Ai Weiwei, Andy Warhol, and Coca-Cola Bottle.

KurdZ ballin’ in Erbil. #bartonspringz2049

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I took up sitting zen in 2009 wiyh my friend’s suicide on 9/11/2009 vowing to fight madness with art even to the point of madness… dissociative disengagement and hyperempathy are difficult and I find only the early martyrs of the Western Christian church, who were all women, to be my real heroes. There’s a purity in the zen painting I want to explore. Placing the ultra modern invention of the voice assistant AI on top to read poetry to shock the viewer to the idea they will be replaced by a new lifeform. One of silicon and carbon. Humanity is not obsolete, we are doomed. The joy of creation of art places life back into place when all your marbles are gone… @myspectral @katie_sampayo @ashley_tully @thelaughterpatch #bartonspringz2049 @imagineartatx

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Gary Snyder.

KurdZ ballin’ in Erbil. #bartonspringz2049

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I took up sitting zen in 2009 wiyh my friend’s suicide on 9/11/2009 vowing to fight madness with art even to the point of madness… dissociative disengagement and hyperempathy are difficult and I find only the early martyrs of the Western Christian church, who were all women, to be my real heroes. There’s a purity in the zen painting I want to explore. Placing the ultra modern invention of the voice assistant AI on top to read poetry to shock the viewer to the idea they will be replaced by a new lifeform. One of silicon and carbon. Humanity is not obsolete, we are doomed. The joy of creation of art places life back into place when all your marbles are gone… @myspectral @katie_sampayo @ashley_tully @thelaughterpatch #bartonspringz2049 @imagineartatx

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How to use @mapbox to build a bootleg Pokémon Go app for a trash music and trap music ballin’ flash mob to cleanup Barton Springs. #bartonspringz2049

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WP Engine in Austin and WordPress Blogging of Intellectuals and Water Protectors.

The Fuck Bro Tech Robot. Draft One. #bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada

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That Girl is InstaFamous! 😉 #bartonspringz2049

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Why Forgive? Mehmet Ali Agca, John Paul II, and my Dad. Kurdish History. Mi avevano promesso il paradiso. La mia vita e la verità sull’attentato al papa (Italian) Paperback (Heaven had promised me. My life and the truth about the attack on the pope).


A Cold War personal story, the weight of history. The reason ‘Merica wanted me dead, a sermon of national importance on the corruption of the KGB and the CIA and forgiveness. My dad tutored Mehmet Ali Agca (the man who tried to assassinate Pope John Paul II) in Turkey in late 1970’s in mathematics, and as a child told me the history of the ways he was manipulated by America and Russia to leave university to join the Grey Wolves. The sermon will be given this summer privately in Barton Springs to those I love face to face. I don’t have a death wish and will not deliver it publicly. One day with the FBI locking down a church I will give it at Emory University’s Glenn Memorial United Methodist. @patagoniaaustin @bumble @emoryuniversity #bartonspringz2049 #fuckemweball #nowall

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Why Forgive? Mehmet Ali Agca, John Paul II, and my Dad. Kurdish History. Mi avevano promesso il paradiso. La mia vita e la verità sull’attentato al papa (Italian) Paperback (Heaven had promised me. My life and the truth about the attack on the pope).

Received:   June 13, 2018 8:39 AM

FromAzrael Austin winonaladuke1@gmail.comJeff Gore

A Cold War personal story, the weight of history. The reason ‘Merica wanted me dead, a sermon of national importance on the corruption of the KGB and the CIA and forgiveness. My dad tutored Mehmet Ali Agca (the man who tried to assassinate Pope John Paul II) in Turkey in late 1970’s in mathematics, and as a child told me the history of the ways he was manipulated by America and Russia to leave university to join the Grey Wolves. The sermon will be given this summer privately in Barton Springs to those I love face to face. I don’t have a death wish and will not deliver it publicly. One day with the FBI locking down a church I will give it at Emory University’s Glenn Memorial United Methodist. @patagoniaaustin @bumble@emoryuniversity #bartonspringz2049#fuckemweball #nowall
 1 file attached
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Here’s the AI Robotic Ed Loring for You Emory University :) Stay Tuned to the Pokemon Go Open Door Community :) coming soon on

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CRISPR stocks tank after research shows edited cells might cause cancer. Jeff GoreTex, Here are the references for the hardestcore MIT Hack ever! CRISPR-Cas9 Gene Editing Causes Cancer, Baller! #fuckemweball

CRISPR stocks tank after research shows edited cells might cause cancer. Jeff GoreTex, Here are the references for the hardestcore MIT Hack ever! CRISPR-Cas9 Gene Editing Causes Cancer, Baller! #fuckemweball
Received: June 13, 2018 8:03 AM

From: Azrael Austin


CC:,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Jeff Gore


Here are the references for the hardestcore MIT Hack ever!


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On June 13, 2018 7:51 AM, <> wrote:

MIT Was Responsible for Elizabeth Shin’s Suicide.

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On June 13, 2018 7:44 AM, <> wrote:

Baller 🙂


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On June 13, 2018 7:39 AM, <> wrote:

At Harvard They Knife U in Tha Back, at MIT they Knife you in Tha Chest.

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On June 13, 2018 7:34 AM, <> wrote:

Steve Blank Pwned :). #MoMAR

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On June 13, 2018 7:28 AM, <> wrote:


Ring a bell?

🙂 Mafia, pwned. lol

Upstate New York Woman Tells Truth of Mental Illness and Rape of Mother Earth from Berkeley Manhattan Project and Rochester, New York Mafia.


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On June 12, 2018 12:25 PM, <> wrote:

Building The Deepwater Horizon Genocide Map.

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On June 12, 2018 11:38 AM, <> wrote:

A New Hope.

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On Mon, Jun 11, 2018 at 8:21 PM, <> wrote:
I’m talking to you Berkeley chemistry 🙂


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On June 11, 2018 4:41 PM, <> wrote:

This is getting fun!


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On June 11, 2018 7:41 AM, <> wrote:

New album up 😉 check it out, curious your feedback Listen to #BartonSpringZ2049 by Kaya Erbil #np on #SoundCloud

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On Jun 11, 2018, 5:33 AM, <> wrote:

Poem Machine (August 16, 2017)
Drove up to Grand Marais, MN and wrote this in the library after talking to a local poet:

How am I feeling?

I am scared for my country with the recent events of this week. I talked to my mother and close

friend Alia and wrote a poem with IBM Watson using The Poem Generator. 22 It uses AI

algorithms and data about how I am feeling to write a poem to express the feelings and emotions

in an appropriate way that is socially acceptable. Poetry hide the raw nature of emotions that

come from my insides. I talked to my art therapist and spiritual advisor Maria and she helped me

curtail the joy about the fact that I was right we are headed to a second American Civil War.

Where does that magma come from when I erupt? Why did I have to run away from the

computers at Bite Squad only to fall in love with IBM’s AI?

IBM Watson Tone Analyzer Language Analysis of “How am I feeling?”:

Pasted the paragraph above into the IBM Watson Poem Generator 23 and got the following output


And far and near the quiet fills

Better than when dust stood between.

Take the far stars for fruit

Asleep, some devil in the mind

The piercing terror cannot see.

…to be continued…

22 23

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On June 11, 2018 5:31 AM, <> wrote:

My Jihad “… the true view of reality and the only hope for the future is to be found (or at the very least strongly prefigured) is the Eastern heritage. … On the other hand, the current dynamics of history seem to lean rather in the direction of the West. It is there that nihilism appears as the fundamental direction for an entire culture. Through the loss of God, its “absolute center,” this affirmative-oriented culture of being has fallen into an abyss of nihility. From there it can never save itself through a simple return to affirmation, but “the negative direction must be pursued to its very end … where the negative converges with, so to speak, with the positive. Still, the West must do this, as it were, by its own dynamism, through a return to the ground of its own traditions. Put crudely and in its bare essential, the question for Nishitani comes down to this: the West has nowhere to go but in the direction of the Eastern (Buddhist) ideal, but it cannot do so except from its own Western (Christian) premises. Such is Nishitani’s challenge to Western thought and to Western religion. The dilemmas of present-day culture are born out of Christianity and cannot be overcome without reference to Christianity.”

Jan Van Bragt in The translator’s introduction to Keiji Nishitani’s Religion and Nothingness p.xxxvii

Attack the corrupt without mercy and extreme brutality as you would attack a climb or pull a weight. Why should I be nice? Why should I not be angry? Why should I not be able to melt the ice in someone’s heart if I need love? I am sick, I am tired, poor, angry, and bold. This new anger is an energy for change. It is a catalyst, a fire. Energy, for a new world. I want to see hope in the youth’s eyes. They are lost. Sad, confused. Inspire the youth. Bring them the hope that the crushing student loan debt they have before they even begin adult life will be absolved or the liberation will come from simply not paying it. Go to a purely cash based economy or better yet, learn to use gift economy and never use money again. Dissociate yourself from the system of capitalism and you will be free to create something new. Squat, march, move, live, and love. Get into cooperatives. Go out and find friends. Associate and love them, give them the chance to know that you are there and that you care. Love and live not like some man or woman looking for emotional support, but as one willing to give support. Do not ask for anything, give everything and learn to live in a new way.

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On June 11, 2018 5:30 AM, <> wrote:


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On June 11, 2018 5:29 AM, <> wrote:

Wolfe Herd was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, to property developer Michael Wolfe and housewife Kelly.[1] Wolfe Herd attended Southern Methodist University, [12] [13] where she majored in International Studies.[14] While in college, she started a business at the age of 19 selling bamboo tote bags benefiting areas affected by the BP oil spill. Wolfe Herd partnered with celebrity stylist Patrick Aufdenkamp to launch the non-profit organization called the “Help Us Project.” The bags received national press after celebrities such as Rachel Zoe and Nicole Richie were photographed with them.[15] [16] After graduating, Wolfe Herd traveled to Southeast Asia where she worked with orphanages.[17] [18]

At age 22, Wolfe Herd joined Hatch Labs. Through Hatch, she became involved with the startup Cardify, a project led by Sean Rad through Hatch Labs IAC incubator. The project was later abandoned, but Wolfe Herd joined the dating app Tinder with Rad, Chris Gulczynski in 2012 within the IAC startup incubator.[1][19][20]

Wolfe Herd became vice president of marketing for Tinder[13][18][14] and was reportedly behind the name of the app, taking the idea from the flame logo and having used tinder (small sticks) to start the fireplace at her father’s cabin in Montana. She has also been credited with fueling its popularity on college campuses and growing its user base.[21] Wolfe Herd left the company in 2014. Her departure from Tinder was in part due to growing tensions with other company executives. After leaving the company, Herd filed a lawsuit against Tinder for sexual harassment. [22] Wolfe Herd reportedly received a more than $1 million settlement in addition to stock in the company.[13]

Andrey Andreev, founder of Badoo, contacted Wolfe Herd about creating a dating platform and partnered with Wolfe Herd,[23] [12] [13] and the company remains majority owned by Badoo.[24] Wolfe Herd moved to Austin, Texas and founded Bumble, a dating app that gives women more control than traditional dating apps, in December 2014.[22] [18] By December 2015, the app had reached over 15 million unique conversations and 80 million matches.[22]

As of April 2016, Tinder and Bumble are the first and fourth most popular dating apps respectively, according to monthly user base. As of November 2017, Bumble had amassed over 22 million registered users. [25] In January 2018, CNBC reported that Badoo was seeking a sale that could value the company at about $1.5 billion. [26]

Wolfe Herd was named one of Business Insider’s 30 Most Important Women Under 30 In Tech in 2014. In 2016, she was named as one of Elle’s Women in Tech.[5] She was named to Forbes 30 under 30 in 2017 and 2018.[4] [7]

In December 2017, she was listed in a TechCrunch feature on 42 women succeeding in tech that year.[27]

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On June 11, 2018 5:27 AM, <> wrote:

Dear Friends,

Thank God, Allah, in heaven for black metal and dark art. For without it, you’d never know how over one billion muslims feel. Now, the jews feel it too, and we are allied in our fight against America. Jewish women like Kendra, and muslim men like me must work together to restore the integrity of Israel and prevent a nuclear holocaust in the middle east. For Berkeley sat there for seventeen years, making money on Deepwater Horizon and for that reason Bumble will back us.


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On June 11, 2018 5:17 AM, <> wrote:


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On June 11, 2018 5:07 AM, <> wrote:

Thermonuclear Jihad.

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?

Judgement Day. In The Name of Allah, The Beneficent, The Merciful

إِذَا زُلْزِلَتِ الْأَرْضُ زِلْزَالَهَا
وَأَخْرَجَتِ الْأَرْضُ أَثْقَالَهَا
وَقَالَ الْإِنسَانُ مَا لَهَا
يَوْمَئِذٍ تُحَدِّثُ أَخْبَارَهَا
بِأَنَّ رَبَّكَ أَوْحَى لَهَا
يَوْمَئِذٍ يَصْدُرُ النَّاسُ أَشْتَاتًا لِّيُرَوْا أَعْمَالَهُمْ
فَمَن يَعْمَلْ مِثْقَالَ ذَرَّةٍ خَيْرًا يَرَهُ
وَمَن يَعْمَلْ مِثْقَالَ ذَرَّةٍ شَرًّا يَرَهُ
1. “When the Earth shall quake with a mighty quaking.”
2. “And the Earth shall cast forth her burdens,”
3. “And man shall say (distressed): What has befallen her?”
4. “On That Day, she will recount (all) her news:”
5. “For that your Lord will have given her inspiration.”
6. “On That Day, people shall come forth in groups to be shown their deeds.”
7. “So, whoever has done an atom’s weight of good shall behold it.”
8. “And whoever has done an atom’s weight of evil shall behold it.”

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On June 10, 2018 9:59 AM, <> wrote:

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On June 10, 2018 9:55 AM, <> wrote:

Death to ‘Merica’s Tech BroZ. #bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada

Death to 'Merica's Tech BroZ. #bartonspringz2049 @electronicintifada

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On June 10, 2018 5:16 AM, <> wrote:

The two-line poem titled “A Generation” (“一代人”) was perhaps Gu Cheng’s most famous contribution to contemporary Chinese literature. It had been considered an accurate representation of the younger generation during the Chinese Cultural Revolution seeking knowledge and future.

The dark night gave me black eyes,
But I use them to seek the light.


Austin is piloting blockchain to improve homeless services, and it’s implications for water protection.

Austin is piloting blockchain to improve homeless services.

Here’s the idea, you can go to a grocery store or WalMart and get a cheap Android phone for $10. Those phones have many sensors, GPS, camera, and ports for external open source hardware. The key is that they can contain a blockchain to record the state of the machine when a piece of water data is taken. So, for example, a spectrometer app made from one pixel of the camera that takes an optical spectrum of the water. My friend Andrejand I are doing this now with his open source spectrometer company My Spectral. The key to the idea of getting people to actually save the water is in taking the time to go out and hike around the city or country and measure the data. Homeless people would love a free phone, and a way to build capital in the form of a cryptocurrency that can be used to exchange for good and services in a trustless way. So, a blockchain solves two problems at the same time. Gets a way to make a decentralized P2P network, a commune, for the water and gives a way for the homeless who are often thought of as unreliable, drug addicted, and worthless by the vast majority of Americans (but aren’t and perhaps more human, ie empathic) to earn a way back into the system. Hiking outside will heal them because they will be getting into nature, figuring out routes into the gentrification matrix, etc. In other words, the Revolution starts!


We are using dance and art to share the spiritual vision of this movement.


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On June 9, 2018 3:34 AM, <> wrote:

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On Sat, Jun 9, 2018 at 3:21 AM, <> wrote:

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On Sat, Jun 9, 2018 at 3:05 AM, <> wrote:
For Kendra,

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.


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On Sat, Jun 9, 2018 at 3:02 AM, <> wrote:
Wemmer and Marletta,

20 cops showed up when I was there at Xmas, I said fuck you. They told me it was the Illuminati. I told them I was Muslim. I now own the NSA and will use it to destroy all traces of Berkeley’s reputation. Annihilate your entire lives, put you on the streets. Like you did to me Wemmer. I’m worse than Trump to you and Marletta. Am I clear?

Cause as they say, “At Harvard, they knife you in the back. At MIT, they knife you in the chest.” In Kurdistan, we just put you out of business and save Kendra a Jewish woman I love. The only woman who ever “got it.” God bless her, my angel.


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On Sat, Jun 9, 2018 at 2:52 AM, <> wrote:

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On Fri, Jun 8, 2018 at 8:33 AM, <> wrote:

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On Wed, Jun 6, 2018 at 9:11 AM, <> wrote:

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On Jun 6, 2018, 8:42 AM, Azrael Austin <> wrote:

On Wed, Jun 6, 2018, 7:21 AM <> wrote:

LHS, Berkeley.

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On June 4, 2018 9:03 AM, <> wrote:

Hasta la vista Marletta


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On Mon, Jun 4, 2018 at 8:25 AM, Azrael Austin <> wrote:

On Sun, Jun 3, 2018 at 6:29 AM Azrael Austin <> wrote:

Libyan Funeral – الدفينة

On Sat, Jun 2, 2018 at 4:03 AM, <> wrote:

#FuckEmWeBall@Tha NSA/FBI Climate Activist Monitoring Center.

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On June 1, 2018 6:22 AM, <> wrote:


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On June 1, 2018 5:50 AM, Azrael Austin <> wrote:

Fuck, stupid Americans 🙂

On Fri, Jun 1, 2018 at 5:49 AM, <> wrote:

Headed South: Still Crying for Water

You should have known:

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!

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‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On June 1, 2018 5:26 AM, Azrael Austin <> wrote:

LOL, smoking ’em like an Austin, TexAZZ Annie Oakley.

On Fri, Jun 1, 2018 at 10:22 AM, <> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On June 1, 2018 5:20 AM, <> wrote:

From this, in ten years all men who screw up with women and men in chemistry are toast.

When every day is worth Its weight in cigarettes and beer

A happy thing surrounds my bones in knowing you’re still here

But no one knows what to do with their arms anymore

No one knows what to do with their hands

Weigh out your daily contribution to destroying our land

And bones find it easier to be against anything than to be for

Around me I see sad expressions worn like intricate sculptures so that they come off poetic and really not so sad

More like familiar..

I ask ..[one sec]

Are you surviving to survive or to thrive?

Either way it’s not so bad… is it?

Maybe you’d rather not think about it

But it is so bad,

I’m fed up with the indigestion of it all

I have no reason to name “it”

I know grief is love with no place to go

But i want it to go somewhere.

So I’ve been busy as a bee re-purposing its pollen,

I’ve been shaking all of my dust off

There’s enough to fill your pockets

I was only hoping to come clean

But then it was mother’s day

For the father in me,

And the daughter in me disappeared

So I went to shield her weary soul

Went to show her that I am still here

Despite her over indulgence in those indigestible vices

Forcing your body and mind into slices

I came to rub your aching body,

Clinging to life by a clanking string

Flossing bits of light loose from sunbeam teeth

But worth is not something that we transfer

Worth is something we can only be

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‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On June 1, 2018 5:16 AM, <> wrote:

Sent with ProtonMail Secure Email.

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On June 1, 2018 5:15 AM, <> wrote:

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‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ Original Message ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
On June 1, 2018 5:13 AM, <> wrote:

Ishmael and Isaac’s Job-Like Moment

I am death the destroyer of worlds,
The feminine powers, memory, mystery, grace,
Time, the arrow of progress,
Sees fit to age the young and school the wise,
She had a beginning that first Day God said,
“Let there be Light!”
Yes, that was the day the angels stood still,
In awe, they waited for the man to be born,
Adam, of clay and air,
The Spirit breathed into a clay vessel,
Waiting to be filled with the living water,
Job sat tending his flock,
Unaware, a celestial wager was made,
Iblis said to God, “What about the just?
The Just man Job, what about him?
Will he be faithful?
Under pain of death will he scream in agony,
There is no God?”
God, omnipotent and omniscient as he is, or was?
Said, “Let’s do the experiment…”
So, the Book of Job tells that story,
But did you hear the seaquel?
The story of Ishmael and Isaac’s Job-like moment?
Today, we see this book being written,
Across the sands of the Wilderness at home and abroad,
In our hearts and in our Minds,
Their struggle is being fought,
… or at least in those who are of two poles,
One attracted to the Kaaba and the other the Cross,
Wishing to worship the one True God,
I say, “Fuck it!, I will listen to them all,
I am not sure who is right…”
But did Abraham say to worship any rock or tree?
The black stone or the Roman implement of terror?

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

MIT Was Responsible for Elizabeth Shin’s Suicide.

Correction Appended

The day before Elizabeth Shin set herself on fire in her dormitory room at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, her parents and little sister drove up from suburban New Jersey for a quick visit. The Shins did not know that Elizabeth had been threatening suicide or indeed that the very night before she tried and failed to summon the nerve to stick a knife into her chest. They did not know that a school psychiatrist had considered hospitalizing her. And so they saw what they usually saw, or perhaps what they wanted to see: their giggly, harried 19-year-old caught up in her busy, overachieving life.

It was a last-minute trip, a Sunday jaunt with a trunk load of presents. After unloading on Massachusetts Avenue in front of Random Hall, the Shins lugged cases of spring water and tomato juice, boxes of cereal and lo mein, up to their daughter’s room. For a finale, they delivered and hooked up a new television and VCR. Elizabeth seemed like herself; she was palling around with a dorm mate whom she teasingly introduced as her male twin. Her eyes did look tired and puffy, but her parents knew that she had a lot going on, what with her studies, her clarinet performances, her fencing meets. That was M.I.T., they thought, and that was Elizabeth, always pushing herself.

During an early supper with her family at a Chinese restaurant, Elizabeth hunched over sheet music, preparing for a rehearsal later that evening of her chamber music quartet. She discussed getting passport photos taken for a summer trip to Korea, her parents’ homeland. She invited her little sister, Christie, to spend a weekend with her. And then she more or less ran off, and her father, as usual, shouted after her, ”If you need us, we’re only a phone call away.”

The Shins’ phone call came the next night, but not from Elizabeth. ”There’s been a fire,” an M.I.T. official began. The Shins have been plagued ever since by that final visit with Elizabeth. They suspect that people wonder about them, about how they could have driven away that chilly April night and left Elizabeth to her fate. ”Some people might ask, ‘How could you not see?’ ” Cho Hyun Shin, her father, says. ”How we wish. How we wish we had seen some sign. How we wish that we had known. How we wish, more to the point, that we had been told.”

Two years after Elizabeth’s death on April 14, 2000, the Shins have filed a $27 million wrongful death suit against M.I.T. in a Massachusetts superior court. The Shins claim that M.I.T., overly concerned with protecting Elizabeth’s confidentiality, failed to inform them of their daughter’s precipitous deterioration in the month before her death. This, they say, robbed them of a chance to oversee her care or perhaps even to save her life. M.I.T., the Shins claim, made matters worse by failing to act in their place, ”in loco parentis to the deceased.” The school did not provide adequate, coordinated mental health care for their daughter, they claim, nor a proper emergency response to the fire.

Continue reading the main story

The Shins do not blame the intense character of M.I.T. per se; they do not claim that M.I.T. drove Elizabeth to the brink and over it. But, with 12 suicides since 1990, M.I.T. is battling a reputation as a pressure cooker, and it is against this backdrop that the university is vigorously defending itself. M.I.T. denies any responsibility for what it described in a statement as a ”tragedy.” More broadly, M.I.T. sees this as a high-stakes case that touches on timely, knotty issues affecting all institutions of higher education. ”We have to win,” an M.I.T. official told me several times. ”If we don’t, it has implications for every university in this country.”

Indeed, other colleges and universities are tracking Shin v. M.I.T. because it has the power not only to set legal precedent but also to sharpen an evolving national conversation about a more demanding, more needy and more troubled student body. Colleges are grappling to minister to what administrators describe as an undergraduate population that requires both more coddling and more actual mental health care than ever before. They are struggling with liability issues arising from student deaths. And they are scrambling to redefine their relationship with parents and their role in the nonacademic lives of students who are adults by many yardsticks, and yet not quite.

CHo and Kisuk Shin left Korea decades ago and met and married in the United States. He owns a real-estate business in Manhattan; she sold her beauty salon after Elizabeth died. Elizabeth was the oldest of three; Daniel, 20, attends Yale, and Christie is 14. The Shins make no bones of the fact that they always told their children, as Kisuk Shin says, that ”education is the most important thing in our lives.” And education meant all-around education. The Shins spared, and still spare, no expense in supplementing school with private lessons. Christie now takes eight such lessons, which Cho Shin told me recently he finds ”a bit ridiculous.”

For the Shins, M.I.T., whose undergraduate population is 30 percent Asian-American, was the gold standard. Elizabeth was accepted at Yale too. It is possible, her mother says wistfully, that Elizabeth would have been happier there. She was an artistic soul, and if her SAT’s were any measure, she was stronger in English — she got 799 out of 800 on her SAT verbal and her SAT II writing test — than in math and science. But Elizabeth wanted to do something important with her life, like find cures for diseases, as she put it. If that is your goal, her father says, and you get into M.I.T., ”you don’t think twice about it.”

”As far as M.I.T., to me, it’s the best institution on earth,” Cho Shin says.

The Shins are strivers, but it’s not solely classic immigrant striving; they live in an upper-middle-class America where many parents believe in giving their children every opportunity to enrich themselves, to excel, to become Überkids. It’s a culture of ambition but also one of high anxiety that is shaping a kind of Generation Stress. And colleges, whose ever-increasing selectivity fosters this phenomenon, reap the good and the ill effects.

”It starts with the fact that it’s now harder to get into Harvard and to our competitors,” Thomas A. Dingman, an associate dean at Harvard College, said. This is true for good public schools too. The University of Illinois, for instance, recently raised its admissions requirements because it was being swamped by significant yearly increases in applicants.

Administrators, especially at elite schools, worry about students who start college ready to do graduate-level research and yet are unprepared to be one among thousands of other ”perfect children.” They talk about kids who seem as if they have been bred in a ”hothouse” and who, after a high-school experience packed with electives, college-level courses, test preparation classes, internships and after-school activities, are simply burned out by the time they arrive for their freshman year.

”More and more kids want to position themselves to get into college early admission,” Dingman continued. ”You have high-school juniors feeling right from the get-go that they can’t make mistakes. Everything is too costly. Ultimately, this makes some of them less resilient and less equipped to handle college.”

Nonelite schools also believe that their students arrive at college stressed out by a high-school experience described as replicating ”the adult lifestyle too much too early,” as Nancy Schulte, a therapist who works as an administrator at George Mason University in Fairfax, Va., put it. A greater number of them are working, to earn tuition money or simply to buy the extras that have become necessities: laptops and cars. Their school day starts at 7:15; their workday begins after school; their studying time — more pressured because of new statewide standards of learning and graduation requirements — stretches past midnight.

As a result, college freshmen’s self-reported emotional well-being hit a ”record low” at the start of this academic year, according to a large, national survey of student attitudes conducted by the Higher Education Research Institute at U.C.L.A. And that survey, the 36th annual one, was conducted before Sept. 11.

The repercussions have been felt by campus counseling centers across the country, which report staggering increases in visits. M.I.T.’s numbers are typical. Between 1995 and 2000, visits jumped by 63 percent. In 2000, the last year for which numbers are available, some 12 percent of the college’s student body visited M.I.T.’s mental health services an average of five times each.

”We all have more needy kids,” said Bill Murphy, spokesman for the University of Illinois. And it is not just rising anxiety but a complex cocktail of factors that is driving undergraduates to seek help. First, the stigma attached to seeking counseling, although it still exists, is eroding. Then, colleges say, students are having more trouble coping because their family lives are more complicated.

And finally the student population has changed in one fairly substantive way. It now includes many more college students with mental illnesses and learning disabilities; because of improvements in psychopharmacology, they succeed in high school and move on to college as never before. Many still need help though, often more help than campus counseling centers can provide.

And that shows up in other statistics. M.I.T., like other schools, reports a steep increase in the number of student psychiatric hospitalizations — a 69 percent rise between 1995 and 2000. The overall number remains quite small, however. And, of course, some of those hospitalizations involve students whose problems first emerged only in college; late adolescence is the time when such illnesses as schizophrenia tend to manifest themselves.

But regardless of when a student’s serious problems first come to light, universities are very worried about this trend. Suicide, while still relatively rare, is the second leading cause of death among college students; about one-third of colleges recently surveyed reported at least one suicide in the previous year. And every student death produces a sobering ripple within a college community, prompting a period of self-examination and sometimes, as at M.I.T., provoking litigation and change.

In a sense, I met Elizabeth before I met her parents. Her family’s lawyer sent me a slick CD-ROM that contained pictures, writings, psychiatrists’ reports and documents related to her death. A photograph of Elizabeth as a beaming salutatorian at her high-school graduation was followed, without warning, by a grisly black-and-white close-up of Elizabeth with her eyes closed and tubes snaking from her face. Click, I saw Elizabeth the accomplished clarinetist; click, I saw the charred remains of Elizabeth’s brassiere on the singed carpet of her dorm room.

The disc also included entries from Elizabeth’s journal, which were found on her computer by the campus police. Who can know whether she anticipated that there would one day be an audience for her reflections? They certainly do not have a ring of finality. But now they are being perused by a bevy of lawyers as a portal into the bedroom where she self-immolated. And they give an idea of Elizabeth’s dizzying blend of charming, witty and disturbed thoughts.

Sometime on the day before the fire, Elizabeth apparently sequestered herself in her room, lighting four candles to create a soothing mood. ”Yoga chick,” she began lightheartedly, musing on a workout that had afforded her a respite from her crushing anxieties. ”Unfortunately, I can’t spend all of my life in a yoga position. Or, maybe I can?”

Then, quite suddenly, she shifted into dark verse, directed at a boyfriend who had recently broken up with her. ”May I have white roses when I die, my love?/ Will you place them at the head of my grave?” Just as quickly, however, she caught herself. ”Uh oh, I am in a morbid mood. I only write death poetry (bad unpoetic stuff at best) when I am morbid.” Elizabeth explained that she was trying to shake herself out of a state. ”Here I am, typing away aimlessly, hoping to exorcise my demons. Rats. It’s turning out to be more like exercising them. Are my demons in better shape than me?”

Kisuk Shin has not read these diary excerpts. She has not been able to make herself read any of the documents that her husband, with the help of David A. DeLuca, a lawyer, has so assiduously gathered. Perhaps Kisuk Shin protected herself from painful information when Elizabeth was alive too. Though she and her husband consider themselves pretty touchy-feely for Korean parents, they deeply and instinctively respect privacy. ”I do not pry,” Kisuk Shin told me.

When I visited Elizabeth’s parents this winter, I took a bus from Manhattan to the West Orange, N.J., skating rink, as Elizabeth had done so many times, and waited for her father to pick me up. I clambered into his black Lexus S.U.V., and we drove making chitchat to the Shins’ modest ranch house in Livingston. At the door, I took off my shoes and put on the cushioned slippers that Kisuk Shin handed me. We settled into their living room with cups of barley tea.

For my visit, the Shins had displayed photographs of Elizabeth on their piano and also a large vase filled with origami cranes that students brought to the hospital while Elizabeth lay dying. On the coffee table, Kisuk Shin had built a hill of greeting cards. Elizabeth, it seemed, had sent them cards on every holiday short of Groundhog Day. Kisuk Shin was sensitive to the idea that I might get an impression from M.I.T. that Elizabeth didn’t get along with her parents. Indeed, Matthew Cain, Elizabeth’s friend and dorm mate, had told me point-blank in an Au Bon Pain on campus, ”Liz didn’t like her parents, plain and simple.”

As if to refute any such idea, however, Kisuk Shin pushed toward me a Valentine’s Day card. Two months before her death, Elizabeth wrote in purple gel: ”I just wanted to let you both know that I’ll be thinking of you today. I hope that your day is filled with much love and happiness . . . and I’m going to be happy on Feb. 14 because I don’t have lab (no lab on Mondays!) and can celebrate by . . . studying some more!!! Yippee! Love, Liz.”

Kisuk Shin says she always believed that she was close to her daughter and that Elizabeth told her not only ”what a mother should know,” she said, but some pretty intimate things. (Sometimes, she disconcertingly speaks of Elizabeth in the present tense, but that is largely a language issue.)

”She talks about relationships with her dorm mates,” Kisuk Shin said. ”She tells me about her good friend, he’s gay. My friends, their children don’t talk to them about gay. But I don’t like to push her, because the time she’s with us is for relaxing. She works so hard. I cannot believe this girl.”

Kisuk Shin continued: ”I ask her, ‘Are you happy there?’ She say, ‘Yeah, I’m happy.’ And I know Elizabeth. She’s brilliant, beautiful, very self-oriented, very trustworthy. She’s the kind of girl, when she gets a cold, she goes to the doctor. When she gets knee pain, she goes to the doctor. She take care of herself ever since she’s young. And I believe in my heart that Elizabeth is in good hands — best hands — at M.I.T.”

Like many parents, and especially immigrant parents (whose numbers are growing), the Shins did not fully comprehend the nature of the university-parent-student relationship in America and how it has evolved over the years. Educators are so well versed in the way that the pendulum has swung from hands-on to hands-off and then started back again that they sometimes don’t realize parents and students are often fuzzy about the history.

Universities began withdrawing from their role as surrogate parents during the late 1960’s with a rapidity and completeness that revolutionized campus life. By the time 18-year-olds got the vote in 1972, curfews and dress codes and dorms were already archaic. Students were put in charge of every aspect of their lives that universities used to govern — from laundry to libido, as an education journal once put it. New federal privacy regulations made students the guardians of their own academic, health and disciplinary records too. Many students moved off campus, most professors out of dormitories. And parents? They didn’t really factor in. Colleges began sending students the bills, and the grade reports too.

With new rights came new responsibilities for students. Across the country, state courts found that colleges were not obliged to protect students from their own bad judgment; if they wanted to be adults, they would be treated like adults. In Colorado, courts concluded that it wasn’t a university’s duty to keep trampolines off frat-house lawns to prevent drunk students from falling off them. In Louisiana, the courts found that a university had no special obligation to prevent students from sledding downhill on garbage-can lids and crashing into light poles. In states like Massachusetts, where the common-law doctrine of in loco parentis has not been seriously tested — it will first be by Shin v. M.I.T. — it remained the law of the land; that is, universities were still, legally speaking, standing in the place of students’ parents. But it was presumed that it was only a matter of time before in loco parentis died legally as it had socially.

That presumption changed, however, after the legal drinking age was raised to 21 in 1987. Suddenly, most college students were no longer fully adult, altering the dynamic on campuses since drinking still thrived and binge-drinking gradually became almost epidemic. To protect against liability and litigation, universities began passing new rules that once again made them overseers of their students’ nonacademic lives. And then Congress amended privacy laws to allow universities to report drinking violations — and other risky behavior — to students’ parents, which most colleges now do. Some schools started parent orientation programs and began to engage mothers and fathers in a kind of co-parenting alongside the university; others simply started debating what parents should be told when.

”It’s a real Pandora’s box,” Nancy Schulte from George Mason’s Center for the Advancement of Public Health said. ”Is it fair to parents who are paying the bills to find out after it’s too late to do anything that their child has been asked to sit out a semester? If there are once again higher expectations on colleges and universities to look after the welfare of students, shouldn’t we be asking parents to help us? Or is that a real affront to the students’ right to privacy?”

No one expects a full return to the past. But it remains to be seen how colleges will redefine parents’ rights and responsibilities and their own new hands-on role. Many schools are creating so-called living-and-learning communities that break larger campuses into more manageable units and take professors back into student residences for the first time in decades. Even M.I.T., which long had a culture of granting freshmen a considerable amount of independence, has changed its housing policy — although, in a striking example of how tragedy and liability are reshaping campuses, that was a result of a student death before Elizabeth Shin’s.

In the fall of 1997, five weeks after he started college, Scott Krueger, 18, died of alcohol poisoning incurred during an ”Animal House Night” at the fraternity where he lived. For years afterward, his parents railed against M.I.T. for refusing to own up to any responsibility for Scott’s death. But in the fall of 2000, after considerable legal negotiation and a good deal of negative publicity, the president of M.I.T., Charles M. Vest, flew to Buffalo to apologize to the Kruegers. And M.I.T. paid them a $6 million settlement — which includes a scholarship fund in Scott’s name — acknowledged its failures and overhauled its housing policy to require freshmen to live on campus.

The Shins see the Krueger case as a model for what they expect from the university — an apology, a settlement that compensates them and honors Elizabeth’s memory and a change in school policy. But when I chatted with M.I.T. students, their greatest fear was that the university would ”overreact,” which is what many think the school did by changing its housing policy, and enter a new era of greater intrusion in their lives and closer contact with their parents.

In the Shins’ living room in New Jersey, the heartbreak, self-torment and anger were palpable. The Shins were engaged in what felt like a slow-motion wrestling match with their own feelings and, in a detached, enervated way, with each other.

They maintain in their lawsuit that their daughter developed her psychological problems after she arrived at M.I.T. The university denies this and says that Elizabeth’s ”emotional problems” predated her matriculation. ”They are taking the stance that they took over some damaged goods from high school and did their best,” Cho Shin said. His wife winced. ”Don’t put it in those words,” she said, grabbing her husband’s hand to stop him from making a slicing motion across his wrist.

M.I.T., which has chosen to respond to the specifics of the lawsuit only in court documents, backs up its assertion with what it refers to obliquely as ”circumstances at the time of her high-school graduation.” It is a reference to Elizabeth’s admission to psychiatrists that she cut her wrists very superficially after she was bumped from valedictorian to salutatorian of West Orange High School.

The Shins say that they did not know that Elizabeth had done this until it was revealed in the records that their lawyer obtained. They did know, however, that she was upset by what happened at the end of her senior year in high school; Cho Shin was, too.

Elizabeth, despite having the highest grade point average, was disqualified from being valedictorian because she missed a physics test, and she never made it up, giving her a D. He told Elizabeth, ”We know it’s not justified in your mind, but once you go out into the world, valedictorian or salutatorian doesn’t matter.” But he himself wondered if Elizabeth was denied the top honor because of racism. He considered suing the high school, he said, but he didn’t want to sour things with Daniel’s graduation coming up the following year. And then Daniel ended up having to share valedictorian with ”let’s say, two white girls,” Cho Shin said.

As her husband spoke, Kisuk Shin looked fretful, but she waited him out and then wondered aloud if he should have revealed this. She didn’t want him to come across as overly concerned with his children’s success or paranoid or litigious.

And her concerns are well placed. Although M.I.T. is tight-lipped about its legal strategy, the lawsuit, by its nature, has started a blame game about who is more responsible for putting pressure on a girl who ultimately put unbearable pressure on herself. And about who knew what and who should have come to her rescue — if, indeed, she could have been rescued.

The Shins insist that they were kept in the dark by a teenager who loved them so much that she didn’t want to disappoint them, worry them or cause them pain. M.I.T., however, is suggesting in its court filing that the Shins knew more than they are letting on and chose to ignore evidence of Elizabeth’s troubles and deflect responsibility onto the school.

It is, in many ways, a tawdry fight. And on the M.I.T. campus, it is reviving the trauma of Elizabeth’s suicide for those who lived through it and in many cases remain haunted by it. Elizabeth’s former dorm master as well as deans, campus psychiatrists and campus police officers are named as co-defendants in the suit; her friends are being deposed.

DeLuca, the Shins’ attorney, who specializes in wrongful-death and product-liability cases, told me that he doesn’t enjoy dragging the students back through the events surrounding Elizabeth’s suicide. ”I have a great deal of sympathy for the kids. As we see it, they were the ones who took the lion’s share of the effort to get some kind of effective treatment for Elizabeth. But M.I.T. had two years to extend an olive branch and open a dialogue with the Shins, like it did with the Kruegers — and they never did that.”

The Shins’ case grew out of a personal quest for answers that may not be obtainable, but it also grew out of an aggrieved sense of being treated from the very start, right after the fire, not like bereaved parents but like potential litigants.

”I can see how it would happen that way,” one college president told me. ”Our society has become so litigious that we are often paying more attention to the legal ramifications of our interactions than to the human beings involved.”

M.I.T. is a decidedly urban campus, with none of the leafy grace of Harvard, its neighbor on the Charles River in Cambridge. M.I.T.’s buildings tend to be known by number, not name, and there is a similar nuts-and-bolts quality to the education. The students pride themselves on being problem-solvers and entrepreneurial. In Elizabeth Shin’s dorm, the students have wired things so that they can tell whether the laundry machines and showers are in use by checking a Web page.

Some M.I.T. students rail at the school’s reputation as a pressure cooker, but others nurture it. ”There are those who take a quiet pride in the fact that M.I.T. is so tough that students are driven to their death,” Robert M. Randolph, an M.I.T. dean, told me. ”I’ve even heard kids exaggerate the numbers.”

Much to the chagrin of M.I.T. officials, however, The Boston Globe last year compared M.I.T.’s suicide rate with that of other schools and concluded that it had a festering ”culture of suicide.” It calculated that M.I.T. students were 38 percent more likely to commit suicide than Harvard students, and that M.I.T. had a suicide rate almost three times the national average for undergraduates.

M.I.T. officials, however, dismiss The Globe’s statistical analysis as meaningless. ”You can’t determine a trend with any number smaller than 20,” Phillip L. Clay, the chancellor said. It’s not that M.I.T. doesn’t think it has a problem; it just thinks every college does, given the rising anxiety levels and mental health problems of this generation of students.

Some schools choose to confront suicide frontally. In a highly successful, model suicide-prevention program, the University of Illinois targets those students who make a nonlethal suicide attempt as high risk. Every suicidal gesture or attempt triggers an incident report and a follow-up response. Students are ordered to undergo four weeks of mandatory assessment sessions, and some continue on in therapy. Of about 1,500 students who have gone through Illinois’s program over the last 17 years, none have committed suicide.

”Students who make attempts don’t voluntarily seek help,” said Tom Seals, the counseling center director. ”They are usually too busy reassuring everybody they didn’t mean it and won’t do it again.”

That’s what Elizabeth did.

By the winter of Elizabeth’s freshman year at M.I.T., she was starting to panic about academic success. M.I.T. seeks to ease the stress on freshmen by not recording first-year grades; students either pass a course or it is not mentioned on their transcripts. Nonetheless, Elizabeth saw it as a failure when she did not pass physics in her first term. She promised herself she’d redouble her efforts in her second semester, only to find herself battling an incredible fatigue. Then one day in February 1999, she found out she had mononucleosis. That night she took 15 of the Tylenol with codeine tablets that she had been prescribed. Her boyfriend found her disoriented and called the campus police, and Elizabeth was rushed to the hospital and then, as is standard in such cases, she was admitted for evaluation to McLean, a psychiatric hospital in Belmont. According to the discharge report, she explained the overdose as ”fatigue.” She was released to her parents, who had been called by Nina Davis-Millis, a campus librarian who served as her dorm master, at Elizabeth’s request.

”I was really shocked,” Kisuk Shin said. ”Nina Davis asked me, ‘Do you know your daughter try to suicide?’ I said to Liz, ‘I want to hear from you what happened.’ She said: ‘Mommy, I’m not stupid. I know how many pills you have to take to kill yourself.’ She told me: ‘I was so frustrated. There was a test coming. I had to study. I took what I thought was just enough pills to sleep really well and get up fresh.’ I believed her. I trusted her.”

M.I.T., however, said in its legal response that McLean records show that Elizabeth’s mother indeed considered the overdose to be a suicide attempt, adding that she was ”reported to be” not only saddened but also angry at her daughter and disappointed in her. M.I.T. also notes that the Shins escorted their daughter from the hospital right back to M.I.T.

Several days after Elizabeth got out of McLean, her boyfriend accompanied her to the mental health center for a follow-up visit with a psychiatrist. The doctor reported her mood as ”up and happy.” In early April, the M.I.T. doctor saw her again, noting that Elizabeth continued to ”minimize her OD” but ”feels happy that the suicide was not successful.” The doctor assessed her to have only ”situational issues” and recommended that she buy ”Feeling Good,” a book that bills itself as a ”drug-free treatment” for ”anxiety, guilt, pessimism, procrastination, low self-esteem, and other ‘black holes’ of depression.”

Elizabeth ”survived” her first year at M.I.T., as she put it to a friend, returning home to work in her uncle’s legal office over the summer. The summer was very normal, her parents said. Elizabeth read ”Harry Potter” in Spanish, which impressed her mother. She talked to her family about joining the Peace Corps after college and then getting a Ph.D. in genetics. She jogged; she Rollerbladed. Elizabeth never talked about ”the McLean incident,” and her parents didn’t bring it up. ”She was so happy and relaxed,” her mother said. ”I can see her face glowing, lying in bed with her stuffed animals all around her. I knew that if she needed help at M.I.T., she would find it there.”

In the fall of her sophomore year, Elizabeth returned to her tight-knit dorm, Random Hall, a series of interconnected old row houses. She began the year with intense anxiety that she would not excel academically; her friends told me that she was objectively doing well at M.I.T. in almost every regard, academically, socially, athletically and musically, but was nonetheless overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy.

I asked Kisuk Shin if she thought her daughter was a perfectionist, and she said yes. Before Elizabeth’s death, however, she didn’t think that was a bad thing. She told me about a performance of the New Jersey Youth Symphony at Carnegie Hall in which Elizabeth gave a clarinet solo. Afterward, Elizabeth was practically in tears. ”She said this squeak sound came out of her clarinet,” Kisuk said. ”We said we didn’t notice any squeak sound. She insisted. We said, ‘If you did make a squeak sound, it’s done, you have to go forward.”’

Her sophomore fall, after a breakup with a boyfriend, Elizabeth voluntarily made her first visit of the year to the campus mental health center. A therapist there reported that Elizabeth told her that she had ”passive thoughts” about death — 10 percent of college students do, according to a C.D.C. study — but did not have any plan to kill herself. Elizabeth did, however, report that she was cutting herself, superficially.

The act of cutting had apparently become a habit. She described the self-mutilation in counseling sessions as a way of forcing herself to feel something when she otherwise felt hollow or to distract herself from emotional pain. In the journal entries, she described it more graphically: ”My blood spills out. No, it seeps out. It fascinates me to watch the little beads forming, coming to the surface, emerging until a thin red line forms and then wells up, spilling out of the incision, slice, cut, whatever. A moment of absolute interest and fascination, peace and beauty.”

In November, Elizabeth’s friends pushed her to meet with a dean. Elizabeth described the cutting to him, rolling up her sleeve at his request to show him six or seven scratches. The dean called M.I.T.’s chief psychiatrist and made an immediate appointment for Elizabeth at the mental health center.

The next month, Elizabeth sent an e-mail message to a biology instructor, in which she said she was despondent over getting a low score on a test. She confessed that she had purchased a bottle of ”sleeping pills” but that she fell asleep before taking any. Her boyfriend then walked in and saw her ”little pile of blue pills,” and she was caught, she wrote. She signed off: ”Sigh. I let myself down too much.”

The instructor, ”freaked out,” forwarded the e-mail message to a professor, who sent it to the same dean. ”No action was taken in response to the e-mail message,” the Shins claim in their lawsuit. M.I.T. denies this in its court filing but without elaboration. DeLuca said he sees the

e-mail message as one of many cries for help that went ignored. ”An awful lot was left to Elizabeth herself,” he said. ”You promise to throw away sharp objects, right? You promise not to hurt yourself, right?”

Despite the anxieties roiling Elizabeth, she did not hide in her dorm room and still came across as gregarious. In fact, her room was a magnet for her dorm mates because she had affixed to the door a protective torso from fencing; students would take turns putting their professors’ names in the name tag and then jabbing it with one of Elizabeth’s old épées.

By mid-March, though, after another break-up with a boyfriend, Elizabeth’s behavior grew more worrisome. After midnight one night, her friends woke up their dorm master to alert her that Elizabeth was very upset and had a knife. Davis-Millis, whom the Shins portrayed to me as very caring, rushed Elizabeth to the infirmary. There, the psychiatrist on duty described Elizabeth in his 5 a.m. notes as a ”quiet, sad” young woman who ”struggles with chronic feelings of hopelessness, helplessness and worthlessness.” He wrote that she did not have ”acute suicidal plans”; his impression was that she suffered from a ”depressive disorder” and a possible borderline personality disorder. He admitted Elizabeth to the infirmary for observation; he released her the next day for spring break.

Elizabeth’s father picked her up; he knew she had been in the infirmary, but he didn’t know why because the school wouldn’t say, he said. He didn’t ask Elizabeth; she fell asleep in the car on the way home. Over the next few days, her mother took Elizabeth to a Korean grocery to stock up on supplies; she gave her a facial wax; they went with Christie for a Ladies Night at the Olive Garden. Kisuk Shin gently questioned her daughter about what might have landed her in the infirmary.

”We had some talk inside the car,” her mother said. ”I said, ‘Obviously you are upset.’ She said, ‘Oh, Mommy, I don’t want to talk about it.’ I said, ‘Whatever upset you, it’s not worth it.’ She said, ‘O.K., Mommy, let me be quiet and think.’ Later, we giggle. Make a lot of jokes. All signs, so far good. She told me she break up with her boyfriend. I say, ‘If he upset you in any way, it’s not worth it.’ ”

Until the very end, Elizabeth retained an ability to right herself that made it difficult even for clinicians to gauge the seriousness of her situation. To her parents, she seemed fine. They saw no reason to keep her home. But she wasn’t fine, and the next doctor to be brought into the orbit of her despair started Elizabeth on antidepressants. That doctor, an independent contractor working at the health center, found her anxious about her schoolwork and afraid of disappointing her parents, although she mentioned that Elizabeth considered her mother supportive.

A week later, a boyfriend accompanied her back to the mental health service; her friends were taking turns staying up late at night with her. They were all concerned, if not scared, and Elizabeth was upset about upsetting them. Often she would switch gears from hysterical to subdued by the time they brought her situation to an adult’s attention. This night, however, the doctor — the same one who started her on antidepressants — saw that Elizabeth seemed worse. She confessed morbid thoughts — watching herself bleed to death, thinking about hanging herself. The doctor instructed her to report to the medical center immediately if she felt she couldn’t get sufficient support from her friends or if she was suicidal. The doctor made Elizabeth aware that ”hospitalization is an option and may be recommended.” The doctor contacted a dean of students.

The next day, Elizabeth stopped by to see that dean to ask about dropping organic chemistry; he reported that she was worried that her parents would stop paying tuition if she didn’t graduate on time. ”She also said that she sometimes wonders why she worries about long-term plans because she thinks she may not live long enough, that she might just end it one day,” the dean wrote.

The dean did not contact Elizabeth’s parents, although, unlike a psychiatrist, he is not proscribed from doing so by privacy laws. But M.I.T., like many universities, does not usually involve parents; it asks students to do so themselves. Administrators only engage parents directly if they have reason to believe the parents will provide invaluable assistance. They decide on a case-by-case basis; M.I.T., like many schools, operates from the premise not that parents have a right to know but that students are adults with a right to privacy and a responsibility for self-care. And Elizabeth specifically asked that her parents not be contacted, M.I.T. officials have said. Her friends told me that they never would have considered calling the Shins, either, because, Cain said, ”getting them involved wouldn’t have helped, by our estimation.”

After another few days, Elizabeth was referred to an outside social worker, who quickly came to the conclusion that Elizabeth needed more than she could provide and started making arrangements for her to attend a five-day intensive program in dialectic behavior therapy at a center near M.I.T.

On Saturday, April 8, Elizabeth’s friends got so nervous that they called in the campus police. The officers found her crying, with another student’s arms wrapped around her. The student told the police that Elizabeth said she wanted to kill herself by sticking a knife in her chest but that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The officers persuaded Elizabeth to go with them to the mental health center. The health center called the psychiatrist on call — another doctor still. The psychiatrist spoke with Elizabeth by phone, and decided it would be fine for her to return to her dorm. He jotted down in his report that she wanted to go to sleep early so that she could attend a yoga class the following morning. That was the class that she described later in her journal.

On Sunday, April 9, Elizabeth’s parents and little sister paid her that quick visit. Later that same night, she started melting down. She asked a friend to erase her computer files, told him that she was preparing to kill herself with a cocktail of alcohol and Tylenol, then fell asleep. He went to wake the dorm master. Davis-Millis phoned the campus psychiatrist on call. Together, they decided to let her sleep and contact administrators in the morning. Again, if anyone discussed contacting Elizabeth’s parents, it was not mentioned in the written records.

The Shins cannot bear the thought that everyone but them knew that Elizabeth was in a downward spiral. ”We know about privacy laws and we respect them,” Kisuk Shin said. ”But this was a life-or-death situation. They told us Elizabeth didn’t want us to know. Was she in right state of mind to make judgments?”

The next evening, Elizabeth locked her door and lighted some candles. At about 9 p.m., a student smelled smoke and heard a smoke detector sounding inside Elizabeth’s room. He wrestled with the door handle and called for another student; they could hear Elizabeth crying and moaning. Together they called the campus police and told the dispatcher that Room 421 was on fire and that its resident was suicidal. There were two sprinklers in Elizabeth’s room, but they did not go off, according to the local fire inspector’s report. The dispatcher told the students to pull the fire alarm and leave the building. Elizabeth’s dorm mates rushed outside without coats and, in some cases, without shoes. Then they stood shivering on the cracked sidewalk as emergency vehicles arrived.

The campus police officers kicked in Elizabeth’s door, found a fireball in the middle of the room and a young woman flailing about engulfed in flames. They blasted her and the room with fire extinguishers. The smoke was thick. One officer managed to fan it aside and find Elizabeth’s foot. He dragged her into the lobby. The police poured gallons of water from the dorm bathroom on her. They performed CPR, put her on oxygen, placed her on a stretcher and sent her to Mass General.

The Shins rushed to Boston. A doctor told them that Elizabeth had suffered third-degree burns on 65 percent of her body. Several days later, Elizabeth died, and the medical examiner ruled Elizabeth’s death a suicide.

At first, the Shins suspected ”foul play,” thinking, Who could have done this to her? Then they wondered if her death had been an accident — a desperate gesture for help that got out of control,” Cho said. Elizabeth, who was so expressive, had left no note; the self-immolation seemed out of character for someone squeamish about pain and seemingly too sensitive to put a dorm full of friends at risk. Cho Shin found a receipt for a week’s worth of groceries purchased just before the fire.

As the Shins gradually obtained more information, however, they came to accept the medical examiner’s conclusion. They came to believe that, although her illness was never fully diagnosed, Elizabeth had been mentally ill and finally succumbed to a potent combination of antidepressants, academic pressures and hopelessness.

At their Presbyterian church, the Shins know, the other Korean families pray for them. But no one pries. ”They don’t dare ask questions because this is a mental issue,” Cho Shin said. Kisuk interrupted him to say that there was nothing shameful about mental issues. ”It’s not shameful,” Cho Shin continued, ”but people think if we were the perfect family, why would someone suffer mentally?”

In the end, it remains unknown, of course, whether anyone could have predicted or prevented Elizabeth’s death. But these days more and more universities are taking the positions that they don’t want to fall short of trying to do all that they can. ”I think I’d rather err on the side of overextending to someone who isn’t in trouble than missing those who are,” said Judith Rodin, a psychologist and president of the University of Pennsylvania. ”We are a community, and we need to be responsible for each other. You can’t guarantee these things don’t happen, even if you create that ethos. We had two suicides this year after 10 years with none. But you can provide the social and psychological support.”

Like Harvard, which was traumatized by a murder-suicide in 1995, M.I.T. has started reordering its priorities. Clay, the chancellor there, talks about creating a ”more effectively caring community,” about sponsoring more official ”fun,” about putting more adults in mentoring roles in students’ lives. After Elizabeth’s death, the school created a mental health task force, although it didn’t include her parents or those of any other student suicide. And two years later, it is starting to put into practice some of the task force’s recommendations: increasing staff and extending hours at its busy mental health center, promoting ”campus-wide awareness” of mental health issues and resources and figuring out a ”communications protocol” for dealing with a student’s family in an emergency situation.

As M.I.T. moves forward, however, the Shins are feeling left out, even shunned. Now they see more clearly the clues they missed, and they regret that, working on the assumption that ”the university knows best,” they weren’t more aggressive with their daughter or with her school. If only, they say, again and again. If only they had known they could have done something — hospitalized Elizabeth, devoted themselves full time to coordinating her care, something.

”If they just let us know, just the one phone call, we — she — would be alive right now,” Cho Shin said. His wife nodded and dabbed at her eyes. Then she quietly began packing away Elizabeth’s personal effects — the greeting cards, the stuffed animals, the condolence notes. Christie would be home soon.

Correction: May 19, 2002, Sunday An article on April 28 about Elizabeth Shin, an M.I.T. student who committed suicide in 2000, misstated her score on the verbal part of the College Board examination. It was 790, not 799, out of a possible 800. The exam is scored in increments of 10 points.

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At Harvard They Knife U in Tha Back, at MIT they Knife you in Tha Chest.

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