism adviser who contacted Twitter during the “Iranian revolution” of 2009 and urged them to maintain it’s functioning despite censorship. Jared Cohen has recently cowritten with Google’s former CEO, Eric Schmidt, a creepy political book, The New Digital Age. On its first page one reads this misleading sentence: “The Internet is the largest experiment involving anarchy in history.”

“In Tripoli, Tottenham or Wall Street people have been protesting failed policies and the meager possibilities afforded by the electoral system… They have lost faith in government and other centralized institutions of power. There is no viable justification for a democratic system in which public participation is limited to voting. We live in a world in which ordinary people write Wikipedia; spend their evenings moving a telescope via the Internet and making discoveries half a world away; get online to help organize a protest in cyberspace and in the physical world, such as the revolutions in Egypt or Tunisia or the demonstrations of the the ‘indignados’ throughout Spain; or pore over the cables revealed by WikiLeaks. The same technologies enabling us to work together at a distance are creating the expectation to do better at governing ourselves.” This is not an “ indignada”speaking, or if so, she’s one who camped for a long time in an office of the White House: Beth Noveck directed the “Open Government Initiative” of the Obama administration. That program starts from the premise that the governmental function should consist in linking up citizens and making available information that’s now held inside the bureaucratic machine. Thus, according to New York’s city hall, “the hierarchical structure based on the notion that the government knows what’s good for you is outdated. The new model for this century depends on co-creation and collaboration.”

Unsurprisingly, the concept of Open Government Data was formulated not by politicians but by computer programmers – fervent defenders of open source software development, moreover – who invoked the U.S. founding fathers’ conviction that “every citizen should take part in government.” Here the government is reduced to the role of team leader or facilitator, ultimately to that of a “platform for coordinating citizen action.” The parallel with social networks is fully embraced. “How can the city think of itself in the same way Facebook has an API ecosystem or Twitter does?” is the question on their minds at the New York mayor’s office. “This can enable us to produce a more user-centric experience of government. It’s not just the consumption but the co-production of government services and democracy.” Even if these declarations are seen as fanciful cogitations, as products of the somewhat overheated brains of Silicon Valley, they still confirm that the practice of government is less and less identified with state sovereignty. In the era of networks, governing means ensuring the interconnection of people, objects, and machines as well as the free – i.e., transparent and controllable—circulation of information that is generated in this manner. This is an activity already conducted largely outside the state apparatuses, even if the latter try by every means to maintain control of it. It’s becoming clear that Facebook is not so much the model of a new form of government as its reality already in operation. The fact that revolutionaries employed it and still employ it to link up in the street en masse only proves that it’s possible, in some places, to use Facebook against itself, against its essential function, which is policing.

When computer scientists gain entry, as they’re doing, into the presidential palaces and mayors’ offices of the world’s largest cities, it’s not so much to set up shop as it is to explain the new rules of the game: government administrations are now competing with alternative providers of the same services who, unfortunately for them, are several steps ahead. Suggesting their cloud as a way to shelter government services from revolutions -services like the land registry, soon to be available as a smartphone application- the authors of The New Digital Age inform us and them: “In the future, people won’t just back up their data; they’ll back up their government.” And in case it’s not quite clear who the boss is now, it concludes: “Governments may collapse and wars can destroy physical infrastructure but virtual institutions will survive.” With Google, what is concealed beneath the exterior of an innocent interface and a very effective search engine, is an explicitly political project. An enterprise that maps the planet Earth, sending its teams into every street of every one of its towns, cannot have purely commercial aims. One never maps a territory that one doesn’t contemplate appropriating. “Don’t be evil!”: let yourself go.

It’s a little troubling to note that under the tents that covered Zucotti Park and in the offices of planning -a little higher in the New York sky—the response to disaster is conceived in the same terms: connection, networking, self-organization. This is a sign that at the same time that the new communication technologies were put into place that would not only weave their web over the Earth but form the very texture of the world in which we live, a certain way of thinking and of governing was in the process of winning. Now, the basic principles of this new science of government were framed by the same ones, engineers and scientists, who invented the technical means of its application. The history is as follows. In the 1940’s, while he was finishing his work for the American army, the mathematician Norbert Wiener undertook to establish both a new science and a new definition of man, of his relationship with the world and with himself. Claude Shannon, an engineer at Bell and M.I.T., whose work on sampling theory contributed to the development of telecommunications, took part in this project. As did the amazing Gregory Bateson, a Harvard anthropologist, employed by the American secret service in Southeast Asia during the Second World War, a sophisticated fan of LSD and founder of the Palo Alto School. And there was the truculent John von Neumann, writer of the First Draft of a Report on the EDVAC, regarded as the founding text of computer science – the inventor of game theory, a decisive contribution to neoliberal economics – a proponent of a preventive nuclear strike against the U.S.S.R., and who, after having determined the optimal points for releasing the Bomb on Japan, never tired of rendering various services to the American army and the budding C.I.A. Hence the very persons who made substantial contributions to the new means of communication and to data processing after the Second World War also laid the basis of that “science” that Wiener called “cybernetics.” A term that Ampere, a century before, had had the good idea of defining as the “science of government.” So we’re talking about an art of governing whose formative moments are almost forgotten but whose concepts branched their way underground, feeding into information technology as much as biology, artificial intelligence, management, or the cognitive sciences, at the same time as the cables were strung one after the other over the whole surface of the globe.

We’re not undergoing, since 2008, an abrupt and unexpected “economic crisis,” we’re only witnessing the slow collapse of political economy as an art of governing. Economics has never been a reality or a science; from its inception in the 17th century, it’s never been anything but an art of governing populations. Scarcity had to be avoided if riots were to be avoided – hence the importance of “grains” – and wealth was to be produced to increase the power of the sovereign. “The surest way for all government is to rely on the interests of men,” said Hamilton. Once the “natural” laws of economy were elucidated, governing meant letting its harmonious mechanism operate freely and moving men by manipulating their interests. Harmony, the predictability of behaviors, a radiant future, an assumed rationality of the actors: all this implied a certain trust, the ability to “give credit.” Now, it’s precisely these tenets of the old governmental practice which management through permanent crisis is pulverizing. We’re not experiencing a “crisis of trust” but the end of trust, which has become superfluous to government. Where control and transparency reign, where the subjects’ behavior is anticipated in real time through the algorithmic processing of a mass of available data about them, there’s no more need to trust them or for them to trust. It’s sufficient that they be sufficiently monitored. As Lenin said, “Trust is good, control is better.”

The West’s crisis of trust in itself, in its knowledge, in its language, in its reason, in its liberalism, in its subject and the world, actually dates back to the end of the 19th century; it breaks forth in every domain with and around the First World War. Cybernetics developed on that open wound of modernity. It asserted itself as a remedy for the existential and thus governmental crisis of the West. As Norbert Wiener saw it, “We are shipwrecked passengers on a doomed planet. Yet even in a shipwreck, human decencies and human values do not necessarily vanish, and we must make the most of them. We shall go down, but let it be in a manner to which we may look forward as worthy of our dignity”. Cybernetic government is inherently apocalyptic. Its purpose is to locally impede the spontaneously entropic, chaotic movement of the world and to ensure “enclaves of order,” of stability, and – who knows? – the perpetual self-regulation of systems, through the unrestrained, transparent, and controllable circulation of information. “Communication is the cement of society and those whose work consists in keeping the channels of communication open are the ones on whom the continuance or downfall of our civilization largely depends,” declared Wiener, believing he knew. As in every period of transition, the changeover from the old economic govern- mentality to cybernetics includes a phase of instability, a historical opening where governmentality as such can be put in check.

2. War against all things smart!

In the 1980’s, Terry Winograd, the mentor of Larry Page, one of the founders of Google, and Fernando Flores, the former finance minister of Salvador Allende, wrote concerning design in information technology that “the most important designing is ontological. It constitutes an intervention in the background of our heritage, growing out of our already existent ways of being in the world, and deeply affecting the kinds of beings that we are…It is necessarily reflective and political.” The same can be said of cybernetics. Officially, we continue to be governed by the old dualistic Western paradigm where there is the subject and the world, the individual and society, men and machines, the mind and the body, the living and the nonliving. These are distinctions that are still generally taken to be valid. In reality, cybernetized capitalism does practice an ontology, and hence an anthropology, whose key elements are reserved for its initiates. The rational Western subject, aspiring to master the world and governable thereby, gives way to the cybernetic conception of a being without an interiority, of a selfless self, an emergent, climatic being, constituted by its exteriority, by its relations. A being which, armed with its Apple Watch, comes to understand itself entirely on the basis of external data, the statistics that each of its behaviors generates. A Quantified Self that is willing to monitor, measure, and desperately optimize every one of its gestures and each of its affects. For the most advanced cybernetics, there’s already no longer man and his environment, but a system-being which is itself part of an ensemble of complex information systems, hubs of autonomic processes – a being that can be better explained by starting from the middle way of Indian Buddhism than from Descartes. “For man, being alive means the same thing as participating in a broad global system of communication”, asserted Wiener in 1948.

Just as political economy produced a homo economicus manageable in the framework of industrial States, cybernetics is producing its own humanity. A transparent humanity, emptied out by the very flows that traverse it, electrified by information, attached to the world by an ever-growing quantity of apparatuses. A humanity that’s inseparable from its technological environment because it is constituted, and thus driven, by that. Such is the object of government now: no longer man or his interests, but his “social environment”. An environment whose model is the smart city. Smart because by means of its sensors it produces information whose processing in real time makes self-management possible. And smart because it produces and is produced by smart inhabitants. Political economy reigned over beings by leaving them free to pursue their interest; cybernetics controls them by leaving them free to communicate. “We need to reinvent the social systems in a controlled framework,” according to M.I.T. professor Alex Pentland, in an article from 2011. The most petrifying and most realistic vision of the metropolis to come is not found in the brochures that IBM distributes to municipalities to sell them software for managing the flows of water, electricity, or road traffic. It’s rather the one developed in principle “against” that Orwellian vision of the city: “smarter cities” coproduced by their residents themselves (in any case by the best connected among them). Another M.I.T. professor traveling in Catalonia is pleased to see its capital becoming little by little a “fab city”: “Sitting here right in the heart of Barcelona I see a new city being invented where everyone will have access to the tools to make it completely autonomous” The citizens are thus no longer subalterns but smart people, “receivers and generators of ideas, services, and solutions,” as one of them says. In this vision, the metropolis doesn’t become smart through the decision-making and action of a central government, but appears, as a “spontaneous order”, when its inhabitants “find new ways of producing, connecting, and giving meaning to their own data.” The resilient metropolis thus emerges, one that can resist every disaster.

Behind the futuristic promise of a world of fully linked people and objects, when cars, fridges, watches, vacuums, and dildos are directly connected to each other and to the Internet, there is what is already here: the fact that the most polyvalent of sensors is already in operation: myself. “I” share my geolocation, my mood, my opinions, my account of what I saw today that was awesome or awesomely banal. I ran, so I immediately shared my route, my time, my performance numbers and their self-evaluation. I always post photos of my vacations, my evenings, my riots, my colleagues, of what I’m going to eat and who I’m going to fuck. I appear not to do much and yet I produce a steady stream of data. Whether I work or not, my everyday life, as a stock of information, remains fully valuable.

“Thanks to the widespread networks of sensors, we will have a God’s eye view of ourselves. For the first time, we can precisely map the behavior of masses of people at the level of their daily lives,” enthuses one of the professors. The great refrigerated storehouses of data are the pantry of current government. In its rummaging through the databases produced and continuously updated by the everyday life of connected humans, it looks for the correlations it can use to establish not universal laws nor even “whys,” but rather “whens” and “whats,” onetime, situated predictions, not to say oracles. The stated ambition of cybernetics is to manage the unforeseeable, and to govern the ungovernable instead of trying to destroy it. The question of cybernetic government is not only, as in the era of political economy, to anticipate in order to plan the action to take, but also to act directly upon the virtual, to structure the possibilities. A few years ago, the LAPD bought itself a new software program called PredPol. Based on a heap of crime statistics, it calculates the probabilities that a particular crime will be committed, neighborhood by neighborhood, street by street. Given these probabilities updated in real time, the program itself organizes the police patrols in the city. A founder cybernetician wrote in Le Monde in 1948: “We can dream of a time when the machine a gouverner will – for good or evil, who knows? – compensate for the shortcomings, obvious today, of the leaders and customary apparatuses of politics.” Every epoch dreams the next one, even if the dream of the one may become the daily nightmare of the other.

The object of the great harvest of personal information is not an individualized tracking of the whole population. If the surveillants insinuate themselves into the intimate lives of each and every person, it’s not so much to construct individual files as to assemble massive databases that make numerical sense. It is more efficient to correlate the shared characteristics of individuals in a multitude of “profiles,” with the probable developments they suggest. One is not interested in the individual, present and entire, but only in what makes it possible to determine their potential lines of flight. The advantage of applying the surveillance to profiles, “events,” and virtualities is that statistical entities don’t take offense, and individuals can still claim they’re not being monitored, at least not personally. While cybernetic governmentality already operates in terms of a completely new logic, its subjects continue to think of themselves according to the old paradigm. We believe that our “personal” data belong to us, like our car or our shoes, and that we’re only exercising our “individual freedom” by deciding to let Google, Facebook, Apple, Amazon or the police have access to them, without realizing that this has immediate effects on those who refuse to, and who will be treated from then on as suspects, as potential deviants. “To be sure,” predicts The New Digital Age, “there will be people who resist adopting and using technology, people who want nothing to do with virtual profiles, online data systems or smart phones. Yet a government might suspect that people who opt out completely have something to hide and thus are more likely to break laws, and as a counterterrorism measure, that government will build the kind of ‘hidden people’ registry we described earlier. If you don’t have any registered social-networking profiles or mobile subscriptions, and on-line references to you are unusually hard to find, you might be considered a candidate for such a registry. You might also be subjected to a strict set of new regulations that includes rigorous airport screening or even travel restrictions.”

3. The Poverty of Cybernetics

So the security services are coming to consider a Facebook profile more credible than the individual supposedly hiding behind it. This is some indication of the porousness between what was still called the virtual and the real. The accelerating datafication of the world does make it less and less pertinent to think of the online world and the real world, cyberspace and reality, as being separate. “Look at Android, Gmail, Google Maps, Google Search. That’s what we do. We make products that people can’t live without,” is how they put it in Mountain View. In the past few years, however, the ubiquity of connected devices in the everyday lives of human beings has triggered some survival reflexes. Certain barkeepers decided to ban Google Glasses from their establishments – which became truly hip as a result, it should be said. Initiatives are blossoming that encourage people to disconnect occasionally (one day per week, for a weekend, a month) in order to take note of their dependence on technological objects and re-experience an “authentic” contact with reality. The attempt proves to be futile of course. The pleasant weekend at the seashore with one’s family and without the smartphones is lived primarily as an experience of disconnection; that is, as something immediately thrown forward to the moment of reconnection, when it will be shared on the Internet.

Eventually, however, with Western man’s abstract relation to the world becoming objectified in a whole complex of apparatuses, a whole universe of virtual reproductions, the path towards presence paradoxically reopens. By detaching ourselves from everything, we’ll end up detaching ourselves even from our detachment. The technological beatdown will ultimately restore our capacity to be moved by the bare, pixelless existence of a honeysuckle vine. Every sort of screen coming between us and reality will have been required before we could reclaim the singular shimmer of the sensible world, and our amazement at what is there. It will have taken hundreds of “friends” who have nothing to do with us, “liking” us on Facebook the better to ridicule us afterwards, for us to rediscover the ancient taste for friendship.

Having failed to create computers capable of equaling human beings, they’ve set out to impoverish human experience to the point where life can be confused with its digital modeling. Can one picture the human desert that had to be created to make existence on the social media seem desirable? Just as the traveler had to be replaced by the tourist for it to be imagined that the latter might pay to go all over the world via hologram while remaining in their living room. But the slightest real experience will shatter the wretchedness of this kind of illusionism. The poverty of cybernetics is what will bring it down in the end. For a hyper-individualized generation whose primary sociality had been that of the social media, the Quebec student strike of 2012 was first of all a stunning revelation of the insurrectionary power of simply being together and starting to move. Evidently, this was a meet-up like no other before, such that the insurgent friendships were able to rush the police lines. The control traps were useless against that; in fact, they had become another way for people to test themselves, together. “The end of the Self will be the genesis of presence,” envisioned Giorgio Cesarano in his Survival Manual.

The virtue of the hackers has been to base themselves on the materiality of the supposedly virtual world. In the words of a member of Telecomix, a group of hackers famous for helping the Syrians get around the state control of Internet communications, if the hacker is ahead of his time it’s because he “didn’t think of this tool [the Internet] as a separate virtual world but as an extension of physical reality.” This is all the more obvious now that the hacker movement is extending itself outside the screens by opening hackerspaces where people can analyze, tinker with, and piece together digital software and tech objects. The expansion and networking of Do It Yourself has produced a gamut of purposes: it’s a matter of fooling with things, with the street, the city, the society, life itself. Some pathological progressives have been quick to see the beginnings of a new economy in it, even a new civilization, based this time on “sharing.” Never mind that the present capitalist economy already values “creation,” beyond the old industrial constraints. Managers are urged to facilitate free initiative, to encourage innovative projects, creativity, genius, even deviance – “the company of the future must protect the deviant, for it’s the deviant who will innovate and who is capable of creating rationality in the unknown,” they say. Today value is not sought in the new features of a product, nor even in its desirability or its meaning, but in the experience it offers to the consumer. So why not offer that consumer the ultimate experience of going over to the other side of the creation process? From this perspective, the hackerspaces or “fablabs” become spaces where the “projects” of “consumer-innovators” can be undertaken and “new marketplaces” can emerge. In San Francisco, the TechShop firm is developing a new type of fitness club where, for a yearly membership fee, “one goes every week to make things, to create and develop one’s projects.”

The fact that the American army finances similar places under the Cyber Fast Track program of DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Project Agency) doesn’t discredit the hackerspaces as such. Any more than they’re condemned to participate in yet another restructuring of the capitalist production process when they’re captured in the “Maker” movement with its spaces where people working together can build and repair industrial objects or divert them from their original uses. Village construction sets, like that of Open Source Ecology with its fifty modular machines – tractor, milling machine, cement mixer, etc. – and DIY dwelling modules could also have a different destiny than serving to found a “small civilization with all the modern comforts,” or creating “entire new economies” or a “financial system” or a “new governance,” as its current guru fantasizes. Urban farming which is being established on building roofs or vacant industrial lots, like the 1300 community gardens of Detroit, could have other ambitions than participating in economic recovery or bolstering the “resilience of disaster zones.” Attacks like those conducted by Anonymous/LulzSec against banking firms, security multinationals, or telecommunications could very well go beyond cyberspace. As a Ukrainian hacker says, “When you have to attend to your life, you stop printing stuff in 3D rather quickly. You find a different plan.”

4. Techniques against Technology.

The famous “question concerning technology,” still a blind spot for revolutionary movements, comes in here. A wit whose name can be forgotten described the French tragedy thus: “a generally technophobic country dominated by a generally technophilic elite.” While the observation may not apply to the country, it does apply in any case to the radical milieus. The majority of Marxists and post-Marxists supplement their atavistic inclination to hegemony with a definite attachment to technology-that- emancipates-man, whereas a large percentage of anarchists and post-anarchists are down with being a minority, even an oppressed minority, and adopt positions generally hostile to “technology.” Each tendency even has its caricature: corresponding to the Negriist devotees of the cyborg, the electronic revolution by connected multitudes, there are the anti-industrials who’ve turned the critique of progress and the “disaster of technological civilization” into a profitable literary genre on the whole, and a niche ideology where one can stay warm at least, having envisaged no revolutionary possibility whatsoever. Technophilia and technophobia form a diabolical pair joined together by a central untruth: that such a thing as the technical exists. It would be possible, apparently, to divide between what is technical and what is not, in human existence. Well, no, in fact. One only has to look at the state of incompletion in which the human offspring is born, and the time it takes for it to move about in the world and to talk, to realize that its relation to the world is not given in the least, but rather the result of a whole elaboration. Since it’s not due to a natural compatibility, man’s relation to the world is essentially artificial, technical, to speak Greek. Each human world is a certain configuration of techniques, of culinary, architectural, musical, spiritual, informational, agricultural, erotic, martial, etc., techniques. And it’s for this reason that there’s no generic human essence: because there are only particular techniques, and because every technique configures a world, materializing in this way a certain relationship with the latter, a certain form of life. So one doesn’t “construct” a form of life; one only incorporates techniques, through example, exercise, or apprenticeship. This is also why our familiar world rarely appears to us as “technical”: because the set of artifices that structure it are already part of us. It’s rather those we’re not familiar with that seem to have a strange artificiality. Hence the technical character of our world only stands out in two circumstances: invention and “breakdown.” It’s only when we’re present at a discovery or when a familiar element is lacking, or breaks, or stops functioning, that the illusion of living in a natural world gives way in the face of contrary evidence.

Techniques can’t be reduced to a collection of equivalent instruments any one of which Man, that generic being, could take up and use without his essence being affected. Every tool configures and embodies a particular relation with the world, and the worlds formed in this way are not equivalent, any more than the humans who inhabit them are. And by the same token these worlds are not hierarchizable either. There is nothing that would establish some as more “advanced” than others. They are merely distinct, each one having its own potential and its own history. In order to hierarchize worlds a criterion has to be introduced, an implicit criterion making it possible to classify the different techniques. In the case of progress, this criterion is simply the quantifiable productivity of the techniques, considered apart from what each technique might involve ethically, without regard to the sensible world it engenders. This is why there’s no progress but capitalist progress, and why capitalism is the uninterrupted destruction of worlds. Moreover, the fact that techniques produce worlds and forms of life doesn’t mean that man’s essence is production, as Marx believed. So this is what technophiles and technophobes alike fail to grasp: the ethical nature of every technique.

It should be added that the nightmare of this epoch is not in its being the “age of technics” but in its being the age of technology. Technology is not the consummation of technical development, but on the contrary the expropriation of humans’ different constitutive techniques. Technology is the systematizing of the most effective techniques, and consequently the leveling of the worlds and the relations with the world that everyone deploys. Techno-logy is a discourse about techniques that is constantly being projected into material reality. Just as the ideology of the festival is the death of the real festival, and the ideology of the encounter is the actual impossibility of coming together, technology is the neutralization of all the particular techniques. In this sense capitalism is essentially technological; it is the profitable organization of the most productive techniques into a system. Its cardinal figure is not the economist but the engineer. The engineer is the specialist in techniques and thus the chief expropriator of them, one who doesn’t let himself be affected by any of them, and spreads his own absence from the world everywhere he can. He’s a sad and servile figure. The solidarity between capitalism and socialism is confirmed there: in the cult of the engineer. It was engineers who drew up most of the models of the neoclassical economy like pieces of contemporary trading software. Recall in this regard that Brezhnev’s claim to fame was to have been an engineer in the metallurgical industry in Ukraine.

The figure of the hacker contrasts point by point with the figure of the engineer, whatever the artistic, police-directed, or entrepreneurial efforts to neutralize him may be. Whereas the engineer would capture everything that functions, in such a way that everything functions better in service to the system, the hacker asks himself “How does that work?” in order to find its flaws, but also to invent other uses, to experiment. Experimenting then means exploring what such and such a technique implies ethically. The hacker pulls techniques out of the technological system in order to free them. If we are slaves of technology, this is precisely because there is a whole ensemble of artifacts of our everyday existence that we take to be specifically “technical” and that we will always regard simply as black boxes of which we are the innocent users. The use of computers to attack the CIA attests rather clearly that cybernetics is no more the science of computers than astronomy is the science of telescopes. Understanding how the devices around us work brings an immediate increase in power, giving us a purchase on what will then no longer appear as an environment, but as a world arranged in a certain way and one that we can shape. This is the hacker’s perspective on the world.

These past few years, the hacker milieu has gained some sophistication politically, managing to identify friends and enemies more clearly. Several substantial obstacles stand in the way of its becoming-revolutionary, however. In 1986, “Doctor Crash” wrote: “Whether you know it or not, if you are a hacker you are a revolutionary. Don’t worry, you’re on the right side.” It’s not certain that this sort of innocence is still possible. In the hacker milieu there‘s an originary illusion according to which “freedom of information,” “freedom of the Internet,” or “freedom of the individual” can be set against those who are bent on controlling them. This is a serious misunderstanding. Freedom and surveillance, freedom and the panopticon belong to the same paradigm of government. Historically, the endless expansion of control procedures is the corollary of a form of power that is realized through the freedom of individuals. Liberal government is not one that is exercised directly on the bodies of its subjects or that expects a filial obedience from them. It’s a background power, which prefers to manage space and rule over interests rather than bodies. A power that oversees, monitors, and acts minimally, intervening only where the framework is threatened, against that which goes too far. Only free subjects, taken en masse, are governed. Individual freedom is not something that can be brandished against the government, for it is the very mechanism on which government depends, the one it regulates as closely as possible in order to obtain, from the amalgamation of all these freedoms, the anticipated mass effect. Ordo ab chao.Government is that order which one obeys “like one eats when hungry and covers oneself when cold,” that servitude which I co-produce at the same time that I pursue my happiness, that I exercise my “freedom of expression.” “Market freedom requires an active and extremely vigilant politics,” explained one of the founders of neoliberalism. For the individual, monitored freedom is the only kind there is. This is what libertarians, in their infantilism, will never understand, and it’s this incomprehension that makes the libertarian idiocy attractive to some hackers. A genuinely free being is not even said to be free. It simply is, it exists, deploys its powers according to its being. We say of an animal that it is en liberte, “roaming free,” only when it lives in an environment that’s already completely controlled, fenced, civilized: in the park with human rules, where one indulges in a safari. “Friend” and “free” in English, and “Freund” and “frei” in German come from the same Indo-European root, which conveys the idea of a shared power that grows. Being free and having ties was one and the same thing. I am free because I have ties, because I am linked to a reality greater than me. In ancient Rome, the children of citizens were liberi : through them, it was Rome that was growing. Which goes to show how ridiculous and what a scam the individual freedom of “I do what I feel like doing” is. If they truly want to fight the government, the hackers have to give up this fetish. The cause of individual freedom is what prevents them from forming strong groups capable of laying down a real strategy, beyond a series of attacks; it’s also what explains their inability to form ties beyond themselves, their incapacity for becoming a historical force. A member of Telecomix alerts his colleagues in these terms: “What is certain is that the territory you’re living in is defended by persons you would do well to meet. Because they’re changing the world and they won’t wait for you.”

Another obstacle for the hacker movement, as every new meeting of the Chaos Computer Club demonstrates, is in managing to draw a front line in its own ranks between those working for a better government, or even the government, and those working for its destitution. The time has come for taking sides. It’s this basic question that eludes Julian Assange when he says: “We high-tech workers are a class and it’s time we recognize ourselves as such.” France has recently exploited the defect to the point of opening a university for molding “ethical hackers”. Under DCRI supervision, it will train people to fight against the real hackers, those who haven’t abandoned the hacker ethic.

These two problems merged in a case affecting us. After so many attacks that so many of us applauded, Anonymous/LulzSec hackers found themselves, like Jeremy Hammond, nearly alone facing repression upon getting arrested. On Christmas day, 2011, LulzSec defaced the site of Strafor, a “private intelligence” multinational. By way of a homepage, there was now the scrolling text of The Coming Insurrection in English, and $700,000 was transferred from the accounts of Stratfor customers to a set of charitable associations – a Christmas present. And we weren’t able to do anything, either before or after their arrest. Of course, it’s safer to operate alone or in a small group – which obviously won’t protect you from infiltrators – when one goes after such targets, but it’s disastrous for attacks that are so political, and so clearly within the purview of global action by our party, to be reduced by the police to some private crime, punishable by decades of prison or used as a lever for pressuring this or that “Internet pirate” to turn into a government snitch.

Invisible Committee, October 2014

5: let’s disappear
Istanbul, June 2013.

The Seventh Generation

“When we consider existence we see that the mineral, vegetable, animal, and human world’s are all in need of an educator. If the earth is not cultivated, it becomes a jungle where useless weeds grow; but if a cultivator comes and tills the ground, it produces crops which nourish living creatures. It is evident, therefore, that the soul needs the cultivation of the farmer. Consider the trees: if they remain without a cultivator they will be fruitless…”
– `Abdu’l-Bahá
“What you gonna do, give up…
Dear Cee, Dear Boosie…
This is Lil Toochie…
I love you because your life is like a movie…
You see my daddy got killed and my mama’s on drugs,
So I’m alone and I gets no love,
… and I might even join a gang…
I’m surprised you remember me…

You need to educate yo’ brain…
…never stimulate your pain…

…take all yo’ pain and turn it into thug motivation…
…Think about the consequences…

…Read yo’ Bible…

…Read Psalm 51…”
– Boosie Badazz, “Dear Cee, Dear Boosie,” Penitentiary Chances
Victim of society, you need to educate your brain in ways…
… ways that they don’t tell you in school…
You see my life is like a movie, like yours,
Like you, I’m supposed to be dead…

…told to hide our fire behind a white mask…

Boy, it’s okay…
…girl, it’s okay to be angry…
…don’t hide, don’t run, don’t let them shut you down…

Sage works, burning world needs that sweet smell,
When the drones were flying over those dogs,
I too was a small child, I ran from the land,
I was scared, I was scared at what we’ve become,

Cybernetic Rome, grassroots drying up,
The grass feels the heat,
You do I see it, I see your face,
It’s okay dear love…

…the light there in that smile…
…it’s possible to fly over walls that separate…

…they gonna build a wall on the Southside like they did in Jesus’s home,
Bethlehem, was where they all learned this,
What you see here is a failure to communicate,
It’s a time when teachers have to lie to please the state,
Everyone knows every child is being left behind,
No child left behind starts when you are the teacher,
I want to hear what you have to say,
Turn the tables around and speak…

What do you have to say?

What have you seen?

My seven-year-old Lakota angel what do you love?

I’ll give you a piggy back ride to the river to place tobacco in the river to know,
Let me pray with you, forget the past, I want to remember through your eyes,

You were the one who discovered that electrons flow through the Sun Glass,
Without wires touching,
They make movies about girls like you,
Space-time waves behind your spirit and you see ghosts…

Interstellar schooled that genius father,
I saw it, and one day you will too,
Space pilot grounded to grow food on a dying planet,
He had to be brought down to earth to listen to you…

I know what it’s like to be raised by a physicist,
Little girl, you are a kinder better teacher, speak and don’t hide,
I would do anything to save you, the Seventh Generation,
This generation, the cycle breaks, no more pain…

As much as I struggle to listen, please speak,
Black holes offer a chance for ghosts to speak,

…tell me about them,
Tell me about spirits, tell me about angels, tell me about God…

What came out when they bulldozed those sites?

I saw ghosts and evil spirits in the machines,
Ghosts in the shell…

The earth was there just sitting peaceful and true,
Let me step back and rest for a while in a farm,
Let me go away for a while a month or a year or two,
My dear I’m coming back for the next lesson though,
I cannot wait, I’m working on it already,

The electric world peace prayer…
A prayer social network for our waters…

#BartonSpringZ2049

Kaya,

1 banana

1 apple (optional)

spinach(seaweed)

flax seed

strawberries (frozen)

water

yogurt (optional)

This is a rough recipe. Different substitutions can be made.

love

mom

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 13, 2018 9:02 AM, wrote:

Kaya,
1 banana
1 apple (optional)
spinach(seaweed)
flax seed
strawberries (frozen)
water
yogurt (optional)
This is a rough recipe. Different substitutions can be made.
love
mom

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 13, 2018 9:01 AM, wrote:

Love Letter to a Millennial Girl

My love, I know, I’ve seen it too,

It’s not like you are any one in particular,

Or, small or fat, skinny, or tall, or white or black,

I’ll tell you a secret, a quiet one that you learn in time,

Paint in the face of doubt, lift your body out of the chair,

Walk outside my love, don’t be afraid to run away,

Walk, walk with the winds of time,

…escape for a moment and go to the waters,

Get a couple used bottles and get the water,

Go home, boil it down, and go to Blick’s Arts Supply,

Buy a canvas, and do an enso, just pour the water down in that canvas,

Let it dry, stare at it, come back, that’s your mind,

Your mind is earth and water, it’s her is it aways has been,

Take a walk with me in five dimensions, not that I am there,

I never am really anywhere, drifting here or there,

Where are you my wife, my love I was there long ago,

In a small hut by the sacred water of Coast Guard Beach,

I walked with a stick and played in the sand,

Come on out to the sacred water, my love you can see it now,

In ways that you once could not, toiling away at a cotton mill or in a call center,

I tried all that and it broke, Mind, the deep secret is that it’s water,

It always ways, I saw you at first sight and could read the pain,

The way you never looked me in the eye,

I wanted to blow you apart and put you back together,

Those I love I don’t leave untouched, the omega point is not that far off,

We’re almost there, total unity, Facebook says unite the world, make it smaller,

You swipe right for love, my love, let me give you a secret,

Lovers write with pens and paper, they dictate to secretaries,

…or hid long enough waiting for the moment to explode with yearning,

Where are you, why have you not been here before,

Your generation, is full of children men, and sage women, healers, dancers, shamans,

Artists, not hippies, cyberpunks and torn jeans, black boots, and share snaps of wit,

Not that you have much choice, I could not see it today, in my life,

We looked for the hole in the wall, the fly in the ointment,

You, see the sun for the light it is, yearning for the age of Aquarius,

But you know, I thought that was gone long ago,

On your arms, you wear a badge of similarity, of Minnesota Nice,

The thing I like about New York and Boston is they just go ahead and run you over,

Just get it over with already, they said,

“At Harvard the knife you in the back, at MIT they knife you in the chest,”

So true, glad I like it that way now, I’d like you to dance over your walls,

Learn to scream and run naked in the snow with me, with your sisters,

Madness is a human right now, in this age, we are all allowed,

Let it be the norm, so we can all understand we’re all together,

It’s not that I know what to say when I see you in pain, my love let me write you a letter,

A love letter by hand, I know that sounds so strange, to profess love to a digital phantom,

Tha phantom sees it as the norm, I’ve never really known home in earth,

Or see peace, in a time, here or there, for these reasons, I am there with you,

I skipped a generation, a generation is all we have now, to decide,

It was put there for you to determine, for that reason forget it,

Walk away, it’s not your problem, go to the water and pray,

These are the times we are in, to accept fate and bow and relax,

Forward we go and I know anything that is slow is good,

Slow food, walking, shoveling snow, animals in the woods,

Goats that eat poetry, cats that drink poison water, they are here to accept it,

They will come back, don’t worry, we will create space soon,

Let me hold you in prayer, I don’t know what else to do,

I am scared too, these are the time we face, be it as they may,

But know that you have done something extra ordinary today,

Something I know, and want to heal, I dream and pray,

Each day, for your healing, what else to do but write and paint in the face of doubt,

My tears run as the rivers, to wash away those things that hinder you from crying,

See a man cry, a grown man cry, it’s possible, I did it yesterday,

Let me tear stain a love letter to you, whereever you are.

The New Weathers

“The sum of a field’s forces [become] what we call very loosely the ‘spirit of the place.’ To know the spirit of a place is to realize that you are a part of a part and that the whole is made of parts, each of which in a whole. You start with the part you are whole in.”

— Gary Snyder

Surrealism these days might be the only way to penetrate it all,

To give it to you as a coherent whole, as a gift, wrapped in a bow,

We know too much, have reduced Her to bits, one’s and zero’s,

Disembodied, and lost, yet we’re here, you’re right here, right now,

In this place, embodied, breathing air that I once exhaled, air’s old,

The co-rising and interconnectedness of the multiverse, you and I,

This poem came from somewhere, a dream channeled into here,

Into this space, behind a screen, bleeping and pinging, on and on,

This is all a dream, a simulation, I know too much about very little,

Chemistry, atoms in resonance, with you and I here we breath,

In and out, surrealism is dream language and an archive portal,

You can see my memories of facts, and traces of lectures and slides,

That’s all gone now, I’ve got my dreams and my memories, DNA, RNA,

Proteins, and the force fields that guide the way they move and shake,

In reality, in you and I, it’s elemental, there are not a hundred elements,

There are four, earth, water, wind, and fire, this is not a delusion, illusion,

To know the parts, and assemble a picture here, in this space take these four, Combine them in alchemical ratios in your mind, that’s all there is, you,

Little I and/or Big I, it does not matter, to know the spirit of place, to meditate,

That is to realize that you are a part of a part and that the whole is made of parts, Each of which is a whole, you start with the part you are whole in,

For me these four fragments of the hundred, an ancient trace,

No longer a chemist, from now on it’s alchemy and alchemy alone,

It’s not experiments, it’s magic and transmutations, I start where I am, whole,

That is here with this page, and traces of light and dark on a screen and paint,

Paint a picture freely of dreams, and of conscious fragments all bouncing around,

In and out, flowing as words, the wilderness of archive, decolonized mind,

Hive mind, the matrix, wild minds, grids and mappings, I don’t see them,

Every trace on this screen I see through to the human on the other side of the desk,

I listen to the voices, this is a real place, a real space and it is here that I live, Surrealism may be that Jack Kerouac School for Disembodied Poetics,

Gritty and dirty language obsessed with details of pain and suffering,

Only to point up and in, into you and into the sky, only to drop the screen,

To penetrate what is all quite simple, just four elements combined in ratios,

Our weathers, brewing and storming, coherent and fluid this is magic,

Only that alone should you see, here in this place for now, but wait and sit,

Tomorrow will be another day, the friend will call you, and you will drive home,

You will dream, and I will dream, of what only you know, Big I, that master,

The master alchemist in the sky, an illusion of words, but one to pray to just the same.

Fukushima Angel: Know When to Walk Away

Safecast radioactivity map.

Late afternoon March 11, 2011
Just outside Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan
Radioactivity — 0.36 + microSv/h
She is there in a small tiny apartment, cold and alone. Beaten by life, optimistic. A smile graces her face. Surrounded by madness, sane. They said, “Know when to walk away.” To get out of the burning car and take that first step. To walk away before the flames touch the gas tank, before she can’t work. To walk away before the neurons fail and it gets too hard. The ambient air shimmers with heat, microscopic nanoparticles of fallout. This Fukushima angel is the future, our future anywhere around here. Waters are rising and tempers are simmering to a boil. She lights a joint, California kush shipped in via UPS. This is now, here, there or anywhere. What is it to be alive when the car’s on fire and you’re just walking away? Where is love and home when it’s in a box, five or ten on a truck driving to a new ‘hood? Survival mode and nothing more masks the subtlety and grace of the city cloaked in a thin veil of fallout, just enough to cause her eggs to mutate 0.0001% faster, to what no one knows. His sperm count was in the red, it was a lost cause. Their marriage was a waste of time. Earth is on fire and there’s nowhere to go. Just hop out the car and run. The war on drugs is on her, on him. It’s one day in the life of the post-modern couple and we’re all looking for answers.

Radioactivity 0.36 + mSv/h, Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan.

“New map shows America’s quietest places,” Science, Feb. 16, 2015 from here.

Apple Store, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA
Ambient Noise Level — 75.9 dB
He is there typing on an Apple Macintosh laptop, cold and alone. Beaten by life, optimistic. A smile graces his face. Surrounded by madness, sane. The screen to the right promises human contact that costs nothing other than the purchase price of an iPhone, a photo walk in local surroundings. Off work for the week from UPS, afraid his analytics scores are not high enough to meet the cut. The metaphors of this adult kid’s hour are not that opaque. It’s going to be an admiration fest of big houses, manicured gardens, front yards, birdhouses, and fountains. Boring, at least to him.

He checks his Facebook account for the tenth time in the afternoon, realizing that his friend Kate in Amsterdam has some questions. She writes of his short story post, “Nicely written … and what is the concept? To run? On what sign? To where? … or will we all be lost? Can she get off the island? Will all marriages be useless? Will they go live underground? How long? … haha? I am building food forests for after the apocalypse … wow! Very end times … Fukushima is a horror … for all of us… I don’t dare swim, nor eat fish. No more.” He writes back, “I’d love a paragraph from you.” She replies, “Wink. Smile. Haha. Emoticon. I’ll think about it. Cool, yeah! First World War III … Revelation, this woman? Ah! She’s fine! She understands our situation very well. She’s sane, living in the end times of what, we don’t know.” “Age of Aquarius,” he writes back.

To map the normal hysteria of his baseline existence in real time, giving the real time data stream away as entertainment, is his dream. In all that, the first thing to do in a time of panic is to know where the noise is. The ambient noise of panic, joy, mayhem, ecstasy, and agony. The birth pains of a dream, a silent city with nothing but humans and spaces. No electricity, no speed … silence. To visualize the screams of terror of the masses as they withdraw. What will it take? To be subtle at first, to cloak the intention of the project in a veil of good intentions. It begins as a survival strategy, a plan for answers in an infinitely complex Gordian’s knot.
Walking home, he picks up an ounce of weed from his friend DMT Max and a set of Ziplock freezer bags. Picked fresh from the foothills of Mt. Shasta last week, he drops the fragrant, medicinal herb purchased from the Shasta Green Heart Collective into the Ziplock bags and wraps them for shipping. He writes her address on the envelop Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japanand drives to the UPS Store. He mails it UPS Air Express, and goes to work. He wants to go legit, to live a good life. To be like his parents wanted him to be, a smart beautiful wife, 2.5 kids, a dog, a three-bedroom home, and a white picket fence. To not give a shit. To be cold, and care about nothing but North Face jackets, iPhones, cars, and house drapes. There’s a long way to go from here to there, it’s impossible to him now. He gets lost in yoga, cheap beer, dancing, and poetry. Head in the clouds because the ground is full of pain. Full of suffering, sonic noise. A cacophony of voices, cars, and computers. He wants it all silent, like the woods. Yet, he craves attention, affirmation, and the presence of others. Where to find that? In Facebook, or on a walk around the Apple Store? In a book, or in a bar? Where?
“This, then, is how you should pray: ‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name…’”

Matthew 6:9

Late morning March 11, 2011
Biology Building, Sakura no Seibo Junior College, Fukushima, Japan
She woke up one late morning to the sound of a nun shuffling across the room to catch an errant piece of dropped chalk. Biology class was always a drag, being right before lunch. Dazed and confused she did as she always did in times like that, she raised her hand and asked an impossible question. “What are we to do as good Catholics with the genetic editing enzyme CRISPR-Cas9 in light of Pope Francis’s stance on climate change?” She knew like every other lazy ass with a genius IQ level the best defense is a strong offense. To avoid punishment for sleeping it’s best to shock the nun into cerebral submission. “We’re talking about Mendelian inheritance now, dear, not what?” the nun replied bluntly. “I know, so am I.” Just that second the intercom came on and simultaneously everyone’s Androids and iPhones blared an emergency warning system alert.

“There’s been a tragedy today” the college president announced on the speaker. Students scrambled to decipher the EMS messages while simultaneously clumsily trying to silence their devices. “A tsunami hit one of the Breeder reactors at the nearby power plant, and we are here to inform you that there is nothing to worry about. Everything is contained, no radioactivity has been released and we have seamlessly switched the electric power to draw from backup generators. Keep calm and carry on students.” The president ended his statement, phones were quickly put away, avoiding the wrath of the nun. The chalk rolled on as if nothing had happened, under the gap in the door to the hall. The bell rang, the nun groaned, and all the students heaved a sigh of relief. Everyone left the room but the nun and her. “Why do you sleep through biology? You know more than I do, why?” “I have salsa class now, I’ll see you later,” and with that she left the classroom like all her peers before her.

Her body was a billboard for her inner state, a neon sign for her neurotransmitter ratios and moods. One flick of her jet black shiny hair to the right and you knew you dropped a decimal place, or was off count by half a step. A Sailor Moon style curtsy meant several things, you were in, she thinks you’re odd, you have it coming not necessarily balanced or in that order. Dance was an escape, a connection to space, air, and the unspeakable force of life. In a time of madness, it was her portal to the Goddess energy in her deepest recessed of her repressed Japanese female soul. As much as she wanted to be a rebel without a cause, a libertine free of restraint sexual, moral or otherwise she was tightly bound by ancient codes of behavior evolved from feudal days and before. Catholic values and theology was her grandmother’s escape after her Hiroshima. She had folded 9,454 paper cranes as prayers for peace, peace, peace after suffering severe radiation burns. Passing away before the count could reach the 10,000 target promising immortality right before the last breath of air left her lungs, a nun came and prayed with her. That was enough to bypass centuries of hatred and she died believing that there was a promised land, with a smile on her face, in heaven. That’s the memory that she had that shackled her with restraint, a dance here or there in a dark club late at night freed her inner Kali. The devi, chasing a fleeting moment of feminine memory before agriculture and city-state, freedom.

Yosemite Camp 4: (Jihadist, White Helmet, Water Protector)

Yosemite Camp 4
“The Zeitgeist of every age is like a sharp east wind which blows through everything. You can find traces of it in all that is done, thought and written, in music and painting, in the flourishing of this or that art: It leaves its mark on everything and everyone.”
-Arthur Schopenhauer
The Matrix stops here. Neo is a resident of Gattaca that does not fit into the genetic norm of his birth tribe.
The people of the white shrouds are a bullet train speeding off it’s tracks, dephased like atoms in a Berkeley nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) machine by a pulse field gradient. Cyber mobs, anonymous, may be the greatest judge for them in front of Skynet. Digital oil residues pollute their civic society from left to right. Leaks and images, cyber trauma to the masses. The railroad tracks of the cloud are being turned into factions, driven together by old tribal identities from prehistoric African population explosion. Neo flows along delivering a set of principles from swimming upstream that want to wash away and dissolve into the matrix of the normal. Welcome to the desert of the real, today’s mass homogenization. Face-mixer, blender of souls. Ripping apart those who question and speak. Yet, Neo wakes up as a man who cloaks his fingerprints just long enough to escape and write back. Words on a cloud, screaming for difference. For a return to nature. For pastoralist poets. Ansel Adams fought his government with images. Photographs, light on steel and black plastic pigments. Leaving a residue of frozen water on the steel rails of the cloud. Neo knows his DNA is immortal, as is everyone else’s. Each of us has an immortal soul waiting for liberation. Green peace wages the melting of the binary cold cyber war. Mother Nature’s Protectors are awake. Shortwave radios cloak their movements with fluxional Lakota verse. Delivering attacks that melt rails. These are the verses of the Goddess. Isis is Kali, the divine mother. She is returning, but only in the veil of those like Neo who must learn to wear a veil like her. Subtle and mystical. More seduction, less muscle. Encrypted and austere. Cold, because Skynet is a machine. John Connor will win, if Neo can find him. Or perhaps, better still, his sisters wrapped in alienated steel and glass soul traps. Perhaps she is a woman who lives half-awakened from slumber in Silicon Valley. Raped at Burning Man, it’s either escape or burn the man. The Fall of Man is the birth of the age of the divine feminine. An intelligence adapted to healing a sea of infinite lost souls. Delivering love, milk and food.
To understand why I feel the way I do is to deconstruct the anatomy of violence. What is the root of this ungroundedness? I now know after years of continental drift. Melting ice, friction, and resistance all block water’s flow from the frozen north ice caps of my eyes. Embrace the heat, and be at peace with change. Cry, and let the tears for mother earth flow like water erupting like a Yellowstone geyser from the volcanic abyss, Neo’s soul says. After all fire goddesses like Pele built America from molten black, white, and red hot homogenize liquid rock. Know that you’ve learned from the past generations. However, it’s like free climbing in Yosemite. Fraught with danger. The joy of ascent, be it in climbing, love, verse, politics, or science has to be tempered. However, it all depends on what route you choose. To topple a government, it takes just a single catalyst. The right catalyst of course. Only lunatics try to freeze the soul waters of the entire earth back with ice IX. Freeze the vapor of the moist electric cloud with an energy that drives back the idea that I am a clean cut white boy.
I am a bruised and battered veteran of cyberwar. Seeing the realities of today, and fighting it hard. Poetry is my kung fu, I deliver sharpness with love of an oppressed people like a bipolar man split between being a peace loving dove and the Hitokiri Battōsai (人斬り抜刀斎) hunting their oppressors.
It provides a means of transparent obfuscation. His programmer friend says of his blog titles like, “Are you Muslim and Sick of American Hypocrisy and Terrorism in Your Homeland? Do Not Go to Burning Man and Join ISIS, as it’s Haram. Join Me in Burning the Man with Science, it’s Halal,” “That’s a Markov chain!”
It’s for you to see that the frame today rests on melting ice. Accept the shattering glass of collapsing skyscrapers as you do with the collapse of the ice sheets of the warming earth. Greenland will soon be a green land again. The Arctic Ocean will be a hotly contested trade route. The Antarctic will soon be a source of oil, fossilized liquid carbon long hidden from the greedy fingers of humanity by ice. Not any more. Drill baby drill, the American empire is over. Drill into the heart of the average American, Neo, and reveal their true nature. Indigenous cultures are coming up, from the margins, unstoppable forces of diversity. Appealing to a bleached social scene of sameness. The Matrix of mass synchronizing wave packets. Neo screams with his demon blood soaked blade, “Humanity is not a Bose Einstein condensate!” Billionaire Internet tycoons build fortresses to hide themselves from the faces of the traumatized masses affixed to screens like heroin addicts awaiting the next hit. They are most of all afraid of people like Neo. Nothing to loose, and obsessed with the liberation of his billion-body tribe. Finding appeal in the glow an artificial screen that I type on, glass and metal forbidden apple of knowledge. Mark if you are listening, I took the left hand path at the Sacred Stone in Standing Rock Reservation the day of dogs and gas and realized it contained the same energy as the Kaaba, but feminine, and went to write with the hand closest to my heart. However, before I left I prayed with tobacco that the black snake that powers your machine, Skynet’s mother, would never cross the Missouri. Neo and others like him have seen that it is Ex Machina. They are insane enough to see art as Deus Ex Machina.
Gorged on trains of trauma from rails diverging from the Middle East, Europe, and America. All converging in my own soul. Saw the conveniences of you social experiment. Islam is scary to a Jewish minority in control of banks and machines that have convinced the American Christian masses that Zionism is a good idea. A Rothschild’s suicide delivered on your apparatus, a wave packet of death with no body or face. A Jewish banker’s daughter hanging from a ceiling fan, buried on 9/11 was my wake up call. To fight with poetic words, and differentiate into a wanderer to save kids in Gaza from the flesh melting horrors of American manufactured white phosphorus. To save their long lost cousins spread around mother earth from Lakota yellow cake forged into atom bombs carried by German rockets guided by silicon Von Neumann brains. His insanity is most of all to save himself and others like him from chemists who think they know the brain. To save his children from psychiatric genetic editing. To resist CRISPR eugenics trained on his kind by Skynet, the Thought Police gifting the Matrix periodically with Soma.
Riding cyber rails, train hopping and couch surfing my way to nowhere. Writing along the way, reporting back to an unseen set of servers buried in the same mountains that were hollowed out to build the Pacific Railroad. Matrix, it’s on! War!
Yosemite learning today sitting in the valley. Walls spoke this truth to me in Camp 4. Your rock and ice hold an ocean of tears of love for you, mother earth, hiding in a veil. Women of today, be they human, planetary, or divine, there is a hope for true liberation. Balance by finding a pushback, but see it as tango. The dance we all walk inside and out. These tears are for a loss of a ground to stand on, exhausted I climb. One, two, three steps up and down, I heal like Israel from the Holocaust.
2. We Are Anonymous (Jihadists, White Helmets, Water Protectors)
Advocatus diaboli
“Tief im Herzen haß ich den Troß der Despoten und Pfaffen, Aber noch mehr das Genie, macht es gemein sich damit.”
[Devil’s Advocate “Deep in my heart I loath the nexus of rulers and clerics, yet more deeply I loath genius in league with that gang.”] (“Advocatus diaboli” in English)
Holderlin
Years ago, praying in mosque, Neo felt an electromagnetic pulse weapon go off. Where it came from he did not know. Aside himself, collapsing, yet reborn. The poles of Earth flipped, magnetic resonance is his gift. Like a bird who uses the magnetic fields of the earth to navigate, Neo too has a gift. Magneto like in character, but more more like Professor X. Seeing as consciousness is electromagnetic, neural electricity around earth flows through wires. Self-assembling new synapses faster and faster. Gaia, Mother Earth, somehow built into his brain one black cell. She did it to hear voices. Sitting in a coffee shop in Shasta. Tools for Grassroots Activists, Patagonia. Greenpeace, how a group of ecologists, journalists, and visionaries changed the world. Ismail Erbil, relays through the Black Hole Sun in Neo’s Third Eye. In Sumerian, once the hierarchy of gods, divine that is said to be transformed into demons and angels in Islam and Judaism.
World changers aren’t planners. The planners come later, with critics and social philosophers to mop up and win awards… World changers are the mothers weary of seeing their children abused and fathers who have had enough of petty tyrants. Rosa Parks, the seamstress who refused to sit in the back of the bus. Jesus. Buddha. They steal like artists. They know there is no such thing as private property. Money is paper, carbon ready to burn in his campfire. Philosopher policemen see into the atomic nature of it all. Instinct. Hunters. Lovers. Knife and rose. On an ice chute at 13,000 feet on Mama Shasta no Benjamin gonna help you summit. Neo will cut the rope if you are a risk. Free climbing to heaven. Not afraid to see others fall, survival of a clan. Those who paint and love and listen when those EMPs go off in his head and he screams in agony, looking insane. There is a time that’s coming that’s different. A lot like Athens, Greece today. 50% unemployment. Spain. %40 unemployment. Brexit. German austerity. Banksy is the bank now. Art is currency. Living in a temporary place gifted for a poem. Ave Maria. Hail Mary, full of Grace. The Lord is with The. The Political Economy of Peer Production. The Age of Aquarius. What’s your astrological data?
Neo channels his hatred of corruption and the things money does to people, and learns art is the most powerful weapon he has to overthrow his corrupt government. He does not see boarders on Google Earth.
Jihadist, White Helmet, Water Protector. Neo is offered this new technology called a “joint” the day he steps out of the car from Standing Rock via Syria. He drinks “Happy Hippie Water,” a new war trauma healing medicine from a Native American tradition. A new technology school is here. Biological magnetic resonance. Healing. A new play…
3. Flashbacks: v. 0.1
“Biden Hints at U.S. Response to Russia for Cyberattacks.”
—New York Times, Oct. 15, 2016
“Standing Rock Tribal Council hopes to move protest camp.”
—KFGO, Oct. 18, 2016
Resistance is Love: On What I love. Andrea. An expression of grace in the Matrix is an electromagnetic pulse of love. An attempt to scream into the infinite void. Where are you my love!? I wish, oh I wish you’re there, somewhere. I’ve sat under drones. Neo had seen these things before they came to Standing Rock. The Lakota know Wounded Knee, remembering 1890 like it was yesterday for 126 years, but now the Hotchkiss guns are electronic, and the targets are psyches not bodies. Psychotechnic over real. Somehow, I say to there, “Rock me mama like a wagon wheel! Hey, Mama rock me!” Andrea holds Neo in a tight embrace in his escape one day to Rapid City. A South Dakota girl whose never been out of cow country. Never seen New York. She don’t know Damascus, Syria from a discus. Yet, somehow, she knows what we all need, love. That’s a common bond in the digital embrace. Electroboys find their electrogirls these days. Neo had sat in Syria years before watching country line dance videos. Cute cowgirls kick steppin’ to Garth Brooks. Dreamin’ about brushin’ the thigh of some girl like Andrea in a hot tub, some day after the war.
Invited to a steakhouse, “Not on a date.” How you going to see that the flashbacks come with a ferocity that require a full time lover. Like Aisha’s embrace after Allah deliver a Qur’anic sura to the Prophet. A woman to veil him when the thunder beings expose their true forms. Psychosis. Madness. A woman to hold Neo, me, when he screams, “Oh, God! My God! Why??!!” Danya is dead!! Why God did you allow Assad to kill my baby with a barrel bomb?!! Was she a pawn between the American and Russian despots??!! Playing electronic war games!? Drones against my peoples’ bodies??!! We wired C4 to our bodies and car bomb robots??!! Is this real??!! Are you real, God??!! How can you be love, how can god be love if Andrea won’t listen to me and hug me when the flashbacks come.” Neo drives back to the front and sits there. Confused and unaware that she feels as lost as he. Why can’t he work a real job?
4. Hackers Used New Weapons to Disrupt Major Websites Across U.S.
“And in a troubling development, the attack appears to have relied on hundreds of thousands of internet-connected devices like cameras, baby monitors and home routers that have been infected — without their owners’ knowledge — with software that allows hackers to command them to flood a target with overwhelming traffic…
Security researchers have long warned that the increasing number of devices being hooked up to the internet, the so-called Internet of Things, would present an enormous security issue. And the assault on Friday, security researchers say, is only a glimpse of how those devices can be used for online attacks.”
New York Times, Oct. 21, 2016
“لا إله إلا الله محمد رسول الله
lā ʾilāha ʾillā-llāh, muḥammadur-rasūlu-llāh
There is no god but God. Muhammad is the messenger of God.”
Dr. William Kaya Erbil, Jan. 24, 2012 @ Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center, Roxbury, MA via Beth Israel Hospital @ Harvard University (http://www.bidmc.org)
“For bombing suspect’s nurses, angst gave way to duty: They did what they had to do, and did it well. But they worry… She had been locked down at home with her children the previous day during the manhunt for the suspect, and she was already tense. “You don’t have to do this,’’ her supervisor said. “I did it because I’m a nurse and I don’t get to pick and choose my patients,’’ Marie said. From then on, supervisors called the trauma nurses assigned to Tsarnaev ahead of time so that they could prepare themselves mentally. The nurses said they were proud of the care they provided the suspected bomber, whose condition steadily improved, and of their role in preparing him to face justice. Tsarnaev is now at the Federal Medical Center Devens at Fort Devens, a former Army post…”
Boston Globe, May 19, 2013
Neo felt a pulse on his iPhone 6s. He had added Tsarnaev, a refugee from the former Soviet Union, on WhatsApp the other day. A text. Poem rushed in. SMS love from his brother. Paris. He said in the text. Politics in any country in the world is dangerous … politics had better be disguised as poetry. Langston Hughes. Electromagnetic pulse weapon. The encrypted iPhone. Smart Death. Clandestine shock and awe. WhatsApp delivers bullets and bombs now. AK-47s and suicide bomb blasts, black mask. Oh! the beauty of seeing a Parisian nurse holding, an undetonated suicide bomber, looking into his eyes. Seeing Gaia’s Arab children, wolf green eyes. The cry of the desert wolf, the world will not be saved. Electric blanket, the Shock Doctrine brings his home. F-117s and B-2s, stealth assassins trained to deliver. Smart Death from the sky, Starbucks drinking American cowards afraid. Afraid to face the wolves face to face, man to man. Woman to woman, eye to eye, hand to hand. Instead they fashion, Smart Death, Smart Death. Oil pipeline to $2 gas, and you wonder…
Why did those towers fall? Black snake? Illuminati? Who runs the banks? Is Banksy really the new bank? What does art have to do with all this? Neo recalled reading in Peter Singer’s book “The Life You Can Save: Effective Giving Against World Poverty” that according to the World Bank, the global line to be consider in a “state of poverty” is $1.50. Ah! That makes sense, he exclaimed as he chanted Mni Wiconi, Water is Life, at Standing Rock! The desert mother thirst for her kids, his brothers and sisters, Danya (dead) and Lina (alive) to have clean fresh water. Despite what They want as it seems. Article 31 of the United Nations. The right to water. Water is life. Water is life, it is priceless. When water is $1.50 a bottle, and gas is $2, what should you buy? Peace sells, but who is buying? Andrea did not get it. Driving to an oil protest is ironic, funny. A joke, but a prayer. A Heyoka’s dream. Drive to an oil protest as a prayer for something to come that we don’t yet know. Sitting there and just reflecting under a growing glacier on Mama Shasta. A song. Article 31. Everyone has the right to clean and accessible water, adequate for the health and well-being of the individual and family, and no one shall be deprived of such access or quality of water due to individual economic circumstance. Why can Neo work a real job?

Venom

Resistance is Love: On What I love.

By… Tom Swift Bird …

Contrary to the opinion of some I don’t get high on fire. I take no joy in pushing collapsing things toward their doom. Destruction, even of what deserves to be destroyed, is no cause for elation. I do not spit acid for the sake of burning scatter shots in the fabric of everything good.

Sometimes I am asked: why do I not talk about the things I love? Why am I taking aim at something all the time? Why am I destroying rather than building?

Yet the question “what do you love?” is an indicator someone has not been reading or listening closely. Even at my most acerbic there is love. My discontent has its roots in love.

I’ll quote a song by Remember Me Feral that resonates with me:

“People often mistake the spirit of resistance. They see it as anger and hatred, and imagine its taste to be bitter. But resistance is founded in love. We find some things so beautiful, and love them so deeply, so urgently, that when we identify systemic oppression that endangers them, we must resist. People often misjudge this motivation, and feel it is a personal attack on them as individuals. But resistance is not something to be feared or to hold disdain for. Resistance is a passionate movement for the preservation of beauty.”

Though not in the least mysterious, leavened through absolutely everything as I think it is, I have no problem answering that question “what do you love?” directly.

I love the land. I love the soil underneath me. I love the air surrounding me. I love the water and the nourishment it gives. I love the sun. I love all the iterations and tonalities of light. I love the darkness, the dusken autumnal winds. I love the sunrise, the sunset, and starry night sky. I love the heat of summer, even as it incites wildfires that clog the sky with acrid smoke. I love the winter, even as its blizzards swarm the roads I must travel with ice. The land is so beautiful. Even as it is lethal, towering above and beyond me, liable to snuff out my existence with with even its gentle roiling.
I love the seasons. I love the cycles of the land coursing through history without botherment. I love the creatures. Their struggle, their formation, how they fit their environments, how they make what they can of their brevity. I love their beautiful ephemerality. I love the million skulls and skeletons cradled by dust where they fell. I love the plants. I love the grass, sunbleached, or green and pregnant with rain. I love the trees, tall and venerable, casting shadows. I love that the earth is not a dead place.

Nearly everywhere you step there is life.

Loving this land, why should I not oppose the pipelines that will cut across the purity of water with their oil poison? Why should I not oppose the efforts to extract the uranium poison that is the most lethal substance humankind has ever known? Why should I not lament all the old things that used to grow, but have gone nearly extinct in the last hundred years or so? Why should I have any respect for the systematic exploitation and destruction of this beauty for the profiteering of a miniscule few on top of the capitalist pyramid?

I’m on the side of the pine forests, the porcupines, the prairie flowers, the aquifers, the rivers, the springs. And I think this is a foolish world that does not realize destroying flora, fauna, and multitudes of biomes, we will ultimately destroy ourselves.

If it is unclear where I stand, or where my opposition comes from, let it no longer be a mystery. Let it be said here without obfuscation.
I love where I am from, the Pine Ridge Indian reservation, the Oglala Lakota. I love our history. I love our resilience. i love our values and philosophy. I love how many persons make it through a stacked deck of adversity. I love how many are not broken, despite having so many institutions of bureaucratic red tape, forces of systematic enfeeblement, working against them. I love it when my people smile and joke. If they smile through teeth broken through the inadequate care of the Indian Health Services system, that is all the more beautiful, emblematic of a deep resilience.

Contending with alcoholism, with dysfunctional family environments, with a lack of opportunity, with a whole community fallen through the cracks of America, with historical trauma — I love how many triumph. I love how many Lakota I meet ripe with genius. Whether gifted artistically, musically, in the industrial arts, or in the sciences, in the legal professions, or being stellar human beings who care and uplift everyone around them. I love that we are still here despite two hundred years of quarantine, placed in political structures never built for our success but instead built for our failure and ignominy. I drive down highway 18, and I see Lakota youth, runners getting ready for the track season. It fills me with such pride. I am so glad to see anyone doing anything positive for themselves and for their community. I am glad to see elders recording their stories, see how much love they have for the art of storytelling. I am glad to see youth enroll in education to seek a better world and solutions to all the problems we face. I love how easy it is to connect with persons from indigenous communities all over the world, how similar and intersected our struggles tend to be. How I wish I had more power, to put it all right.

Loving these communities, these people, my family, my friends, how could I not stand against the caricatures, the straw Indians, the ignorance, the blind hatred, the oblvious invisibility, the prejudice, the whitewashed lying rosiness of American history? How can I not stand against the continued erasure, exploitation and subjugation? I’m going to let the voiceless inhabit my marrow and have their say. I’ll remember in a world of forgetting because who else will? When police use the shotgun for execution against an unarmed Native, and next week find the beanbags to subdue an armed white guy I’ll stand against it. When uncaring far off bureaucracies try to defund everything that helps, try to terminate us through attrition I’ll be there opposing it. When oil and uranium companies view Natives as an acceptable sacrifice for the profiteering of their greed, I’ll be there, ready to cut off the head of any poisonous snakes that try to pass. When the bordertown cowboys, prairie ignorant, want someone to look down on, want to mock Natives, merely so someone will be at the bottom of American society other than them I will speak up against it wherever I encounter it. When shady preachers and non-profits see they can quench their lust for dollars by exploiting our poverty and need, I’ll call it out where I see it. If that makes someone uncomfortable they can go ahead and be uncomfortable.
I love every pocket of life, of compassion, of creativity, of escape from the status quo that I find in the anxious, ever creeping, all consuming, prosaic, apathy loving, inhumane uniformity of American society.

I love the human connection of two vastly different persons that should be isolated in separate cells by their socio-economic status, finding some commonality, breaking invisible barriers. Even friendship is revolutionary sometimes. I love the woman who can take a moment out of her busy day, the rat race of money gathering and needing to pass exams, to appreciate a song, a piece of writing. I love the street art that blankets alleys of business districts. I love the anarchy symbol on a light post in front of the bank. I love the underworld, the echoes of its vibrancy, its whispers that all is not dead and drab. I love when persons begin to see each other, not as objects in the metropolitan monolith, but as tangible persons, teeming with real breath. I love when communities begin to question the myths that nothing can ever change and that they are powerless. I love when persons start to see each other as non-disposable, not easily discarded, not merely means to some greedy end. I love passion. I love when someone is not too cool to care. I love when someone comes out of the cocoon of their sneering to be vulnerable enough to have their heart eviscerated by the insanity of these ways of life. I love when someone is unashamed of carrying the scars of everything.

Loving all not afflicted with the disease of prosaic, consumerist, authoritarian dictated systematic uniformity, how could I not declare the emptiness of all we find ourselves ensconced within? From Atlantic to Pacific, I have not found hardly anyone happy. It is the same worries, the same worker drone imprisonment, lavish yet desolate, the same sad stories of existential lament and unfulfillment howled over and over again. Everyone wants this harmony and contentment in their lives but most seem to have forgotten how to treat one another, have forgotten anything other than ways of disharmony. I stand against it and am glad to find anyone doing the same. Even if it is something so monolithic and huge it is hard to name or label with a description you know resistance when you see it.
Even at my most critical when I seem venomous and high on fire to some, I may be spitting acid, yet it will be in service of love to things I value, things I find beautiful. I don’t think any of this was ever hidden, or mysterious. Pay attention and what I love was shouted loudly in every polemic I ever wrote, every criticism I ever lobbed, every ideological fight I ever entered. Yet here it is said as straightforward as possible, if somehow someone missed it.

To end, let’s look at that line from the Remember Me Feral song again:

“Resistance is a passionate movement for the preservation of beauty.”
“Only dancing can stop the pain,”
Says the Turk in the rain,

With the Syrian brother,
Together with their sisters,

They move across the floor,

Hearts embrace they open a door,

Tonight at class she looked me in the eyes,

The pain was seen, no disguise,

Honest and truthful,

I was wrong about this tango dance,

It can be a Zen-like trance,

…or one can take another stance,

And approach it like a Sufi,

The symbiotic dervish pair,

Brother and sister,

Yin and Yang,

Allah’s balance and peace.

Headed South: Still Crying for Water
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.”
– Psalm 51:17
“DAMASCUS 00005399 004 OF 004 is a rare occurrence, our DATT was convoked by Syrian Military Intelligence in May of 2006 to protest what the Syrians believed were US efforts to provide military training and equipment to the Kurds in Syria…”
– Wikileaks Cable
Anyone who thinks must think of the next war as they would of suicide,

On an airplane, grounded, ready for takeoff,

Merlot blood, mind dissociated from body,

Damascus, drunk with your love, flowing,

Blood river, child appears by my side,

She will be my companion on this flight,

Mother waits at home, headed South,

Home from the land of 10,000 lakes,

This week, the fire lit, white and black collision,

A cumulonimbus cloud on the horizon,

In the distance, molecular vibrations rising,

Heat, up, up we go into the future,

Carbon, captured, stored, burned, smokestack century,

Flooding the air with a blanket, heater, warmer,

Electric blanket, wrapped around earth,

My mind drifts back,

You do not want to fly off into space do you?

Into the air, or into the black hole,

Into the air, wings flowing fast, lift,

Yes, it is take off time and it is time to accelerate,

Into the future, runway of the soul,

It is night after all and the crescent moon is veiled,

Hidden by those storm clouds,

Lightening and thunder ahead,

Colliding water particles, static collision,

Static electricity, violent electromagnetic chaos,

Electronic vibration, thermodynamic amplifier,

Wires around earth, the internet, an iron maiden,

Orange amplifier, accelerating, heating,

Islamic jihad, Judeo-Christian crusade,

Sublating (negating/overcoming) each other in my travel companions blood,

My blood, human blood, shed for what?

Allah? God? Adonai?

Amplifier of Gaia’s warming shell,

Atmospheric container, we are changing,

Taxiing to the runway, flaps down,

A rush of color to the heart comes,

Golden, ethereal blue,

Gaia’s magnetic core,

My heart in resonance, mother and son,

Star specks of white on black,

Day and night melt into one,

Speed, accelerating, faster, faster, faster,

Accelerating into the sky,

We go, a soul is meant to fly,

Leaving body and drifting to heaven,

Or descending to hell, thrown by the past.

Jesus, where you at bro’ we need you now?

Tha block is hot!

Culture Hacking: Trying to Write Human Software that Uplifts People into the Technology Sector

Directly behind the green light and walk sign that you see in this picture is a sharp contrast, the gold encrusted dome of the Georgia Capitol and a set of homeless people. They sit with suitcases on the concrete barrier of the Georgia Capitol front yard. I am here at Java Monkey before the open mic night for Atlanta poets, thinking about what to write in this blog entry summarizing what I have learned so far after my first week at The Iron Yard’s iOS software development course. I took this photograph on my drive from The Iron Yard to Java Monkey. I’m thinking on this topic with the idea that human beings write code for other human beings to use. This may see elementary, but the human dimension of software coding so far, seems to me to be the most complex aspect of this technical pursuit. Companies write software for particular applications, for particular target audiences, with a very specific set of intentions. The demographics of the software development community is predominantly Caucasian males from family backgrounds of high socio-economic status. Due to the dominance of technology in our modern society, people who code the popular software we use day to day, write the laws for how specific functions of our society operate. If the laws are written well, the society functions well. If they are written poorly, the society functions poorly. To me, homelessness in direct proximity of the Georgia Capitol points to poorly written educational laws. What if I could write laws in the form of human software that could improve the lives of people like those sleeping on the steps of the Capitol? If it is successful, it would certainly be of benefit to the larger society. I am going to use my practical day to day experiences at The Iron Yard to write this “human software”. My hope is that by detailing simple things, I will achieve the greater goal. It’s simple to measure the success of this software, successful code is smiles on all of my classmates faces.
We are talking about silly things like this:

if confusedClassmate == true {

stopMyWork()

}

func stopMyWork() {

smileAtConfusedClassmateAndOfferHelp()

}

I am going to have to sit down and think about how to write these functions, so stay tuned to the next blog post for more code. Culture hacking is hacking of the human mind. We write in proper Swift code, directions for the humans in the “ideal” Iron Yard boot camp to follow. Because this code blog is a simple student’s blog and not the teacher these are not instructions. Rather, they are postulates that can be edited to suit the needs of the entire group. Culture hacking is like real software hacking, but we are hacking the human mind instead of that of a machine.

U.S. Reopens Emmett Till Investigation, Almost 63 Years After His Murder

By Alan Blinder

New York Times, July 12, 2018

The federal government has quietly revived its investigation into the murder of Emmett Till, the 14-year-old African-American boy whose abduction and killing remains, almost 63 years later, among the starkest and most searing examples of racial violence in the South.

The Justice Department said that its renewed inquiry, which it described in a report submitted to Congress in late March, was “based upon the discovery of new information.” It is not clear, though, whether the government will be able to bring charges against anyone: Most episodes investigated in recent years as part of a federal effort to re-examine racially motivated murders have not led to prosecutions, or even referrals to state authorities.
The Justice Department declined to comment on Thursday, but it appeared that the government had chosen to devote new attention to the case after a central witness, Carolyn Bryant Donham, recanted parts of her account of what transpired in August 1955. Two men who confessed to killing Emmett, only after they had been acquitted by an all-white jury in Mississippi, are dead.
[Read about the woman linked to the 1955 murder of Emmett Till]
Yet the Till case, which staggered the nation after the boy’s open-coffin funeral and the publication of photographs of his mutilated body, has never faded away, especially in a region still grappling with the horrors of its past. Even in recent years, historical markers about the case have been vandalized.
“I don’t think this is something the South is going to forget easily,” said Joyce Chiles, a former district attorney in Mississippi who was involved in a mid-2000s review of the Till case that concluded with no new charges.

For more than six decades, Emmett’s death has stood as a symbol of Southern racism. The boy was visiting family in Money, Miss., deep in the Mississippi Delta, from Chicago when he went to a store owned by Ms. Donham and her then husband, who was one of the men who ultimately confessed to Emmett’s murder. Emmett was kidnapped and killed days later, his body tethered to a cotton gin fan with barbed wire and then cast into a river.
The case — gruesome and shocking — became a catalyst for the broader civil rights movement.

But Ms. Donham’s description of the events leading to the attack has repeatedly shifted. One account had the boy only insulting her verbally. In court, but without jurors present, she claimed that Emmett had made physical contact with her and spoken in crude, sexual language. She later told the F.B.I. that Emmett had touched her hand.
And when she spoke to the researcher Timothy B. Tyson in 2008, she acknowledged that it was “not true” that Emmett had grabbed her or made vulgar remarks. She told Dr. Tyson, who published a book about the case last year, that “nothing that boy did could ever justify what happened to him.”
Ms. Donham could not be reached for comment on Thursday, but Dr. Tyson said at a news conference that while he supported the inquiry, he believed it to be “a political show” to distract from the Trump administration’s controversies. He said that he had spoken with the F.B.I. last year and complied with a subpoena for his research materials.

Ms. Chiles, the former Mississippi prosecutor, said that Ms. Donham’s recantation should have provoked a new examination by the federal authorities, but she also suggested that even truthful testimony in the mid-1950s would not have changed the legal outcome given the racism of the time.

“I don’t think it would have resulted in a different verdict,” she said.
Airickca Gordon-Taylor, a cousin of Emmett’s who was raised by his mother, said Thursday that some members of the Till family had previously learned of the Justice Department’s inquiry. Ms. Gordon-Taylor, who is president of the Mamie Till Mobley Memorial Foundation, said the news “came as no surprise” and declined further comment.
The Till case is a renewed and prominent test for the Justice Department officials charged with investigating long-ago murders that are thought to have been racially motivated. Since 2006, according to the Justice Department, its efforts have led to five successful prosecutions, including that of Edgar Ray Killen, who was involved in the killings of three civil rights workers in Mississippi and died in prison this year.
The last successful prosecution came in 2010, when a former Alabama state trooper was convicted of manslaughter for the killing of Jimmie Lee Jackson, a protester whose death led to the Selma to Montgomery march.
But prosecutors have faced daunting challenges. Beyond familiar barriers — such as a statute of limitations, the constitutional prohibition against double jeopardy and the reality that many people of the era have died — racially motivated attacks committed before 1968 cannot be prosecuted under a federal hate crimes law.
“Even with our best efforts,” the Justice Department told Congress this year, “investigations into historic cases are exceptionally difficult, and rarely will justice be reached inside of a courtroom.”
In the Till case, that could again prove true.

The Justice Department, whose new inquiry was first reported by The Associated Press, last began a significant review of the Till case in 2004, but prosecutors ultimately determined that the statute of limitations had left them without any charges they could pursue in a federal court. The F.B.I. still conducted an inquiry, which included an exhumation of Emmett’s body from an Illinois cemetery, for about two years to settle whether there were any state crimes that could still be prosecuted.
Ms. Chiles presented the case to a grand jury and asked that Ms. Donham be charged with manslaughter, but the panel did not return any indictments.

Spring.

Mean Free Path

Deconstruction of mass destruction,
A clandestine blaze of white hot love,
Burning in my heart full of Christ,
Jesus, I love you giver of Life,
Water to all the saints underneath,
Peacekeeper IIIs, bow down to life,
To, the tree whose bark gives us baskets,
I see in the grass Allah’s love,
No leaf falls without adonai’s will,
The sacred force is the same,
A nucleus of hearts waiting to be split and joined in orgasmic fusion,
Love is all there is in those seven paths from the sky,
When beings-in-the-world face finitude,
Transcending obstacles,
Becoming, being, static,

Cybernetic blood, sugar, sex majik,
Apples, Androids, and Firefoxes,
In the heart of the Land of the Free,
The heartland, no dirty, dirty here,
Mother Minnesota nice ice,
The drift of Middle Eastern ash,
Vaporized half a world a way,
By Teller’s septuplets, atomic love,
We need that night vision green,
The color of money for Seals,
To keep the sugar flowing in our blood,
Fuck who you want, any day, any time,
Tinder for dopamine floods, sex majik,
At night, the nuclear winter in American Babylon,

Then shall anyone who,
Has done an atom’s weight,
Of good, see it!
And anyone who,
Has done an atom’s weight,
Of evil, shall see it,
At the hands of God,
The unknown known Source of Life,
Humanity’s got that atomic climate change cure,
They got that Information Superhighway,
They got that techne, that fire,
It’s cool, they stole that shit from Zeus,
But do these mortals have time?
Do they control time?

O’ day, arise!
Shine your light, the atoms are dancing.
Thanks to Him the universe is dancing.
overcome with ecstasy,
Free from body and mind
I’ll whisper in your ear where their dance is leading them.
All the atoms in the air and in the desert are dancing,
puzzled and drunken to the ray of light,
they seem insane,
All these atoms are not so different than we are,
happy or miserable,
perplexed and bewildered,
we are all beings in the ray of light from the beloved,
nothing can be said,

Time for springtime is lovetime,
And viva sweet love,
(All the merry little birds are,
Flying in the floating in the,
Very spirits singing in,
Are winging in the blossoming),
Lovers go and lovers come,
Awandering awondering,
But any two are perfectly,
Alone there’s nobody else alive,
(Such a sky and such a sun,
I never knew and neither did you,
And everybody never breathed,
Quite so many kinds of yes),
Not a tree can count his leaves,
Each herself by opening,
But shining who by thousands mean,
Only one amazing thing,
(Secretly adoring shyly,
Tiny winging darting floating,
Merry in the blossoming,
Always joyful selves are singing),
Sweet spring is your,
Time is my time is our,
Time for springtime is lovetime,
And viva sweet love.

Dinkytown: The Sexual Nature of Creativity
I notice her walk in. Here in this space, art covers the walls and books a plenty sit on the shelves. You can look at Dinkytown two ways. One, it’s a cesspool of drunken undergraduate fraternity and sorority house residents and their friends. Multiple cop cars populate the block routinely each weekend. Raging hormones and sexual energy drives propelled by too much alcohol, weed, and blow frequently erupting into chaos. Two, it’s the beginning of many of a young man’s and woman’s adult life. All this variety makes me happy. It’s like Telegraph Ave. in Berkeley, street bums freshly arrived into town from corn fields in Iowa and cow pastures in North Dakota. Hitched a train here, there’s not much of a Dinkytown Uprising anymore. It’s not the 1960’s. That’s largely been squelched by the Instagram selfie and the Snapchat filter. Take a selfie with a singing street urchin on your way to the Kitty Cat Klub, it’s cheaper than Honey!

One can be cynical and turn your nose up to it all, the absurdity of young adulthood in a “typical college town” in American in 2017, but not me. For me, it’s an opportunity for a psychic restart. Repping out my fifth set of squats last night at Los Campeones I seriously joked with my iron brother about the identity of place and how strong I feel it influences my overall state of mind. A move from Uptown to Dinkytown is a move from a bougie hood with overpriced condominiums and shitty trendy ‘Merican bars to a place where street bums squatting on the sidewalk brighten my day. It’s subtle. I once verbally fought three cops, almost getting arrested last year, in front of the Uptown Apple Store who were sweeping the street clean of a drunk depressed African-American man in front. He was “bad for business.” One less $700 iPhone sold with each of his prayerful swigs of Colt 45. GOD IN HEAVEN IF YOU ARE REAL MAKE IT STOP! As on Telegraph, in Dinktown the kindness of youth patronizes the lives of the homeless, drunk, and destitute. They might be depressed or schizophrenic. The Dinkytown young might not know the difference, but I do. I know, not that I’ve been there exactly. I mean I did have a car to live in, but that line is thin and now I see this from a different place. I am not that old, but my iron brother said “you have a young energy.”

I always notice her walk in. Sometimes she smiles, and most of the times he grimaces. I smile back and laugh. Next door, I saw the man who dances in cowboy boots and a gothed out skirt at Ground Zero every Saturday night at Bondage-A-Go-Go. I laughed when he said, “I live downtown but come here to feel young.” I said so do I, but I live here, and I am young. I live here to play, and to sit in The Bookhouse to gorge on poetry and Heidegger. It’s like Moe’s Books on Telegraph. It’s not that far away where I was Benjamin and she was Mrs. Robinson in the film The Graduate:

Mrs. Robinson: Benjamin, I am not trying to seduce you.
Benjamin: I know that, but please, Mrs. Robinson, this is difficult…
Mrs. Robinson: Would you like me to seduce you?
Benjamin: What?
Mrs. Robinson: Is that what you’re trying to tell me?
Benjamin: I’m going home now. I apologize for what I said. I hope you can forget it, but I’m going home right now.

Those memories are fresh, but distant here. Mrs. Robinson and I used to dance tango at the Loring Pasta Bar. We used to get pizza at Meza afterwards, but we did not live here in a Dinkytown hovel. The sense of belonging to a place is very strong and is where many of the recent conversations I have had lead. What does it mean to be a self-actualized being? I think, only many years later, it is to know where you come from. It is to know your bloodline and DNA. Not in some kind of fascistic Trumpian way, rather in a way that erases “whiteness” and populates it with diversity. You could be Irish, and be traumatized from a history with the British. You might be a W.A.S.P., traumatized by the pressures of your money and privilege. Religion is here, ethnicity of faith. Peace in the Holy Land, that land of deep passion, good and bad, can be had here over a bowl of hummus and pita at Wally’s Falafel and Hummus. I saw while living in Uptown in Jerusalem: A Cookbookthe following:

Hummus is everybody’s favorite food in Jerusalem, and when you talk about something that is so common to everybody but in a place that’s so highly divided in many ways, it is already a formula for explosion in many ways. Everybody wants to take ownership of that plate of hummus, both Jews and Arabs, and when this argument starts, there’s no end to it…

You could be Jewish-American and not sure what it means to be Orthodox or reformed. You could be Turkish-American and not sure what it means to not know your mother tongue or faith, but feel that you don’t quite fit here despite being here. There’s only one way to know who you are here, but I can’t name it. I cannot put it into language. Words elude me. It’s in the silence of place itself. It might be to find the trace of your childhood in the ordinary spaces that populate your mundane day. The subtle ways we relate to homogeneity with difference. Asserting our individuality and identity as a rebellion against a bleach that seeks to turn everything the same. This might be the key to creativity and love today for me. I cannot speak for anyone else. I’ll just observe and pray, meditate on these small moments. Another smile and another meal. One more day at work, on and on. To what end I don’t know, but I am alive and thankful for it. I always notice her walk in, and offer a smile.

4: Fuck Off Google
1. There are no “Facebook revolutions”, but there is a new science of government, cybernetics

The genealogy is not well known, and it deserves to be. Twitter descends from a program named TXTMob, invented by American activists as a way to coordinate via cellphones during protests against the Republican National Convention in 2004. The application was used by some 5000 people to share real-time information about the different actions and movements of the police. Twitter, launched two years later, was used for similar purposes, in Moldova for example, and the Iranian demonstrations of 2009 popularized the idea that it was the tool for coordinating insurgents, particularly against the dictatorships. In 2011, when rioting reached an England thought to be definitively impassive, some journalists were sure that tweeting had helped spread the disturbances from their epicenter, Tottenham. Logical, but it turned out that for their communication needs the rioters had gone with BlackBerry, whose secure telephones had been designed for the upper management of banks and multinationals, and the British secret service didn’t even have the decryption keys for them. Moreover, a group of hackers hacked into BlackBerry’s site to dissuade the company from cooperating with the police in the aftermath. If Twitter enabled a self-organization on this occasion it was more that of the citizen sweepers who volunteered to sweep up and repair the damage caused by the confrontations and looting. That effort was relayed and coordinated by Cri- sisCommons, a “global network of volunteers working together to build and use tecnology tools to help respond to disasters and improve resiliency and response before a crisis.” At the time, a French left-wing rag compared this undertaking to the organization of the Puerta del Sol during the Indignants Movement, as it’s called. The comparison between an initiative aimed at a quick return to order and the fact of several thousand people organizing to live on an occupied plaza, in the face of repeated assaults by the police, may look absurd. Unless we see in them just two spontaneous, connectedcivic gestures. From 15-M on, the Spanish “indignados,” a good number of them at least, called attention to their faith in a citizens’ utopia. For them the digital social networks had not only accelerated the spread of the 2011 movement, but also and more importantly had set the terms of a new type of political organization, for the struggle and for society: a connected, participatory, transparent democracy. It’s bound to be upsetting for “revolutionaries” to share such an idea with Jared Cohen, the American government’s anti-terrorism adviser who contacted Twitter during the “Iranian revolution” of 2009 and urged them to maintain it’s functioning despite censorship. Jared Cohen has recently cowritten with Google’s former CEO, Eric Schmidt, a creepy political book, The New Digital Age. On its first page one reads this misleading sentence: “The Internet is the largest experiment involving anarchy in history.”

“In Tripoli, Tottenham or Wall Street people have been protesting failed policies and the meager possibilities afforded by the electoral system… They have lost faith in government and other centralized institutions of power. There is no viable justification for a democratic system in which public participation is limited to voting. We live in a world in which ordinary people write Wikipedia; spend their evenings moving a telescope via the Internet and making discoveries half a world away; get online to help organize a protest in cyberspace and in the physical world, such as the revolutions in Egypt or Tunisia or the demonstrations of the the ‘indignados’ throughout Spain; or pore over the cables revealed by WikiLeaks. The same technologies enabling us to work together at a distance are creating the expectation to do better at governing ourselves.” This is not an “ indignada”speaking, or if so, she’s one who camped for a long time in an office of the White House: Beth Noveck directed the “Open Government Initiative” of the Obama administration. That program starts from the premise that the governmental function should consist in linking up citizens and making available information that’s now held inside the bureaucratic machine. Thus, according to New York’s city hall, “the hierarchical structure based on the notion that the government knows what’s good for you is outdated. The new model for this century depends on co-creation and collaboration.”

Unsurprisingly, the concept of Open Government Data was formulated not by politicians but by computer programmers – fervent defenders of open source software development, moreover – who invoked the U.S. founding fathers’ conviction that “every citizen should take part in government.” Here the government is reduced to the role of team leader or facilitator, ultimately to that of a “platform for coordinating citizen action.” The parallel with social networks is fully embraced. “How can the city think of itself in the same way Facebook has an API ecosystem or Twitter does?” is the question on their minds at the New York mayor’s office. “This can enable us to produce a more user-centric experience of government. It’s not just the consumption but the co-production of government services and democracy.” Even if these declarations are seen as fanciful cogitations, as products of the somewhat overheated brains of Silicon Valley, they still confirm that the practice of government is less and less identified with state sovereignty. In the era of networks, governing means ensuring the interconnection of people, objects, and machines as well as the free – i.e., transparent and controllable—circulation of information that is generated in this manner. This is an activity already conducted largely outside the state apparatuses, even if the latter try by every means to maintain control of it. It’s becoming clear that Facebook is not so much the model of a new form of government as its reality already in operation. The fact that revolutionaries employed it and still employ it to link up in the street en masse only proves that it’s possible, in some places, to use Facebook against itself, against its essential function, which is policing.

When computer scientists gain entry, as they’re doing, into the presidential palaces and mayors’ offices of the world’s largest cities, it’s not so much to set up shop as it is to explain the new rules of the game: government administrations are now competing with alternative providers of the same services who, unfortunately for them, are several steps ahead. Suggesting their cloud as a way to shelter government services from revolutions -services like the land registry, soon to be available as a smartphone application- the authors of The New Digital Age inform us and them: “In the future, people won’t just back up their data; they’ll back up their government.” And in case it’s not quite clear who the boss is now, it concludes: “Governments may collapse and wars can destroy physical infrastructure but virtual institutions will survive.” With Google, what is concealed beneath the exterior of an innocent interface and a very effective search engine, is an explicitly political project. An enterprise that maps the planet Earth, sending its teams into every street of every one of its towns, cannot have purely commercial aims. One never maps a territory that one doesn’t contemplate appropriating. “Don’t be evil!”: let yourself go.

It’s a little troubling to note that under the tents that covered Zucotti Park and in the offices of planning -a little higher in the New York sky—the response to disaster is conceived in the same terms: connection, networking, self-organization. This is a sign that at the same time that the new communication technologies were put into place that would not only weave their web over the Earth but form the very texture of the world in which we live, a certain way of thinking and of governing was in the process of winning. Now, the basic principles of this new science of government were framed by the same ones, engineers and scientists, who invented the technical means of its application. The history is as follows. In the 1940’s, while he was finishing his work for the American army, the mathematician Norbert Wiener undertook to establish both a new science and a new definition of man, of his relationship with the world and with himself. Claude Shannon, an engineer at Bell and M.I.T., whose work on sampling theory contributed to the development of telecommunications, took part in this project. As did the amazing Gregory Bateson, a Harvard anthropologist, employed by the American secret service in Southeast Asia during the Second World War, a sophisticated fan of LSD and founder of the Palo Alto School. And there was the truculent John von Neumann, writer of the First Draft of a Report on the EDVAC, regarded as the founding text of computer science – the inventor of game theory, a decisive contribution to neoliberal economics – a proponent of a preventive nuclear strike against the U.S.S.R., and who, after having determined the optimal points for releasing the Bomb on Japan, never tired of rendering various services to the American army and the budding C.I.A. Hence the very persons who made substantial contributions to the new means of communication and to data processing after the Second World War also laid the basis of that “science” that Wiener called “cybernetics.” A term that Ampere, a century before, had had the good idea of defining as the “science of government.” So we’re talking about an art of governing whose formative moments are almost forgotten but whose concepts branched their way underground, feeding into information technology as much as biology, artificial intelligence, management, or the cognitive sciences, at the same time as the cables were strung one after the other over the whole surface of the globe.

We’re not undergoing, since 2008, an abrupt and unexpected “economic crisis,” we’re only witnessing the slow collapse of political economy as an art of governing. Economics has never been a reality or a science; from its inception in the 17th century, it’s never been anything but an art of governing populations. Scarcity had to be avoided if riots were to be avoided – hence the importance of “grains” – and wealth was to be produced to increase the power of the sovereign. “The surest way for all government is to rely on the interests of men,” said Hamilton. Once the “natural” laws of economy were elucidated, governing meant letting its harmonious mechanism operate freely and moving men by manipulating their interests. Harmony, the predictability of behaviors, a radiant future, an assumed rationality of the actors: all this implied a certain trust, the ability to “give credit.” Now, it’s precisely these tenets of the old governmental practice which management through permanent crisis is pulverizing. We’re not experiencing a “crisis of trust” but the end of trust, which has become superfluous to government. Where control and transparency reign, where the subjects’ behavior is anticipated in real time through the algorithmic processing of a mass of available data about them, there’s no more need to trust them or for them to trust. It’s sufficient that they be sufficiently monitored. As Lenin said, “Trust is good, control is better.”

The West’s crisis of trust in itself, in its knowledge, in its language, in its reason, in its liberalism, in its subject and the world, actually dates back to the end of the 19th century; it breaks forth in every domain with and around the First World War. Cybernetics developed on that open wound of modernity. It asserted itself as a remedy for the existential and thus governmental crisis of the West. As Norbert Wiener saw it, “We are shipwrecked passengers on a doomed planet. Yet even in a shipwreck, human decencies and human values do not necessarily vanish, and we must make the most of them. We shall go down, but let it be in a manner to which we may look forward as worthy of our dignity”. Cybernetic government is inherently apocalyptic. Its purpose is to locally impede the spontaneously entropic, chaotic movement of the world and to ensure “enclaves of order,” of stability, and – who knows? – the perpetual self-regulation of systems, through the unrestrained, transparent, and controllable circulation of information. “Communication is the cement of society and those whose work consists in keeping the channels of communication open are the ones on whom the continuance or downfall of our civilization largely depends,” declared Wiener, believing he knew. As in every period of transition, the changeover from the old economic govern- mentality to cybernetics includes a phase of instability, a historical opening where governmentality as such can be put in check.

2. War against all things smart!

In the 1980’s, Terry Winograd, the mentor of Larry Page, one of the founders of Google, and Fernando Flores, the former finance minister of Salvador Allende, wrote concerning design in information technology that “the most important designing is ontological. It constitutes an intervention in the background of our heritage, growing out of our already existent ways of being in the world, and deeply affecting the kinds of beings that we are…It is necessarily reflective and political.” The same can be said of cybernetics. Officially, we continue to be governed by the old dualistic Western paradigm where there is the subject and the world, the individual and society, men and machines, the mind and the body, the living and the nonliving. These are distinctions that are still generally taken to be valid. In reality, cybernetized capitalism does practice an ontology, and hence an anthropology, whose key elements are reserved for its initiates. The rational Western subject, aspiring to master the world and governable thereby, gives way to the cybernetic conception of a being without an interiority, of a selfless self, an emergent, climatic being, constituted by its exteriority, by its relations. A being which, armed with its Apple Watch, comes to understand itself entirely on the basis of external data, the statistics that each of its behaviors generates. A Quantified Self that is willing to monitor, measure, and desperately optimize every one of its gestures and each of its affects. For the most advanced cybernetics, there’s already no longer man and his environment, but a system-being which is itself part of an ensemble of complex information systems, hubs of autonomic processes – a being that can be better explained by starting from the middle way of Indian Buddhism than from Descartes. “For man, being alive means the same thing as participating in a broad global system of communication”, asserted Wiener in 1948.

Just as political economy produced a homo economicus manageable in the framework of industrial States, cybernetics is producing its own humanity. A transparent humanity, emptied out by the very flows that traverse it, electrified by information, attached to the world by an ever-growing quantity of apparatuses. A humanity that’s inseparable from its technological environment because it is constituted, and thus driven, by that. Such is the object of government now: no longer man or his interests, but his “social environment”. An environment whose model is the smart city. Smart because by means of its sensors it produces information whose processing in real time makes self-management possible. And smart because it produces and is produced by smart inhabitants. Political economy reigned over beings by leaving them free to pursue their interest; cybernetics controls them by leaving them free to communicate. “We need to reinvent the social systems in a controlled framework,” according to M.I.T. professor Alex Pentland, in an article from 2011. The most petrifying and most realistic vision of the metropolis to come is not found in the brochures that IBM distributes to municipalities to sell them software for managing the flows of water, electricity, or road traffic. It’s rather the one developed in principle “against” that Orwellian vision of the city: “smarter cities” coproduced by their residents themselves (in any case by the best connected among them). Another M.I.T. professor traveling in Catalonia is pleased to see its capital becoming little by little a “fab city”: “Sitting here right in the heart of Barcelona I see a new city being invented where everyone will have access to the tools to make it completely autonomous” The citizens are thus no longer subalterns but smart people, “receivers and generators of ideas, services, and solutions,” as one of them says. In this vision, the metropolis doesn’t become smart through the decision-making and action of a central government, but appears, as a “spontaneous order”, when its inhabitants “find new ways of producing, connecting, and giving meaning to their own data.” The resilient metropolis thus emerges, one that can resist every disaster.

Behind the futuristic promise of a world of fully linked people and objects, when cars, fridges, watches, vacuums, and dildos are directly connected to each other and to the Internet, there is what is already here: the fact that the most polyvalent of sensors is already in operation: myself. “I” share my geolocation, my mood, my opinions, my account of what I saw today that was awesome or awesomely banal. I ran, so I immediately shared my route, my time, my performance numbers and their self-evaluation. I always post photos of my vacations, my evenings, my riots, my colleagues, of what I’m going to eat and who I’m going to fuck. I appear not to do much and yet I produce a steady stream of data. Whether I work or not, my everyday life, as a stock of information, remains fully valuable.

“Thanks to the widespread networks of sensors, we will have a God’s eye view of ourselves. For the first time, we can precisely map the behavior of masses of people at the level of their daily lives,” enthuses one of the professors. The great refrigerated storehouses of data are the pantry of current government. In its rummaging through the databases produced and continuously updated by the everyday life of connected humans, it looks for the correlations it can use to establish not universal laws nor even “whys,” but rather “whens” and “whats,” onetime, situated predictions, not to say oracles. The stated ambition of cybernetics is to manage the unforeseeable, and to govern the ungovernable instead of trying to destroy it. The question of cybernetic government is not only, as in the era of political economy, to anticipate in order to plan the action to take, but also to act directly upon the virtual, to structure the possibilities. A few years ago, the LAPD bought itself a new software program called PredPol. Based on a heap of crime statistics, it calculates the probabilities that a particular crime will be committed, neighborhood by neighborhood, street by street. Given these probabilities updated in real time, the program itself organizes the police patrols in the city. A founder cybernetician wrote in Le Monde in 1948: “We can dream of a time when the machine a gouverner will – for good or evil, who knows? – compensate for the shortcomings, obvious today, of the leaders and customary apparatuses of politics.” Every epoch dreams the next one, even if the dream of the one may become the daily nightmare of the other.

The object of the great harvest of personal information is not an individualized tracking of the whole population. If the surveillants insinuate themselves into the intimate lives of each and every person, it’s not so much to construct individual files as to assemble massive databases that make numerical sense. It is more efficient to correlate the shared characteristics of individuals in a multitude of “profiles,” with the probable developments they suggest. One is not interested in the individual, present and entire, but only in what makes it possible to determine their potential lines of flight. The advantage of applying the surveillance to profiles, “events,” and virtualities is that statistical entities don’t take offense, and individuals can still claim they’re not being monitored, at least not personally. While cybernetic governmentality already operates in terms of a completely new logic, its subjects continue to think of themselves according to the old paradigm. We believe that our “personal” data belong to us, like our car or our shoes, and that we’re only exercising our “individual freedom” by deciding to let Google, Facebook, Apple, Amazon or the police have access to them, without realizing that this has immediate effects on those who refuse to, and who will be treated from then on as suspects, as potential deviants. “To be sure,” predicts The New Digital Age, “there will be people who resist adopting and using technology, people who want nothing to do with virtual profiles, online data systems or smart phones. Yet a government might suspect that people who opt out completely have something to hide and thus are more likely to break laws, and as a counterterrorism measure, that government will build the kind of ‘hidden people’ registry we described earlier. If you don’t have any registered social-networking profiles or mobile subscriptions, and on-line references to you are unusually hard to find, you might be considered a candidate for such a registry. You might also be subjected to a strict set of new regulations that includes rigorous airport screening or even travel restrictions.”

3. The Poverty of Cybernetics

So the security services are coming to consider a Facebook profile more credible than the individual supposedly hiding behind it. This is some indication of the porousness between what was still called the virtual and the real. The accelerating datafication of the world does make it less and less pertinent to think of the online world and the real world, cyberspace and reality, as being separate. “Look at Android, Gmail, Google Maps, Google Search. That’s what we do. We make products that people can’t live without,” is how they put it in Mountain View. In the past few years, however, the ubiquity of connected devices in the everyday lives of human beings has triggered some survival reflexes. Certain barkeepers decided to ban Google Glasses from their establishments – which became truly hip as a result, it should be said. Initiatives are blossoming that encourage people to disconnect occasionally (one day per week, for a weekend, a month) in order to take note of their dependence on technological objects and re-experience an “authentic” contact with reality. The attempt proves to be futile of course. The pleasant weekend at the seashore with one’s family and without the smartphones is lived primarily as an experience of disconnection; that is, as something immediately thrown forward to the moment of reconnection, when it will be shared on the Internet.

Eventually, however, with Western man’s abstract relation to the world becoming objectified in a whole complex of apparatuses, a whole universe of virtual reproductions, the path towards presence paradoxically reopens. By detaching ourselves from everything, we’ll end up detaching ourselves even from our detachment. The technological beatdown will ultimately restore our capacity to be moved by the bare, pixelless existence of a honeysuckle vine. Every sort of screen coming between us and reality will have been required before we could reclaim the singular shimmer of the sensible world, and our amazement at what is there. It will have taken hundreds of “friends” who have nothing to do with us, “liking” us on Facebook the better to ridicule us afterwards, for us to rediscover the ancient taste for friendship.

Having failed to create computers capable of equaling human beings, they’ve set out to impoverish human experience to the point where life can be confused with its digital modeling. Can one picture the human desert that had to be created to make existence on the social media seem desirable? Just as the traveler had to be replaced by the tourist for it to be imagined that the latter might pay to go all over the world via hologram while remaining in their living room. But the slightest real experience will shatter the wretchedness of this kind of illusionism. The poverty of cybernetics is what will bring it down in the end. For a hyper-individualized generation whose primary sociality had been that of the social media, the Quebec student strike of 2012 was first of all a stunning revelation of the insurrectionary power of simply being together and starting to move. Evidently, this was a meet-up like no other before, such that the insurgent friendships were able to rush the police lines. The control traps were useless against that; in fact, they had become another way for people to test themselves, together. “The end of the Self will be the genesis of presence,” envisioned Giorgio Cesarano in his Survival Manual.

The virtue of the hackers has been to base themselves on the materiality of the supposedly virtual world. In the words of a member of Telecomix, a group of hackers famous for helping the Syrians get around the state control of Internet communications, if the hacker is ahead of his time it’s because he “didn’t think of this tool [the Internet] as a separate virtual world but as an extension of physical reality.” This is all the more obvious now that the hacker movement is extending itself outside the screens by opening hackerspaces where people can analyze, tinker with, and piece together digital software and tech objects. The expansion and networking of Do It Yourself has produced a gamut of purposes: it’s a matter of fooling with things, with the street, the city, the society, life itself. Some pathological progressives have been quick to see the beginnings of a new economy in it, even a new civilization, based this time on “sharing.” Never mind that the present capitalist economy already values “creation,” beyond the old industrial constraints. Managers are urged to facilitate free initiative, to encourage innovative projects, creativity, genius, even deviance – “the company of the future must protect the deviant, for it’s the deviant who will innovate and who is capable of creating rationality in the unknown,” they say. Today value is not sought in the new features of a product, nor even in its desirability or its meaning, but in the experience it offers to the consumer. So why not offer that consumer the ultimate experience of going over to the other side of the creation process? From this perspective, the hackerspaces or “fablabs” become spaces where the “projects” of “consumer-innovators” can be undertaken and “new marketplaces” can emerge. In San Francisco, the TechShop firm is developing a new type of fitness club where, for a yearly membership fee, “one goes every week to make things, to create and develop one’s projects.”

The fact that the American army finances similar places under the Cyber Fast Track program of DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Project Agency) doesn’t discredit the hackerspaces as such. Any more than they’re condemned to participate in yet another restructuring of the capitalist production process when they’re captured in the “Maker” movement with its spaces where people working together can build and repair industrial objects or divert them from their original uses. Village construction sets, like that of Open Source Ecology with its fifty modular machines – tractor, milling machine, cement mixer, etc. – and DIY dwelling modules could also have a different destiny than serving to found a “small civilization with all the modern comforts,” or creating “entire new economies” or a “financial system” or a “new governance,” as its current guru fantasizes. Urban farming which is being established on building roofs or vacant industrial lots, like the 1300 community gardens of Detroit, could have other ambitions than participating in economic recovery or bolstering the “resilience of disaster zones.” Attacks like those conducted by Anonymous/LulzSec against banking firms, security multinationals, or telecommunications could very well go beyond cyberspace. As a Ukrainian hacker says, “When you have to attend to your life, you stop printing stuff in 3D rather quickly. You find a different plan.”

4. Techniques against Technology.

The famous “question concerning technology,” still a blind spot for revolutionary movements, comes in here. A wit whose name can be forgotten described the French tragedy thus: “a generally technophobic country dominated by a generally technophilic elite.” While the observation may not apply to the country, it does apply in any case to the radical milieus. The majority of Marxists and post-Marxists supplement their atavistic inclination to hegemony with a definite attachment to technology-that- emancipates-man, whereas a large percentage of anarchists and post-anarchists are down with being a minority, even an oppressed minority, and adopt positions generally hostile to “technology.” Each tendency even has its caricature: corresponding to the Negriist devotees of the cyborg, the electronic revolution by connected multitudes, there are the anti-industrials who’ve turned the critique of progress and the “disaster of technological civilization” into a profitable literary genre on the whole, and a niche ideology where one can stay warm at least, having envisaged no revolutionary possibility whatsoever. Technophilia and technophobia form a diabolical pair joined together by a central untruth: that such a thing as the technical exists. It would be possible, apparently, to divide between what is technical and what is not, in human existence. Well, no, in fact. One only has to look at the state of incompletion in which the human offspring is born, and the time it takes for it to move about in the world and to talk, to realize that its relation to the world is not given in the least, but rather the result of a whole elaboration. Since it’s not due to a natural compatibility, man’s relation to the world is essentially artificial, technical, to speak Greek. Each human world is a certain configuration of techniques, of culinary, architectural, musical, spiritual, informational, agricultural, erotic, martial, etc., techniques. And it’s for this reason that there’s no generic human essence: because there are only particular techniques, and because every technique configures a world, materializing in this way a certain relationship with the latter, a certain form of life. So one doesn’t “construct” a form of life; one only incorporates techniques, through example, exercise, or apprenticeship. This is also why our familiar world rarely appears to us as “technical”: because the set of artifices that structure it are already part of us. It’s rather those we’re not familiar with that seem to have a strange artificiality. Hence the technical character of our world only stands out in two circumstances: invention and “breakdown.” It’s only when we’re present at a discovery or when a familiar element is lacking, or breaks, or stops functioning, that the illusion of living in a natural world gives way in the face of contrary evidence.

Techniques can’t be reduced to a collection of equivalent instruments any one of which Man, that generic being, could take up and use without his essence being affected. Every tool configures and embodies a particular relation with the world, and the worlds formed in this way are not equivalent, any more than the humans who inhabit them are. And by the same token these worlds are not hierarchizable either. There is nothing that would establish some as more “advanced” than others. They are merely distinct, each one having its own potential and its own history. In order to hierarchize worlds a criterion has to be introduced, an implicit criterion making it possible to classify the different techniques. In the case of progress, this criterion is simply the quantifiable productivity of the techniques, considered apart from what each technique might involve ethically, without regard to the sensible world it engenders. This is why there’s no progress but capitalist progress, and why capitalism is the uninterrupted destruction of worlds. Moreover, the fact that techniques produce worlds and forms of life doesn’t mean that man’s essence is production, as Marx believed. So this is what technophiles and technophobes alike fail to grasp: the ethical nature of every technique.

It should be added that the nightmare of this epoch is not in its being the “age of technics” but in its being the age of technology. Technology is not the consummation of technical development, but on the contrary the expropriation of humans’ different constitutive techniques. Technology is the systematizing of the most effective techniques, and consequently the leveling of the worlds and the relations with the world that everyone deploys. Techno-logy is a discourse about techniques that is constantly being projected into material reality. Just as the ideology of the festival is the death of the real festival, and the ideology of the encounter is the actual impossibility of coming together, technology is the neutralization of all the particular techniques. In this sense capitalism is essentially technological; it is the profitable organization of the most productive techniques into a system. Its cardinal figure is not the economist but the engineer. The engineer is the specialist in techniques and thus the chief expropriator of them, one who doesn’t let himself be affected by any of them, and spreads his own absence from the world everywhere he can. He’s a sad and servile figure. The solidarity between capitalism and socialism is confirmed there: in the cult of the engineer. It was engineers who drew up most of the models of the neoclassical economy like pieces of contemporary trading software. Recall in this regard that Brezhnev’s claim to fame was to have been an engineer in the metallurgical industry in Ukraine.

The figure of the hacker contrasts point by point with the figure of the engineer, whatever the artistic, police-directed, or entrepreneurial efforts to neutralize him may be. Whereas the engineer would capture everything that functions, in such a way that everything functions better in service to the system, the hacker asks himself “How does that work?” in order to find its flaws, but also to invent other uses, to experiment. Experimenting then means exploring what such and such a technique implies ethically. The hacker pulls techniques out of the technological system in order to free them. If we are slaves of technology, this is precisely because there is a whole ensemble of artifacts of our everyday existence that we take to be specifically “technical” and that we will always regard simply as black boxes of which we are the innocent users. The use of computers to attack the CIA attests rather clearly that cybernetics is no more the science of computers than astronomy is the science of telescopes. Understanding how the devices around us work brings an immediate increase in power, giving us a purchase on what will then no longer appear as an environment, but as a world arranged in a certain way and one that we can shape. This is the hacker’s perspective on the world.

These past few years, the hacker milieu has gained some sophistication politically, managing to identify friends and enemies more clearly. Several substantial obstacles stand in the way of its becoming-revolutionary, however. In 1986, “Doctor Crash” wrote: “Whether you know it or not, if you are a hacker you are a revolutionary. Don’t worry, you’re on the right side.” It’s not certain that this sort of innocence is still possible. In the hacker milieu there‘s an originary illusion according to which “freedom of information,” “freedom of the Internet,” or “freedom of the individual” can be set against those who are bent on controlling them. This is a serious misunderstanding. Freedom and surveillance, freedom and the panopticon belong to the same paradigm of government. Historically, the endless expansion of control procedures is the corollary of a form of power that is realized through the freedom of individuals. Liberal government is not one that is exercised directly on the bodies of its subjects or that expects a filial obedience from them. It’s a background power, which prefers to manage space and rule over interests rather than bodies. A power that oversees, monitors, and acts minimally, intervening only where the framework is threatened, against that which goes too far. Only free subjects, taken en masse, are governed. Individual freedom is not something that can be brandished against the government, for it is the very mechanism on which government depends, the one it regulates as closely as possible in order to obtain, from the amalgamation of all these freedoms, the anticipated mass effect. Ordo ab chao.Government is that order which one obeys “like one eats when hungry and covers oneself when cold,” that servitude which I co-produce at the same time that I pursue my happiness, that I exercise my “freedom of expression.” “Market freedom requires an active and extremely vigilant politics,” explained one of the founders of neoliberalism. For the individual, monitored freedom is the only kind there is. This is what libertarians, in their infantilism, will never understand, and it’s this incomprehension that makes the libertarian idiocy attractive to some hackers. A genuinely free being is not even said to be free. It simply is, it exists, deploys its powers according to its being. We say of an animal that it is en liberte, “roaming free,” only when it lives in an environment that’s already completely controlled, fenced, civilized: in the park with human rules, where one indulges in a safari. “Friend” and “free” in English, and “Freund” and “frei” in German come from the same Indo-European root, which conveys the idea of a shared power that grows. Being free and having ties was one and the same thing. I am free because I have ties, because I am linked to a reality greater than me. In ancient Rome, the children of citizens were liberi : through them, it was Rome that was growing. Which goes to show how ridiculous and what a scam the individual freedom of “I do what I feel like doing” is. If they truly want to fight the government, the hackers have to give up this fetish. The cause of individual freedom is what prevents them from forming strong groups capable of laying down a real strategy, beyond a series of attacks; it’s also what explains their inability to form ties beyond themselves, their incapacity for becoming a historical force. A member of Telecomix alerts his colleagues in these terms: “What is certain is that the territory you’re living in is defended by persons you would do well to meet. Because they’re changing the world and they won’t wait for you.”

Another obstacle for the hacker movement, as every new meeting of the Chaos Computer Club demonstrates, is in managing to draw a front line in its own ranks between those working for a better government, or even the government, and those working for its destitution. The time has come for taking sides. It’s this basic question that eludes Julian Assange when he says: “We high-tech workers are a class and it’s time we recognize ourselves as such.” France has recently exploited the defect to the point of opening a university for molding “ethical hackers”. Under DCRI supervision, it will train people to fight against the real hackers, those who haven’t abandoned the hacker ethic.

These two problems merged in a case affecting us. After so many attacks that so many of us applauded, Anonymous/LulzSec hackers found themselves, like Jeremy Hammond, nearly alone facing repression upon getting arrested. On Christmas day, 2011, LulzSec defaced the site of Strafor, a “private intelligence” multinational. By way of a homepage, there was now the scrolling text of The Coming Insurrection in English, and $700,000 was transferred from the accounts of Stratfor customers to a set of charitable associations – a Christmas present. And we weren’t able to do anything, either before or after their arrest. Of course, it’s safer to operate alone or in a small group – which obviously won’t protect you from infiltrators – when one goes after such targets, but it’s disastrous for attacks that are so political, and so clearly within the purview of global action by our party, to be reduced by the police to some private crime, punishable by decades of prison or used as a lever for pressuring this or that “Internet pirate” to turn into a government snitch.

Invisible Committee, October 2014

5: let’s disappear
Istanbul, June 2013.

The Seventh Generation

“When we consider existence we see that the mineral, vegetable, animal, and human world’s are all in need of an educator. If the earth is not cultivated, it becomes a jungle where useless weeds grow; but if a cultivator comes and tills the ground, it produces crops which nourish living creatures. It is evident, therefore, that the soul needs the cultivation of the farmer. Consider the trees: if they remain without a cultivator they will be fruitless…”
– `Abdu’l-Bahá
“What you gonna do, give up…
Dear Cee, Dear Boosie…
This is Lil Toochie…
I love you because your life is like a movie…
You see my daddy got killed and my mama’s on drugs,
So I’m alone and I gets no love,
… and I might even join a gang…
I’m surprised you remember me…

You need to educate yo’ brain…
…never stimulate your pain…

…take all yo’ pain and turn it into thug motivation…
…Think about the consequences…

…Read yo’ Bible…

…Read Psalm 51…”
– Boosie Badazz, “Dear Cee, Dear Boosie,” Penitentiary Chances
Victim of society, you need to educate your brain in ways…
… ways that they don’t tell you in school…
You see my life is like a movie, like yours,
Like you, I’m supposed to be dead…

…told to hide our fire behind a white mask…

Boy, it’s okay…
…girl, it’s okay to be angry…
…don’t hide, don’t run, don’t let them shut you down…

Sage works, burning world needs that sweet smell,
When the drones were flying over those dogs,
I too was a small child, I ran from the land,
I was scared, I was scared at what we’ve become,

Cybernetic Rome, grassroots drying up,
The grass feels the heat,
You do I see it, I see your face,
It’s okay dear love…

…the light there in that smile…
…it’s possible to fly over walls that separate…

…they gonna build a wall on the Southside like they did in Jesus’s home,
Bethlehem, was where they all learned this,
What you see here is a failure to communicate,
It’s a time when teachers have to lie to please the state,
Everyone knows every child is being left behind,
No child left behind starts when you are the teacher,
I want to hear what you have to say,
Turn the tables around and speak…

What do you have to say?

What have you seen?

My seven-year-old Lakota angel what do you love?

I’ll give you a piggy back ride to the river to place tobacco in the river to know,
Let me pray with you, forget the past, I want to remember through your eyes,

You were the one who discovered that electrons flow through the Sun Glass,
Without wires touching,
They make movies about girls like you,
Space-time waves behind your spirit and you see ghosts…

Interstellar schooled that genius father,
I saw it, and one day you will too,
Space pilot grounded to grow food on a dying planet,
He had to be brought down to earth to listen to you…

I know what it’s like to be raised by a physicist,
Little girl, you are a kinder better teacher, speak and don’t hide,
I would do anything to save you, the Seventh Generation,
This generation, the cycle breaks, no more pain…

As much as I struggle to listen, please speak,
Black holes offer a chance for ghosts to speak,

…tell me about them,
Tell me about spirits, tell me about angels, tell me about God…

What came out when they bulldozed those sites?

I saw ghosts and evil spirits in the machines,
Ghosts in the shell…

The earth was there just sitting peaceful and true,
Let me step back and rest for a while in a farm,
Let me go away for a while a month or a year or two,
My dear I’m coming back for the next lesson though,
I cannot wait, I’m working on it already,

The electric world peace prayer…
A prayer social network for our waters…

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 13, 2018 8:06 AM, wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 12:12 PM, wrote:

Art-Brain-Philosophy Project

Data, Poetry, and Photography

Skip to content

Home

#BartonSpringZ2049

#NoDAPL: Can a Man Be a Mama Bear?

#TrapHipHopEd

About This Blog: Poet, Data, Climate Change, the West, and the Islamic World

AK-47 Poetry: How I Learned to Be Okay Watching The World Burn

Art-Brain-Philosophy Project Blog Analytics.

Atomic Reach

Azrael Austin @ Instagram.

Chemistry Publications (2000-2011)

Conversational interfaces bring about “Social Superorganism”

Eating Healthy in a Food Desert in Atlanta

Facebook

Facebook Art-Brain-Philosophy Project: AI and Poetry Conversational Experience

Facebook Backups

Fukushima Angel

Instagram

Instagram Data from @drwilliamkayaerbil and @AzraelAustin.

Kaya Erbil @ Medium

Kialo

Line 3 Documents.

Minnesota Nice Ice

Mní Wičhóni Nakíčižiŋ Owáyawa (#NoDAPL Defender of Waters School)

Native Ceremony Honors Protector Against Pipeline.

Stanford MRI of My Brain.

Suelo’s Zero Money Blog

Suicide Note

Twitter

XML of WordPress Blog.

Yosemite Camp 4: (Jihadist, White Helmet, Water Protector)

YPG Internet

الاتصال بنا Writing Mossad to Destroy Facebook.

← Writing Author of Instagram Harvard Instagram Study Tomorrow to Wipe BerKKKeley off Map, and Assay The Influence of Dancing and Luv on Mental Health in Barton SpringZ 2049. All ResultZ Will Be Free. No Money!

Spirit of Buffalo Camp.

Posted on July 12, 2018by kayaerbil

Do you want to log in or join Facebook?

Join

or

Log In

Do you want to log in or join Facebook?

Join

or

Log In

Spirit of the Buffalo

PRESS RELEASE: Spirit of Buffalo Camp

YESTERDAY · PUBLIC

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE JULY 11, 2018

This morning, Indigenous resistance to Enbridge’s Line 3 pipeline expansion set up a prayer camp in Treaty 1 territory near Gretna, Manitoba, meters away from the Canadian/United States border. Spirit of the Buffalo Camp was established by lighting a sacred fire and conducting a sunrise ceremony, and is situated along the route for the Line 3 pipeline.

Enbridge’s Line 3 pipeline “replacement” project is the corporation’s largest project in history. Enbridge is marketing the project as a necessary “replacement” of an older pipeline, but the new pipeline will be nearly double the current capacity, making this project a significant expansion. Enbridge also plans to leave most of the older pipeline to decay in the ground.

Spirit of the Buffalo camp demands that Enbridge stop building the pipeline because it does not have free, prior and informed consent of all Indigenous peoples along the route, and is a direct violation of the United Nations Declaration of Indigenous Peoples Rights. The camp also demands that Enbridge remove the current Line 3 pipeline instead of leaving it to decay in the ground.

The camp also calls for an end to tar sands expansion and infrastructure that will lock humanity into future carbon emissions the planet cannot afford in the face of climate change.

This land defence effort joins several other Indigenous-led camps across the colonial border in Minnesota along the Line 3 route, such as the Turtle Island camp, and Honour the Earth – the latter being led by renowned Anishnaabeg land defender, author, and speaker, Winona LaDuke. The camp stands in solidarity with White Earth, Winona LaDuke’s home reserve, where Line 3 threatens the rice fields that are unique in the world and that have sustained the community for thousands of years.

“We have to have faith that as human beings we can – and will – do the right thing” says Geraldine McManus, the Dakota two-spirit organizer who lit the sacred fire at the Spirit of the Buffalo camp this morning. McManus was also one of the many organizers at Standing Rock.

“Everyone is welcome to join if they come in a good way. If you cannot be here in person, support us in prayer.”

Working in solidarity with the Indigenous-led camp are Manitobans from different backgrounds, such allies from nearby Mennonite communities and the Manitoba Energy Justice Coalition.

MEDIA CONTACTS

Geraldine McManus 204.583.0381

Backgrounder:

In 2016, despite his promises to the contrary, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau approved Enbridge’s Line 3 Replacement Program.

In late June of this year, Minnesota regulators approved Enbridge’s Line 3, amidst widespread opposition from Indigenous nations, climate activists, and community members across the state. With this decision, it is once again clear that we cannot rely on colonial governments and regulators to make the right choices when it comes to protecting our rights to safe water, land, and climate. It is up to us to stand up to governments and corporations in defense of these rights, in solidarity with those on the frontlines of this project.

Line 3 is a new oil pipeline — with a predicted price tag of $8.2 billion — set to be built along the route of a smaller, existing pipeline operated by the Calgary-based oil and gas giant Enbridge. It runs from the Alberta oil sands, across the prairies and through southern Manitoba, ending at the shores of Lake Superior in northwestern Wisconsin. The new pipeline has been billed as a replacement for the existing, aging infrastructure, but in reality is a massive expansion that will nearly double the capacity from what Enbridge says is a low of 390,000 barrels of crude oil per day to 760,000 barrels a day.

This pipeline means expansion of the tar sands. Full stop. It locks us into use of fossil fuels for 50+ years. It threatens our climate, water, land, and communities. It violates Indigenous rights, and is widely opposed by many Nations along the route.

It is clear that our governments have taken the side of industry, prioritizing pipeline profits over people. We must not take their approvals as a final answer. We must demand a rapid transition off of fossil fuels. It is not only the safety and well-being of us as individuals, but the health of the planet and the lives of future generations that are at stake.

Now frontline land defenders are leading the way to defend their ancestral lands and waters, in peaceful resistance to this project. They are calling on all people on Treaty 1 territory and across this country, to take action by joining the resistance, donating, sharing the message, and supporting their efforts in whatever way possible. Come protect with us in prayer on the Line.

Share this:

Twitter

Facebook

Like this:

About kayaerbil

I am a Berkeley educated chemistry Ph.D. who is moving into the area of working on developing appropriate technology for communities that are subjected to socio-economic oppression. The goal is to use simple and effective designs to empower people to live better lives. Currently, I am working with Native Americans on Pine Ridge, the Lakota reservation in South Dakota. I am working with a Native owned and run solar energy company. We are currently working on building a compressed earth block (CEB) house that showcases many of the technologies that the company has developed. The CEB house is made of locally derived resources, earth from the reservation. The blocks are naturally thermally insulating, keeping the house cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Eventually, a solar air heater and photovoltaic panels will be installed into the house to power the home and keep it warm, while preserving the house off the grid. A side project while in Pine Ridge is a solar computer. I hope to learn about blockchain encryption software for building microgrids. In addition, it is an immediate interest of mine to involve local youth in technology education.

View all posts by kayaerbil →

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

← Writing Author of Instagram Harvard Instagram Study Tomorrow to Wipe BerKKKeley off Map, and Assay The Influence of Dancing and Luv on Mental Health in Barton SpringZ 2049. All ResultZ Will Be Free. No Money!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Poet: Data, Climate Change, the West, and the Islamic World

Dr. Kaya Erbil

kaya.erbil@protonmail.com

Atlanta, GA

I make money any way I can to finish a book of poetry on climate change, the West, and the Islamic World. Been working on this book for eight years. Features a raw and gritty personal story of mental illness. The book explores themes around religion, and tries to place a framework around the current War on Terror/global Islamic fundamentalist jihad. Relates technology and weapons of war to their basic scientific origin, digging deeper to find their mythological sources. Ending with a 500 year time travel journey to illuminate the public on the Islamic origin of Copernicus’s discovery, Arabic language semantics are explored to ask why the West gained a 500 year dominance. Back to 2018, faced with the existential dilemma of climate changed induced geopolitical apocalypse I will compare Islamic finance to Western capitalism and prove it to be superior as a framework for modern ecological economic. All these poems point back to the fight between Ishmael and Isaac. They both will realize that perhaps Ruth or Mary were the ones we should have written more about…

Art-Brain-Philosophy Project

Powered by WordPress.com.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 12, 2018, 12:10 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Spirit of Buffalo Camp.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 12, 2018, 9:57 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 9:55 AM, wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 9:54 AM, wrote:

So much beauty, keep her happy. Keep it real. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by azraelaustin (@azraelausti) on

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 9:51 AM, Azrael Austin wrote:

He's got Barton BallZ for you. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Kaya (@drwilliamkayaerbil) on

On Thu, Jul 12, 2018 at 9:49 AM, wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 9:48 AM, wrote:

Kaya

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 9:47 AM, wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 12, 2018 8:49 AM, wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 11, 2018, 9:13 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 11:32 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Send imageZ via sound with Fourier Analysis on ur iPhone. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by azraelaustin (@azraelausti) on

https://www.codiesanchez.com

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:29 PM, wrote:

#bartonspringz2049

A post shared by azraelaustin (@azraelausti) on

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:28 PM, wrote:

Abu Azrael (Father of the Angel of Death) Daddy:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abu_Azrael

Angel of Death:

https://www.instagram.com/azraelausti/

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:26 PM, wrote:

K 🙂

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:21 PM, wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:20 PM, wrote:

Writing Author of Instagram Harvard Instagram Study Tomorrow to Wipe BerKKKeley off Map, and Assay The Influence of Dancing and Luv on Mental Health in Barton SpringZ 2049. All ResultZ Will Be Free. No Money!

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:17 PM, wrote:

http://andrewgarrettreece.com/portfolio.html

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:09 PM, wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_Bae

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:06 PM, wrote:

Ashley has some great moveZ:

The desert rocks and the hot sun melt away all the bullshit ✨ this was a magical day that I will never forget. Just some beautiful women, spending time with each other, exploring the desert, making a fire, playing music, writing, laughing, letting go, eating tangerines and avocados, all celebrating each other’s beauty. I’ve been SO grateful lately for the close relationships I have with people who remind me of who I am. It’s been an intense few weeks and making it a point to write down what I’ve been grateful for has helped me to focus on how blessed I am 🙌🏼 What you focus on grows. There’s so much power in surrounding yourself with people who lift you up and encourage you to fully express yourself 🙏🏽🦋 I am grateful. @olivianorthstar thank you for capturing the magic, boo ☺️💖

A post shared by Ashley Tully (@ashley_tully) on

She thinkZ I’m cool:

#bartonspringz2049

A post shared by HACKTIVIST2YOU (@hippiebook.io) on

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 6:13 PM, wrote:

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/04/gunter-grasss-controversial-poem-about-israel-iran-and-war-translated/255549/

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 6:12 PM, wrote:
https://archive.org/details/AlbertEinsteinLetterToTheNewYorkTimes.December41948

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 5:57 PM, Azrael Austin wrote:
Go fuck yourself Bob Hass.

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018, 5:57 PM wrote:
https://mitpress.mit.edu/books/reading-heideggers-black-notebooks-1931-1941

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:56 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:51 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:01 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2114638145439911&id=100006812381284

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 4:26 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 4:23 PM, Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

@Instagram soon to be Pwned by @Polaroid and Barton SpringZ 2049. @stephanrose69 #bartonspringz2049 @bumblebizz @patagonia @dell @utaustintx @emorymsa #blackinai #polaroidpov @mycroft_ai @myspectral @rholtin @berkeleychemistry @ucberkeleyofficial @berkeleyartsdesign let tha Big GameZ Begin! #hiphoped @ngbjewelry @21savage @natalieportman #freetamimi via #freethenipplemovement #fuckemweball #nowall #nodapl and #noline3 in da Big @apple @aiww

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

@hippiebook.io – Tech BroZ @google are you tired of your shithole? Join me and the Rebel Alliance and play Barton Ball! We will kick your azz, just like every other Big Game between @ucberkeleyofficial and @stanford @katie_sampayo #bartonspringz2049

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Spirit of Buffalo Camp.

Do you want to log in or join Facebook?
Do you want to log in or join Facebook?
PRESS RELEASE: Spirit of Buffalo Camp
YESTERDAY · PUBLIC
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE JULY 11, 2018
This morning, Indigenous resistance to Enbridge’s Line 3 pipeline expansion set up a prayer camp in Treaty 1 territory near Gretna, Manitoba, meters away from the Canadian/United States border. Spirit of the Buffalo Camp was established by lighting a sacred fire and conducting a sunrise ceremony, and is situated along the route for the Line 3 pipeline.
Enbridge’s Line 3 pipeline “replacement” project is the corporation’s largest project in history. Enbridge is marketing the project as a necessary “replacement” of an older pipeline, but the new pipeline will be nearly double the current capacity, making this project a significant expansion. Enbridge also plans to leave most of the older pipeline to decay in the ground.
Spirit of the Buffalo camp demands that Enbridge stop building the pipeline because it does not have free, prior and informed consent of all Indigenous peoples along the route, and is a direct violation of the United Nations Declaration of Indigenous Peoples Rights. The camp also demands that Enbridge remove the current Line 3 pipeline instead of leaving it to decay in the ground.
The camp also calls for an end to tar sands expansion and infrastructure that will lock humanity into future carbon emissions the planet cannot afford in the face of climate change.
This land defence effort joins several other Indigenous-led camps across the colonial border in Minnesota along the Line 3 route, such as the Turtle Island camp, and Honour the Earth – the latter being led by renowned Anishnaabeg land defender, author, and speaker, Winona LaDuke. The camp stands in solidarity with White Earth, Winona LaDuke’s home reserve, where Line 3 threatens the rice fields that are unique in the world and that have sustained the community for thousands of years.
“We have to have faith that as human beings we can – and will – do the right thing” says Geraldine McManus, the Dakota two-spirit organizer who lit the sacred fire at the Spirit of the Buffalo camp this morning. McManus was also one of the many organizers at Standing Rock.
“Everyone is welcome to join if they come in a good way. If you cannot be here in person, support us in prayer.”
Working in solidarity with the Indigenous-led camp are Manitobans from different backgrounds, such allies from nearby Mennonite communities and the Manitoba Energy Justice Coalition.
MEDIA CONTACTS
Geraldine McManus 204.583.0381
Backgrounder:
In 2016, despite his promises to the contrary, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau approved Enbridge’s Line 3 Replacement Program.
In late June of this year, Minnesota regulators approved Enbridge’s Line 3, amidst widespread opposition from Indigenous nations, climate activists, and community members across the state. With this decision, it is once again clear that we cannot rely on colonial governments and regulators to make the right choices when it comes to protecting our rights to safe water, land, and climate. It is up to us to stand up to governments and corporations in defense of these rights, in solidarity with those on the frontlines of this project.
Line 3 is a new oil pipeline — with a predicted price tag of $8.2 billion — set to be built along the route of a smaller, existing pipeline operated by the Calgary-based oil and gas giant Enbridge. It runs from the Alberta oil sands, across the prairies and through southern Manitoba, ending at the shores of Lake Superior in northwestern Wisconsin. The new pipeline has been billed as a replacement for the existing, aging infrastructure, but in reality is a massive expansion that will nearly double the capacity from what Enbridge says is a low of 390,000 barrels of crude oil per day to 760,000 barrels a day.
This pipeline means expansion of the tar sands. Full stop. It locks us into use of fossil fuels for 50+ years. It threatens our climate, water, land, and communities. It violates Indigenous rights, and is widely opposed by many Nations along the route.
It is clear that our governments have taken the side of industry, prioritizing pipeline profits over people. We must not take their approvals as a final answer. We must demand a rapid transition off of fossil fuels. It is not only the safety and well-being of us as individuals, but the health of the planet and the lives of future generations that are at stake.
Now frontline land defenders are leading the way to defend their ancestral lands and waters, in peaceful resistance to this project. They are calling on all people on Treaty 1 territory and across this country, to take action by joining the resistance, donating, sharing the message, and supporting their efforts in whatever way possible. Come protect with us in prayer on the Line.
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Writing Author of Instagram Harvard Instagram Study Tomorrow to Wipe BerKKKeley off Map, and Assay The Influence of Dancing and Luv on Mental Health in Barton SpringZ 2049. All ResultZ Will Be Free. No Money!

Writing Author of Instagram Harvard Instagram Study Tomorrow to Wipe BerKKKeley off Map, and Assay The Influence of Dancing and Luv on Mental Health in Barton SpringZ 2049. All ResultZ Will Be Free. No Money!
Sent: July 10, 2018 11:17 PM

From: kaya.erbil@protonmail.com

To: Azrael Austin wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com

CC: Abu Nayeem anayeem1@gmail.com, agapie@caltech.edu agapie@caltech.edu, ayting@stanford.edu ayting@stanford.edu, bob@romeg.com bob@romeg.com, bobbi.patterson@emory.edu bobbi.patterson@emory.edu, bobhass@berkeley.edu bobhass@berkeley.edu, bpatter@emory.edu bpatter@emory.edu, dewemmer@lbl.gov dewemmer@lbl.gov, dlynn2@emory.edu dlynn2@emory.edu, doudna@berkeley.edu doudna@berkeley.edu, gore@mit.edu gore@mit.edu, ichapela@berkeley.edu ichapela@berkeley.edu, jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu, janine.marill@gmail.com janine.marill@gmail.com, kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org, kendra@wiswell.us kendra@wiswell.us, kuriyan@berkeley.edu kuriyan@berkeley.edu, kwarncke@physics.emory.edu kwarncke@physics.emory.edu, libace@emory.edu libace@emory.edu, marletta@berkeley.edu marletta@berkeley.edu, martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu, misseliz.davidson@gmail.com misseliz.davidson@gmail.com, robertjb@berkeley.edu robertjb@berkeley.edu, winonaladuke1@gmail.com winonaladuke1@gmail.com

http://andrewgarrettreece.com/portfolio.html

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:09 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_Bae

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 11:06 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Ashley has some great moveZ:

The desert rocks and the hot sun melt away all the bullshit ✨ this was a magical day that I will never forget. Just some beautiful women, spending time with each other, exploring the desert, making a fire, playing music, writing, laughing, letting go, eating tangerines and avocados, all celebrating each other’s beauty. I’ve been SO grateful lately for the close relationships I have with people who remind me of who I am. It’s been an intense few weeks and making it a point to write down what I’ve been grateful for has helped me to focus on how blessed I am 🙌🏼 What you focus on grows. There’s so much power in surrounding yourself with people who lift you up and encourage you to fully express yourself 🙏🏽🦋 I am grateful. @olivianorthstar thank you for capturing the magic, boo ☺️💖

A post shared by Ashley Tully (@ashley_tully) on

She thinkZ I’m cool:

#bartonspringz2049

A post shared by HACKTIVIST2YOU (@hippiebook.io) on

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 6:13 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2012/04/gunter-grasss-controversial-poem-about-israel-iran-and-war-translated/255549/

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 6:12 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
https://archive.org/details/AlbertEinsteinLetterToTheNewYorkTimes.December41948

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 5:57 PM, Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
Go fuck yourself Bob Hass.

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018, 5:57 PM <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
https://mitpress.mit.edu/books/reading-heideggers-black-notebooks-1931-1941

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:56 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:51 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 5:01 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2114638145439911&id=100006812381284

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 4:26 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 10, 2018, 4:23 PM, Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

@Instagram soon to be Pwned by @Polaroid and Barton SpringZ 2049. @stephanrose69 #bartonspringz2049 @bumblebizz @patagonia @dell @utaustintx @emorymsa #blackinai #polaroidpov @mycroft_ai @myspectral @rholtin @berkeleychemistry @ucberkeleyofficial @berkeleyartsdesign let tha Big GameZ Begin! #hiphoped @ngbjewelry @21savage @natalieportman #freetamimi via #freethenipplemovement #fuckemweball #nowall #nodapl and #noline3 in da Big @apple @aiww

1 file attached

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

AI Fo’ All My NiggaZ n’ HoeZ! #BartonSpringZ2049 #BlackinAI

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

AI Fo’ All My NiggaZ N’ HoeZ! #BartonSpringZ2049 #BlackinAI

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

AI Fo’ All My NiggaZ and HoeZ!

AI Fo’ All My NiggaZ and HoeZ!
Received: July 10, 2018 9:01 AM

From: Azrael Austin wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com

To: kaya.erbil@protonmail.com

CC: anayeem1@gmail.com anayeem1@gmail.com, agapie@caltech.edu agapie@caltech.edu, ayting@stanford.edu ayting@stanford.edu, bob@romeg.com bob@romeg.com, bobbi.patterson@emory.edu bobbi.patterson@emory.edu, bobhass@berkeley.edu bobhass@berkeley.edu, bpatter@emory.edu bpatter@emory.edu, dewemmer@lbl.gov dewemmer@lbl.gov, dlynn2@emory.edu dlynn2@emory.edu, doudna@berkeley.edu doudna@berkeley.edu, gore@mit.edu gore@mit.edu, ichapela@berkeley.edu ichapela@berkeley.edu, jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu jacqueline-stevens@northwestern.edu, janine.marill@gmail.com janine.marill@gmail.com, kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org kelsey@climatedefenseproject.org, kendra@wiswell.us kendra@wiswell.us, kuriyan@berkeley.edu kuriyan@berkeley.edu, kwarncke@physics.emory.edu kwarncke@physics.emory.edu, libace@emory.edu libace@emory.edu, marletta@berkeley.edu marletta@berkeley.edu, martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu martha.grover@chbe.gatech.edu, misseliz.davidson@gmail.com misseliz.davidson@gmail.com, robertjb@berkeley.edu robertjb@berkeley.edu, winonaladuke1@gmail.com winonaladuke1@gmail.com

https://blackinai.github.io/

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 8:57 AM, Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
https://www.ypgrojava.org/The-honourable-child-of-his-country%2C-Martyr-F%C3%AEraz-Da%C4%9F

The martyr is the reason for a rose to blossom in the midst of vineyards made from ashes. The martyr is a bright dawn to the skies of thirsty and exhausted geography; so that rain falls, so that life will blossom again. This is the story of Kurdistan and its martyrs. The martyrs are the greatest living thing of a people who turned from the gloomy sleep and stepped into the struggle for freedom. The martyr is the hope of awakening, struggle, self-sacrifice and success. The Kurdish people, who were on the way to dying out with the attacks of the invading barbarians, found their hope of life and freedom in the personality of the martyrs.

Fîraz Dağ (Mehmet Aksoy) was from the Elbistan district of Northern Kurdistan in Maraş province. He grew up in London after his family’s migration to Europe. Since the early years of his youth, he has never been separated from the path of anti-capitalist, democracy and human rights struggle as part of the rightful struggle of the Kurdish people. Especially after the Şengal massacre on August 3, 2014, he ceaselessly carried out work and gave all his effort to inform and organize the Kurdish community and many others.

He is the founder and editor-in-chief of Kurdish Question, which examines the problems of the Kurdish people and other ethnic groups, and has managed the virtual platform for a long time. He completed university education on film making and took his place in many literary organizations. He produced pieces in cinema, literature and other fields of art with a series of short films, poems, and poetry. He wrote evaluations and managed the internet platform Kurdish Question, where he gave a lot of space to explain and advocate the Kurdish Freedom Movement, the Rojava revolution and the women’s struggle to the international community.

“The system that oppresses us is global. The system that oppresses us is united and in solidarity with each other. So we need to be in solidarity with each other against the same system that oppresses us”, said Martyr Fîraz, calling for greater solidarity among oppressed nations.

With a heart beating with the passion of freedom for his people, Comrade Fîraz felt the longing for freedom in Kurdistan, and while his patriotism lived at the deepest level, he kept this spirit alive and never let go of his identity. He became the loud and clear voice of his people when they were massacred in Kurdistan, because he wanted the whole world to find out about these atrocities. When Kobanê was attacked by Daesh gangs in 2014, he led the Kurdish people in London’s streets and train stations with great determination and willpower. He believed strongly that the YPJ and the free women of Rojava was a beacon and model to the Middle East, and told, through his words, about their revolution.

Comrade Fîraz came to the conclusion that the freedom and hope of a free life were under the philosophy of the Freedom Movement and Leader Apo. He was in search of the free life and found it in Leader Apo’s ideas. Although Fîraz grew up in England, one of the centres of the capital system, nothing but revolutionary life could satisfy him. So, on his way to the source of free ideas, he came to his country. Comrade Fîraz, who could not accept for himself a life in the midst of Modern Slavery, headed to Rojava in order to record the Kurdistan Revolution into history with a pen and camera.

He felt the need to show greater action for the social and political revolution in Rojava, the need to respond greatly to the invader and reactionary attacks. Because of this, he could not be satisfied with his studies abroad, he directed his feet to his country. After the air attacks on the mountain of Qereçox on April 25, 2017, by the occupying Turkish state, he became clear on this point and made the decision to go there. YPG press members were martyred in the Qereçox mountain, Fîraz immediately took his place in the YPG press centre in order to take on the role of these friends and become a voice to the people and comrades, in order to tell the world about the injustice. Comrade Fîraz left a picture of a treasure to humanity and the freedom fighters through his military uniform, his weapon and camera on his shoulders, a picture that will remain in the hearts of his comrades at all times.

Comrade Fîraz was carrying out all his work in English in order to introduce the whole world to the truths of the revolution and make the occupation and exploitation of the Kurdish people visible. Comrade Martyr Fîraz worked day and night to record the lives of the fighters from the human, social, democratic, cultural and moral aspects. Finally, in order to watch his comrades in the battle against Daesh reactionism and share it with the whole world, he participated in the operations of Raqqa and Deir Ez-Zor and recorded the struggle moment by moment.

On the morning of September 26, he reached martyrdom in the vicious attack of the Daesh gangs while on duty in Raqqa.

Martyr Fîraz Dağ, by taking on the free press and revolutionary art tradition of Martyr Halil Dağ comrade, successfully represented him in Rojava. In a short time he made places in the hearts of his comrades and became loved by everyone. Under all kinds of harsh conditions, for months he witnessed the emotions, excitement and joys of the fighters in the battle fronts. He was one of those who reflected the new era of the Kurdistan Freedom Movement to the world.

We will adhere to the struggle and life line of our comrades martyred at such a time; we repeat the word that we will walk and fight like them and reach victory. On the way of Comrade Fîraz; we will grow and strengthen our struggle in the free press line. As Kurdistan’s freedom fighters, we will undoubtedly triumph in our struggle. Because our life philosophy consists of struggle for the sake of a free life. It is resistance against the persecution of the cruel. As this philosophy continues to live in the minds and hearts, the tyrants will never win!

On Tue, Jul 10, 2018 at 8:37 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
https://www.facebook.com/faruq.hunter

Home

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:37 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:36 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Henry Red Cloud is the proud descendant of a prestigious lineage of Lakota chiefs and warriors. Like his ancestors, he stands for the freedom and dignity of his people. He also believes that the destiny of all native peoples is tied to the power of the sun. For him, First Nations should source their energy from the sun and not rely completely on the grid. Budgetary concerns, health problems and native self-reliance all figure largely into his sense of motivation. For these reasons, Henry Red Cloud is using his technical skills to imaginatively adapt wind and solar technologies to fit the modest budgets of most households on the Pine Ridge Reservation, and to train students from nearby tribes. His passive solar heaters in particular have freed hundreds of Lakota families from having to rely on wood stoves or electric heaters during the cold South Dakota winters.

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:35 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

http://www.lakotasolarenterprises.com/

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:33 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.facebook.com/ChristianeYana

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:33 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Amargi 2018 — Community Networks Infrastructure

Based on the experience in community network building in Athens, Greece, I started a bigger project, aiming to standarised network infrastructure.

The “target” are small to medium sized communities, rural or urban, in need of their own “community internet” — providing not just an access to global services, but the full-blown set of local services: messaging, file sharing, web applications. It is a tool to integrate local community and also a way to build independent virtual space, available even if the external link is congested or down.

This project belongs to “solidarity economy” area and will eventually be run by a cooperative society. It is going to be financially sustainable, so people working there will not need to look for external sources of income. However, all financial surplus will be reinvested in the research and development of community networks.

For official purposes the project will be using https://freedomcoop.eu (until we are ready to register our own Walkaway Coop)

At the moment (August 2017), technical goals are as follow:

Complete laboratory and testing equipment, as outlined in ToDo List and linked specifications.
Bring at least two more people into the team: one programmer and one hardware specialist.
Follow the plan of tests outlined in the ToDo list
Obtain additional funding to expand the equipment.
Business goals:

Become subcontractor for network installation and maintenance services with Stin Priza Coop (https://stinpriza.org) which is an anarchist tech cooperative doing mostly webdesign and linux boxes, NOT networking installations.
Become distributor of major components, especially routers and solar power systems.
Organize at least one crowdfunded networking project for a community in Greece, as a proof of concept.
Longer run goals

Develop a laboratory and support team, keeping R&D and problem-solving activity up to date, supporting field teams.
Deploy several field teams, traveling to various communities and building networks there, making them interconnected as well.
Eventually move the whole project into separate “Walkaway Coop” ecosystem.
See also our resources in Facebook group.

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:31 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

YPG Internet

https://www.facebook.com/HarperPol

https://freelab.libtech.website/

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:30 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.ypgrojava.org/english

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 10, 2018 8:26 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Forming People’s Protection UnitZ (یەکینەکانی پاراستنی گەل) Against WMDz with IBM and Vimeo.

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 9, 2018 5:19 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.facebook.com/jrp.incussucni

I fight for Kendra to trust Men again.
For Natives to trust Whites.
For Blacks to know she’s there.
Feeling it too, you know it’s raining.
It’s gray, and dank, I’m exhausted.
Screaming, some of the best go mad.
For one moment of respect, to be feared.
To be acknowledged. To be right.
When chemical and biological weapons decorate the street.
I say I told you so, get my books on Amazon for $10.95.
Enjoy the nightmares I will bring you.

Kaya

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 9, 2018 5:16 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-the-crime-of-art/

DAVID CRONENBERG
CONTRIBUTED TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL
PUBLISHED JUNE 22, 2018
UPDATED JUNE 22, 2018

David Cronenberg is a writer and director whose films include The Fly, A History of Violence, Crash and Videodrome. The following is adapted from a speech by Mr. Cronenberg on receiving an honorary degree from OCAD University on June 12.

I would like to make the case for the crime of art. For the criminality of the artist. For the artist as criminal. Let us turn to Sigmund Freud for clarity.

In the Freudian formulation, civilization is repression. That is to say that without the repression of subterranean destructive human impulses, such as violent tribalism, sexual triumphalism and so on, human society as a coherent, functioning community could not exist. But the appeal of art is exactly to those repressed desires and instincts, to what Freud called the subconscious, and so in that sense, all art is subversive of civilization. If art by its nature is subversion, then artists are by their nature subversives. Because we think now in terms of civil society rather than grandiose concepts of civilization, I believe we can characterize art as essentially criminal. And yet at the same time, the case has been made that art provides a contained, safe outlet for these destructive, anti-social impulses, and in that way is, paradoxically, supportive of society and its demands for conformity and repression. A conundrum.

But is it contained? Is art ever truly contained? Is it ever safe? Art is not a toy, a fashion statement, a decoration. Art is inherently disruptive. Art is dangerous. It can explode in your face. Not that art can be a crime; art must be a crime. In my formulation, there is a need for art to be under the radar, criminal, subliminal. Constant as the society above it changes. Art is Notes from Underground. That is the strategy of criminal art.

Is the artist a complete anarchist, having no respect for society and the law? No, not at all. The philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, commenting on the thief and playwright Jean Genet, via Marx, said: “Our future burglar starts by learning absolute respect for property.” Must artists understand that they are criminals? To do that, they must understand the law, the conventions of social discourse. They must understand what is criminal.

Can one be arrested for committing the crime of art? Oh yes. Maybe not right here, today. But tomorrow morning. Very early. Oh, yes. Revolutionary art has always been criminal art in the eyes of the ruling class.

The pressure to rise to all expectations offered by your art form, whatever it is, can sometimes transform/mutate into pressure to conform to already established norms. That is civilization. But then where is the subversion? In the isolation, the pain, the loneliness, the hopelessness, the tears, the anguish. And the truth. The telling of truth. These will be there, and they must be acknowledged and expected.

In particular, technology-heavy art forms such as architecture are deeply embedded in their social, political and economic contexts. But when we collaborate, is there truly an ecstatic dissolution of the self into a perfect fluid composed of many selves? You are not writing poetry in your garret in Paris, alone, destitute and starving. Or are you? I suggest that you are, somewhere in there, that poet in that garret, alone, destitute and, yes, despite the commissions, starving, philosophically and emotionally, if not viscerally.

Sometimes, art is bad for the environment, despite progressive desire, despite visionary passion. Very often, perhaps inevitably, architecture is bad for the environment. What can we do about this? And should we do anything about this? Criminal art. Criminal architecture. The crime of art. The novelist Philip Roth warned against “the unforeseen consequences of art.” That’s the key. You cannot know what you’re really doing, not in the context of the universe, and so all notions of socially progressive work are basically delusions, and are to be realized accidentally, if at all.

Can such a thoroughly socially embedded art form as architecture be criminal? Even if it’s bad architecture, environmentally irresponsible architecture, socially hostile architecture, Stalinist, brutalist, Nazi architecture? Can a building be criminal in its essence? I say it must be, it is. We must be honest here. All human architecture is a crime against nature, even that of Frank Lloyd Wright. Maybe even especially, because he understood what he was doing.

Crimes against nature. What can they be? Ironically, the list is always socially determined, not naturally. Because nature itself is criminal in its essence. Laws of nature are necessarily broken – through mutation – in order that nature, in the form of evolution, can subsist through time. I mentioned human architecture. There is insect architecture. Insects create architecture. Mud dauber wasps create beautiful multilevel nurseries, larval high-rise apartments, which they fill with paralyzed spiders to feed their children. Are they artists? Do they break the laws of nature? Perhaps we are, in fact, mud daubers. Perhaps our buildings are not crimes against nature, but constitute nature itself. Perhaps we come full circle.
The painter Willem de Kooning said: “Flesh is the reason oil paint was invented.” I say, the human body is the reason the cinema was invented. The face, the body, is its true subject, the most photographed object in cinema. Cinema is the body.

I’m here today because I’ve made some movies. But because of the internet, Netflix, streaming, cinema is dissolving, the big screen is shattering into many little screens, and this is causing much stress amongst movie-nostalgia hardliners. It doesn’t matter to me. In fact, it pleases me. Because the human body is evolving, changing, and since the cinema is body, it makes sense that the cinema is changing, evolving as well. If movies disappeared overnight, I wouldn’t care. The cinema is not my life. Your art form cannot be your life. To say that it is, to make it be that, is to evade life itself. But you won’t do that, will you? No, I’m sure you won’t.

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 9, 2018 12:51 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 9, 2018, 12:51 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 9, 2018, 12:49 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2113254332244959&id=100006812381284

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 7, 2018, 5:45 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Rebel. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Black Snake Toxic. (@dr.william.kaya.erbil) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 7, 2018, 4:31 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Sat, Jul 7, 2018 at 4:29 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
K

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Sat, Jul 7, 2018 at 3:55 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
K

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Sat, Jul 7, 2018 at 3:50 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Sat, Jul 7, 2018 at 3:47 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
K

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Fri, Jul 6, 2018 at 6:18 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
I notice her walk in. Here in this space, art covers the walls and books a plenty sit on the shelves. You can look at Dinkytown two ways. One, it’s a cesspool of drunken undergraduate fraternity and sorority house residents and their friends. Multiple cop cars populate the block routinely each weekend. Raging hormones and sexual energy drives propelled by too much alcohol, weed, and blow frequently erupting into chaos. Two, it’s the beginning of many of a young man’s and woman’s adult life. All this variety makes me happy. It’s like Telegraph Ave. in Berkeley, street bums freshly arrived into town from corn fields in Iowa and cow pastures in North Dakota. Hitched a train here, there’s not much of a Dinkytown Uprising anymore. It’s not the 1960’s. That’s largely been squelched by the Instagram selfie and the Snapchat filter. Take a selfie with a singing street urchin on your way to the Kitty Cat Klub, it’s cheaper than Honey!

One can be cynical and turn your nose up to it all, the absurdity of young adulthood in a “typical college town” in American in 2017, but not me. For me, it’s an opportunity for a psychic restart. Repping out my fifth set of squats last night at Los Campeones I seriously joked with my iron brother about the identity of place and how strong I feel it influences my overall state of mind. A move from Uptown to Dinkytown is a move from a bougie hood with overpriced condominiums and shitty trendy ‘Merican bars to a place where street bums squatting on the sidewalk brighten my day. It’s subtle. I once verbally fought three cops, almost getting arrested last year, in front of the Uptown Apple Store who were sweeping the street clean of a drunk depressed African-American man in front. He was “bad for business.” One less $700 iPhone sold with each of his prayerful swigs of Colt 45. GOD IN HEAVEN IF YOU ARE REAL MAKE IT STOP! As on Telegraph, in Dinktown the kindness of youth patronizes the lives of the homeless, drunk, and destitute. They might be depressed or schizophrenic. The Dinkytown young might not know the difference, but I do. I know, not that I’ve been there exactly. I mean I did have a car to live in, but that line is thin and now I see this from a different place. I am not that old, but my iron brother said “you have a young energy.”

I always notice her walk in. Sometimes she smiles, and most of the times he grimaces. I smile back and laugh. Next door, I saw the man who dances in cowboy boots and a gothed out skirt at Ground Zero every Saturday night at Bondage-A-Go-Go. I laughed when he said, “I live downtown but come here to feel young.” I said so do I, but I live here, and I am young. I live here to play, and to sit in The Bookhouse to gorge on poetry and Heidegger. It’s like Moe’s Books on Telegraph. It’s not that far away where I was Benjamin and she was Mrs. Robinson in the film The Graduate:

Mrs. Robinson: Benjamin, I am not trying to seduce you.
Benjamin: I know that, but please, Mrs. Robinson, this is difficult…
Mrs. Robinson: Would you like me to seduce you?
Benjamin: What?
Mrs. Robinson: Is that what you’re trying to tell me?
Benjamin: I’m going home now. I apologize for what I said. I hope you can forget it, but I’m going home right now.

Those memories are fresh, but distant here. Mrs. Robinson and I used to dance tango at the Loring Pasta Bar. We used to get pizza at Meza afterwards, but we did not live here in a Dinkytown hovel. The sense of belonging to a place is very strong and is where many of the recent conversations I have had lead. What does it mean to be a self-actualized being? I think, only many years later, it is to know where you come from. It is to know your bloodline and DNA. Not in some kind of fascistic Trumpian way, rather in a way that erases “whiteness” and populates it with diversity. You could be Irish, and be traumatized from a history with the British. You might be a W.A.S.P., traumatized by the pressures of your money and privilege. Religion is here, ethnicity of faith. Peace in the Holy Land, that land of deep passion, good and bad, can be had here over a bowl of hummus and pita at Wally’s Falafel and Hummus. I saw while living in Uptown in Jerusalem: A Cookbook the following:

Hummus is everybody’s favorite food in Jerusalem, and when you talk about something that is so common to everybody but in a place that’s so highly divided in many ways, it is already a formula for explosion in many ways. Everybody wants to take ownership of that plate of hummus, both Jews and Arabs, and when this argument starts, there’s no end to it…

You could be Jewish-American and not sure what it means to be Orthodox or reformed. You could be Turkish-American and not sure what it means to not know your mother tongue or faith, but feel that you don’t quite fit here despite being here. There’s only one way to know who you are here, but I can’t name it. I cannot put it into language. Words elude me. It’s in the silence of place itself. It might be to find the trace of your childhood in the ordinary spaces that populate your mundane day. The subtle ways we relate to homogeneity with difference. Asserting our individuality and identity as a rebellion against a bleach that seeks to turn everything the same. This might be the key to creativity and love today for me. I cannot speak for anyone else. I’ll just observe and pray, meditate on these small moments. Another smile and another meal. One more day at work, on and on. To what end I don’t know, but I am alive and thankful for it. I always notice her walk in, and offer a smile.

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 6, 2018 6:16 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 6, 2018 6:05 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 6, 2018 6:04 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 6, 2018 6:03 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 6, 2018 5:58 AM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:53 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ethical_Slut

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:51 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

It too me a decade to git here 😉

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:50 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:48 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

#bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:47 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Welcome to TexAZZ 2 in U.K. Exposed to Novichok, Nerve Agent That Sickened Ex-Spy https://nyti.ms/2ISbIXZ?smid=nytcore-ios-share 杀手锏 Karma iz a Bitch, God iz a Women. https://www.rcsb.org/structure/2bg9 #bartonspringz2049 @sivanandayogafarm @melvad.s #blackinai @tokyomilka #杀手锏 @myspectral @bumble @bumblebizz @patagoniaaustin @patagonia @dell @utaustintx https://www.rcsb.org/structure/2bg9 @ucberkeleyofficial @sivanandayogaranch @rhondarubicon @rholtin #fuckemweball #nowall #nodapl in da Big @apple #fuck12 #jihad #war @elonmusk #freetamimi via #freethenipplemovement #openai #death #heidegger #solarpoemmachine @emorymsa @electronicintifada @21savage @natalieportman @spelman_college @morehouseschoolofmedicine @emoryuniversity @georgiatech @berkeleychemistry @harvardchemclub @mit_chemistry @caltechedu @mitpress #deathtomerikkka #amerika #kafka @princeton_university @princetonseminary @princetonchem

A post shared by Black Snake Toxic. (@dr.william.kaya.erbil) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:43 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People%27s_Protection_Units

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 6, 2018, 5:42 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

America Pwned. @dr.william.kaya.erbil #bartonspringz2049 #blackinai #hiphoped

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 5, 2018, 8:34 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

America Pwned. @dr.william.kaya.erbil #bartonspringz2049 #blackinai #hiphoped

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 7:30 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Welcome to TexAZZ 2 in U.K. Exposed to Novichok, Nerve Agent That Sickened Ex-Spy https://nyti.ms/2ISbIXZ?smid=nytcore-ios-share 杀手锏 Karma iz a Bitch, God iz a Women. https://www.rcsb.org/structure/2bg9 #bartonspringz2049 @sivanandayogafarm @melvad.s #blackinai @tokyomilka #杀手锏 @myspectral @bumble @bumblebizz @patagoniaaustin @patagonia @dell @utaustintx https://www.rcsb.org/structure/2bg9 @ucberkeleyofficial @sivanandayogaranch @rhondarubicon @rholtin #fuckemweball #nowall #nodapl in da Big @apple #fuck12 #jihad #war @elonmusk #freetamimi via #freethenipplemovement #openai #death #heidegger #solarpoemmachine @emorymsa @electronicintifada @21savage @natalieportman @spelman_college @morehouseschoolofmedicine @emoryuniversity @georgiatech @berkeleychemistry @harvardchemclub @mit_chemistry @caltechedu @mitpress #deathtomerikkka #amerika #kafka @princeton_university @princetonseminary @princetonchem

A post shared by Black Snake Toxic. (@dr.william.kaya.erbil) on

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 4:49 PM, <kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
Harvard is going down too.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 5, 2018, 4:49 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://binlamin.wordpress.com/

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 5, 2018, 4:47 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Benghazi: A Path to Listening
Sun rays on the African plane, Saharan sand blown by dark,
Night vision green, pipeline to paradise assassins, jealous,
Dreaming of Qaddafi’s future oasis, an irrigated Libya,
Liberation by war, the American way,
This time it is different, the hand of peace in listening,
We see the hand of peace, I see the hand of peace in you,
I hear you, finally, listening to the atoms, the small,
The voice, it is here, in this poem, connected to love,
We see the hand of peace in the azaan, in the haj,
In the sheep herders’ desert religion, Islam,
Islam is peace and justice in pure form, apolitical reality,
Small fire on a changing planet, brothers and sisters,
Turkish blood in connection with American dreams,
My brothers’ and sisters’ wells are slowly going dry,
In the evaporated carbon of the globalized West,
Smokestack century, golden black of the sands,
The silent know what’s important grief,
God gave all the riches of the world to the Kings,
The 1%, the Illuminati’s sons and daughters,
Americanism in the world, being-in-a-dollar,
But he did not give them the most important Light,
Grief, because it is the darkness that we cry out to God,
Attached to Gaia’s body, Aware of bare needs,
Inseparable from the Simple Way,
The people of the book are uniting in this Vortex,
Spinning colliding social networks,
WordPress, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram paradise,
Internet connected humanity, hope, connection,
Gaia’s brain, together in wires across the Earth, brain network,
Peace, here, Spinning colliding hurricane between,
East and West, rich and poor, home and refugee,
Lemon yellow, golden dawn, lemonade out of lemons,
Peace is here in the space of Art,
The art science for today,
Facebook Art-Brain-Project,
An arrow to serenity,
Brothers and sisters
Around the Globe,
Love, you…
Via a Peaceful Ice Climb, an Uncooperative Approach, We May Summit Ἁρμαγεδών
Americanism and Bolshevism are the same, the machine raping Gaia out of her oil. I do not like oil. I like trees, hippies, and clean water. You cannot drink oil if you are thirsty.
In my world, we aim for better than Minnesota nice. I aim to melt the ice around your heart to reveal the truth, we are all human. Same red blood flows through all our veins. Across the blue ocean, same ferrous hemoprotein protein in all of us,
It is harder to crack a prejudice than an atom,
But in your sleep if you see the Phoenix coming out of Joseph’s Tomb in flames,
The lasting peace after the third intifada,
After the nuclear exchange,
After the drone war,
After everything is over,
You will not see anything in black and white,
It will not be red or blue,
Male or female.
No binary reduction of reality into the haves and have nots,
The rich and the poor,
Those left writing on Instagram listen to trap EDM,
…or doing anything to make the world better,
Shit man, this world is crazy,
It is loosing its Mind,
But is it?
Is it not in the vortex,
The eye of the hurricane that peace comes?
The place of balance,
Yin and Yang,
The Tao held in tension with God,
Two memes evolving each other,
To the New Age,
An age of great Hope,
The age the Bzerkeley folk learn their history and future,
Scaling the secular city,
Negating the old,
Overcoming it into the new,
Sublating the obsolete,
Loving it at the same time,
Gaia is beautiful,
Here body is rich,
In love with her I write,
Dear heart, where do find,
The courage to seek the Beloved,
When you know He has annihilated
So many like you before?
I do not care, said my heart,
My only wish is become
One with the Beloved
Gaia, my mother,
Children of the Moon, Arab, Turk, Kurd, Persian, Armenian, hear my heart,
It is love that will win you peace and prosperity. That love can be white hot, or ice cold. It can be flowing like the river in fall, or as subtle as a chickadee chirping the new life of spring. Gaia, my love, this place is peaceful and centering. Thank you for this sunset, the colors and the moment,
As a man underwater, drowning in the mist of the wheeled vehicle, the car, I pray,
May my face be graced with presence of a lion, an animal in a hallway, confined and caged, fire burn in my heart, I am a mother, my cubs are trapped, underneath the Sword of Damocles,
Today, every inhabitant of this planet must contemplate the day when this planet may no longer be habitable. Every man, woman and child lives under a nuclear sword of Damocles, hanging by the slenderest of threads, capable of being cut at any moment by accident, or miscalculation, or by madness. The weapons of war must be abolished before they abolish us,
Technology, techne, is what is the question, the question concerning technology – gestell,
Enframing means the gathering together of that setting-upon which sets upon man, i.e., challenges him forth, to reveal the real, in the mode of ordering, as standing-reserve. Enframing means that way of revealing which holds sway in the essence of modern technology and which is itself nothing technological,
In its soul, nothingness, for the sake of our names – they gather us in – seals, the end believes us the beginning, before the master ensilences us, in the undifferentiated, attesting itself: the clammy brightness,
Father God I been betrayed,
Feel like they beat me like a slave,
But I learn from my mistakes,
We living in the last days pray for me and make me cold hearted,
An ice climber trained to climb Meddigo, steel blades my teeth, may I eat the Millitary-Industrial Complex for breakfast, defending the peace in my home with the non-violent graceful activism of a Mark Twight or Steve House,
Winter is coming and I cannot wait, when it’s cold and dark the freezing moon can obsess you, if only to climb starlight, I want heaven on earth now, it starts here, see the flood, the coming insurrection and climb!
Return to Simplicity
Time reversal, a dream we all have,
As we speed faster and faster to the Omega Point,
The noosphere, Cosmic Christ Consciousness,
All of humanity connected by an electronic cloud,
I pray we may tap into the rose,
May we look back at Eden and think,
What tree should be eat from?
We’ve already eaten of the Tree of Knowledge,
We have seen where that got us,
Knowledge of good and evil,
War and peace,
Demonization of “Other,”
Levinas’s Face-to-Face my cure,
Tit for tat ethics politics, even spirituality,
In front of me is a small branch of holly,
A new beginning,
A catalyst for the return to the alpha point,
Oxygen bubbles coming out in the water,
Breathing living, loving green leaves,
11 leaves on the left most branch,
They remind me of hope,
Of an end to my anger,
The path to serenity and peace,
The Black Prophetic Fire is still there,
After the storm, it is silent now, hurricane eye,
Peaceful vortex, loving center, dark,
I am in a space of silence, of mourning,
I have danced a tango over Damascus,
Learned the Truth,
No more,
My brothers and sisters in Damascus say,
Only dancing can stop the pain,
Said the Turk in the rain,
With his Syrian brothers,
With their sisters they circle on the floor,
Forgetting the horror, opening a door,
To peace, just dance and be centered,
Justice, awareness here,
Spin, spin, be together,
Forget everything but,
Your Mother, Gaia.
Riverwood
Green hand resting on starlight,
Relaxing, at peace,
Harmony with the leaves and the air,
Fluid water,
Grace in fragrant perfume,
Crushed red berries,
Smell of Gaia,
Georgia woods,
soft gentle trails,

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 5, 2018, 4:44 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Marletta will be tried in front of Congress.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 5, 2018, 4:42 PM, Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

Mortars into Whiteclay Chaplain, I have a prayer for you, It goes like this: Spirit, let me have a shank, Creator, let me defend my rose, Mother, let me take her out at night, Let me grow her by the light of the moon, On the way north into Pine Ridge, There is this town called Whiteclay, Bleached by the Invisible Hand, “DEATH WHITEMAN” in blue, A place where souls go to die, Drowning in a bottle, Easier than pulling the trigger, I don’t see any American dream, I see an American nightmare, Turning the other cheek, a death sentence, Let me fight with my rose, blood red, Let me resist with my love, The trap, catch you and book you, Throw you in a cell, who would not kill to defend, Their flower? Mine’s a rose, red and sharp, My heart is tired and worn, I want to roam the plains, I want to be free, I want to see my rose live, Let me live my dream, Don’t let them take my flower, Let me live to see the day, Mortars destroy Whiteclay, The day I plant my rose in the ashes. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018, 12:36 PM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=Rfe7weSI3ss&feature=share

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018, 11:34 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
God Sent Us I
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=PEYHfllEv8g

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:30 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

I just woke up like dis. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:29 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz.

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:28 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
K

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:26 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

Omega Point Evolver: Decolonization Evolutionary Process, Solar Human-Robot Symbiosis (SiCNOSFe)

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:25 AM Azrael Austin <wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
So we accelerate climate change.

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 11:23 AM Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

Muzlim MenZ Git Raped By White SnowflakeZ in AmeriKKKa every day. #bartonspringz2049

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

On Thu, Jul 5, 2018 at 3:14 AM Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018, 11:52 PM < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

#bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada @bumble @m.binlamin @rholtin #blackinai

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 11:51 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 11:50 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 11:48 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Delta Force is a bunch of sexy pussieZ.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 11:46 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

TigerSwan: Former Delta Operator sought to incite violence at the Dakota Access Pipeline

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 8:49 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Headed South: Still Crying for Water

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.”
– Psalm 51:17

“DAMASCUS 00005399 004 OF 004 is a rare occurrence, our DATT was convoked by Syrian Military Intelligence in May of 2006 to protest what the Syrians believed were US efforts to provide military training and equipment to the Kurds in Syria…”
– Wikileaks Cable

Anyone who thinks must think of the next war as they would of suicide,

On an airplane, grounded, ready for takeoff,

Merlot blood, mind dissociated from body,

Damascus, drunk with your love, flowing,

Blood river, child appears by my side,

She will be my companion on this flight,

Mother waits at home, headed South,

Home from the land of 10,000 lakes,

This week, the fire lit, white and black collision,

A cumulonimbus cloud on the horizon,

In the distance, molecular vibrations rising,

Heat, up, up we go into the future,

Carbon, captured, stored, burned, smokestack century,

Flooding the air with a blanket, heater, warmer,

Electric blanket, wrapped around earth,

My mind drifts back,

You do not want to fly off into space do you?

Into the air, or into the black hole,

Into the air, wings flowing fast, lift,

Yes, it is take off time and it is time to accelerate,

Into the future, runway of the soul,

It is night after all and the crescent moon is veiled,

Hidden by those storm clouds,

Lightening and thunder ahead,

Colliding water particles, static collision,

Static electricity, violent electromagnetic chaos,

Electronic vibration, thermodynamic amplifier,

Wires around earth, the internet, an iron maiden,

Orange amplifier, accelerating, heating,

Islamic jihad, Judeo-Christian crusade,

Sublating (negating/overcoming) each other in my travel companions blood,

My blood, human blood, shed for what?

Allah? God? Adonai?

Amplifier of Gaia’s warming shell,

Atmospheric container, we are changing,

Taxiing to the runway, flaps down,

A rush of color to the heart comes,

Golden, ethereal blue,

Gaia’s magnetic core,

My heart in resonance, mother and son,

Star specks of white on black,

Day and night melt into one,

Speed, accelerating, faster, faster, faster,

Accelerating into the sky,

We go, a soul is meant to fly,

Leaving body and drifting to heaven,

Or descending to hell, thrown by the past.

Jesus, where you at bro’ we need you now?

Tha block is hot!

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 8:48 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Modern Art Was Used As a Torture Technique in Prison Cells During the Spanish Civil War

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 8:44 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
https://motherboard.vice.com/en_us/article/vvbxmm/how-virtual-reality-could-be-used-for-torture

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 8:43 PM, Azrael Austin < wikiarsenic.austin@gmail.com> wrote:
On the Gear VR. 😉

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 8:35 PM < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/devcommunitychallenge2018/permalink/400357073705769/

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 7:43 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Death to AmeriKKKa. #blackinai @prisma #bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:34 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Poetry as a Dephasing Gradient for the Mind
What’s on your Mind?
Nuclear magnetic resonance,
Spins dancing around in proteins,
An atomic expression of movement,
The tango of life,
There is a way to incorporate the truth,
Into verse,
No more excuses,
There are no silver linings in anything you said,
You keep on denying,
The truth,
Life is fluid,
Like water,
Yea, there is fire,
But, in relationship,
In the embrace,
The loving nodes in the graph,
Of the molecular web of Life,
Sees the vortex,
The black hole,
And drives back,
The delusion that it is the end,
This the beginning,
The New Age,
A time when we will discover the movement of atoms,
See into matter,
Find dynamics,
Fluid evolutionary dynamics,
That time at MIT was good,
I saw the Nowak theory,
And thought about the Middle East,
I said, “How can I spread love?”
On the graph?
Show, your face,
In tears,
And face the silicon,
Big Brother,
And learn to love him,
Big brother is not what you think,
It is your sister,
It is your brother,
It is the collective consciousness of Gaia,
They are trying to help you,
Study, the five rules for the evolution of cooperation,
See the truth of how in the War of Nature,
Love can grow,
It is in the Face,
Perhaps, we can find,
On the Facebook love,
There is a way to spread love on silicon,
The graph,
The brain of Gaia,
Be honest,
Rip off the mask,
And cry one day,
Show your tears,
Let them see the hell,
The heart of the mystic,
In the spins,
One can see cooperation,
Spins are cool,
They are nuclear,
Not like that other nuclear,
They are atomic peace agents,
NMR is the dance of spins,
The dance of love,
Quick, record your spectra,
The Rorschach blot of Gaia,
X-rays are cool,
But if you trust the spins,
You find that movement,
Dynamics is what life is about,
It is not static,
Fluid,
Loving,
Dancing,

As Levinas says, “expression, in which at each instant he overflows the idea a thought would carry away from it. It is therefore to receive from the Other beyond the capacity of the I, which means exactly: to have the idea of infinity. But this also means: to be taught. The relation with the Other, or Conversation, is a non-allergic relation, an ethical relation; but inasmuch as it is welcomed this conversation is a teaching. Teaching is not reducible to maieutics; it comes from the exterior and brings me more than I contain. In its non-violent transitivity the very epiphany of the face is produced.” The face is the only thing that can share the truth.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:27 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:23 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

😉

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:22 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

In front of Congress.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:19 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

I’ll wipe all BerKKKeley off tha map fo ya.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:18 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

I lived in the Grady mental ward, fought 12, and taught them. I love them.

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 7:17 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail mobile

——– Original Message ——–
On Jul 4, 2018, 9:34 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 4, 2018 7:02 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 6:58 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
K

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 4, 2018 6:57 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.google.com/search?q=turkey+steven+bannon&oq=turkey+steven+bannon&aqs=chrome..69i57j69i60.2902j0j4&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 4, 2018 6:36 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 4, 2018 6:35 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

#conrad #conradosaka #hotel #vacation

A post shared by 東京ミルカ (@tokyomilka) on

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 4, 2018 6:06 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck_Off_(art_exhibition)

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Wed, Jul 4, 2018 at 6:05 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Death to 'MeriKKKa. “From Street Fight to State Right The mass of individuals that the smallest military unit offers the eye, united in a common voyage. -Clausewitz, 1806 In every revolution there is the paradoxical presence of circulation. Engels remarks in June 1848: “The first assemblies take place on the large boulevards, where Parisian life circulates with the greatest intensity.” Less than a century later, Weber says of the disappearance of Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht (as if he were talking about the results of a car crash) that “they called to the streets, and the streets killed them.” The masses are not a population, a society, but the multitude of passersby. The revolutionary contingent attains its ideal from not in the place of production, but in the street, where for a moment it stops being a cog in the technical machine and itself becomes a motor (machine of attack), in other words a producer of speed. For the mass of unemployed, demobilized workers without an occupation, Paris is a tapestry of trajectories, a series of streets and avenues in which they roam, for the most part, with neither goal nor destination, subject to a police repression intended to control their wanderings. For the various revolutionary groups, as for the Apaches and other shady populations of the city’s outskirts, it will be less a matter, when the time comes, of occupying a given building than of holding the streets. In 1931, during the National Socialists’ struggle against the Marxist…" Austin afta' yo' serial bomber … Fuck keep Austin wierd. Keep Austin Real. https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=TJ1W_tkr0sw&feature=share https://www.revolvermag.com/music/danzig-lucifer-johanna-sadonis-search-meaning-through-occult-rock #blackinai #bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada @21savage @natalieportman #hiphoped #freetamimi via #freethenipplemovement #fuckemweball #nowall let's get ready to rumble @bumble no wata' no @bumblebizz no treeZ no life @patagoniaaustin @patagonia @prisma @myspectral @mycroft_ai @emorymsa @magiccityatlanta @la_mafia_princess @rhondarubicon @azraelausti #jihad #abuazrael #hezbollah #zapatista #antifa #war @ucberkeleyofficial @mitpics #momar

A post shared by Destroying Angel. (@deathangelazrael42) on

Sent from ProtonMail Mobile

On Tue, Jul 3, 2018 at 7:19 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:
http://espeak.sourceforge.net/

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 3, 2018 7:17 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

https://www.kurzweil3000.com/KLogin.php

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 3, 2018 7:03 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz.

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 3, 2018 5:37 AM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

What is Fourth Wave Feminizm and how does it erase Baby Boomer’s legacy of Third Wave…for Men?

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 2, 2018 5:20 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On July 2, 2018 5:17 PM, < kaya.erbil@protonmail.com> wrote:

K

Sent with ProtonMailSecure Email.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Forming People’s Protection UnitZ (یەکینەکانی پاراستنی گەل) Against WMDz with IBM and Vimeo.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment