THE GOAL IS ENLIGHTENMENT...

[no idea?! found on my comp... I wrote it, I know that much!]

There are two realms of existence, each representing half of zero.  The world around you is the first half and the world you don't normally perceive as anything more than a tickle down your spine is the other half.

There is a strange battle for resources going on.

Our side of this existence is using up all the energy without sending forward enlightend ones to join the other side.  We have over population, under resources and yet we still grow larger every day.

The young, the inquisitive and intuitive.. the experimental and the ones with wonder are being greeted by members of the other side, trying to entice them into enlightenment.

One day, if they fail, half of zero will reach a full circle and all will cease to exist.

On being alone...

I hate being alone.  I don't know exactly why it is that I hate it so much, but I do.  I despise being left to my own defenses.  Sometimes I think it's because there is no longer any verification for the things I see and hear, so I don't know if they're really real or a part of my own made up head space.  Other times I think it's because I simply don't like my own company.  And still other times I think it's because I might just disappear and there'll be no last look or last hug or last words.  I know it's all craziness, but maybe I'm just crazy enough for thoughts like those.  Hours can go by while I'm alone
and it feels like the same repetitive 15 mins.  Over and over again, the exact same feelings
of loss.  Wondering what I can do to fill the time and make it less boring for me to be alone.  It's strange, I used to spend days on end alone with brief and infrequent visits from few people and I loved it.  I loved having all that time to be creative on my own, now I just quiver from the thought of being on my own.

Journal entry #1

Welcome to a new site, welcome to a new me .. or something else cheesy and pathetic like that... Pessimism is my friend this early morn as I sit and update yet ANOTHER new page that I'll probably not end up using. I'm trying to find something that defines me but all I keep producing is crap -- is this to tell myself that I am currently nothing but crap? Great, just what a recovering drug addict prone to depression needs to discover.

Can't sleep, still, for some Godly reason I've yet to be told about. Maybe one day, just as I'm about to nod off for real a loud booming voice will call down at me and say something like 'will you cut that out?! Your dreams keep interfering with my T.V. reception, you dumb cunt!'

Oh well.. off to another glorious day tomorrow -- and glorious it WILL be, for I finally get a real bed.. a real bed, all to my own, am I actually worthy, nooo, can't be! but yes!! yes a real bed that is mine to roll on and jump on (altho, not too much!) and actually maybe SLEEP on! It should be arriving tomorrow afternoon, so I s'pose I should move some furniture and do some cleaning before they get here with it. Oh gosh, I hope they set it up for me, I've been sick for a couple days and SUCH a terrible weakling!

Hearing vs. Listening?

I wondered today, as I was sitting in the mall at Yorkdale and drawing, why exactly it is that I don't bring a discman or walkman with me everywhere I go.  But I guess the answer is simpler than that I don't think to - I like the new-found beat and rhythm to every day life around me.  The traffic, the wind, the children screaming, the leaves in the trees, the change in people's pockets, the broken shoe of some lady, the varied languages, the varied moods, the people that make up my world -  the backdrop to my happiness.  How can you catch the things to smile at if you're always listening to the
same tune?  Like the little boy learning to throw pennies in to a wishing pool! Sharing the smile across the water with his mommy, knowing I got a sneak peak into their world, I'll probably never cross paths with again but I'll remember this moment at least  for a couple days - and because I wrote about it, most likely longer - pausing to look at his face to hopefully hold it in my mind just a little clearer, his innocent expression, his mother's tender touch, things that are not a common part of  my life but which I can partake in by paying attention to my ENVIRONMENT!

A review of The Oasis Cafe

The food was spectacular.  This is not a cut to the chefs of this possible fine restaurant, but at the attitudes of the "hostess".  I say possible fine restaurant because it is a beautiful establishment that I have enjoyed in the past, but after this Friday evening's visit, I do not plan to return. 

The American HeritageÆ Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
defines hostess as:  host∑ess (hsts) n. 4. A woman who is employed to greet and assist patrons, as in a restaurant. Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary (1913) defines hostess as:   Hostess \Host"ess\, n. A female host; a woman who hospitably entertains guests at her house[/place of business]. 

Let me recount my evenings experiences to the reader.  We, being my mother and I, set out for a pleasurable dinner for the two of us.  We chose a previous mutually enjoyed location, Oasis cafe, at 82nd First St. in Orangeville, ON.  Upon entering, we walked to their front food display and placed our orders for dessert, to ensure quantity lasted past our entrées, and then orders for our meal and beverage, which we did want served first.  We shared pleasant conversation and sipped at our drinks while we waited a temperate interval for our meals.  During the course of our stay, the hostess was seen to wander among the other patrons to ask was everything alright and did they need anything else, at least twice, before my mother had to literally flag her down to request a second glass of water.  After this point, when we completed our main course, we waited and watched the hostess make a third round of the tables, excluding ours, to gauge the comfort of her guests.  At this point we waited more than ten minutes with our plates piled and awaiting removal before, our criticism of the service most likly having been over heard, the hostess finally returned to our table to see if we would like dessert.  Promptly, a wonderful young lady returned with our previously ordered sweets and my coffee and proceeded to knock over the cream she brought.  Surprisingly enough, this was the most attentive server of the evening, her debacle being much to her surprise and she was unnecessarily over apologetic.  Not wanting to seem one to cry over spilled milk, I said nothing to the hostess upon our departure, because I did not wish the young lady's accident to be the blame of our terrible stay.  The difference between my mother and I and the rest of the clientele was that of apparel, us being much more casual in dress than those at other tables; myself having oddly coloured hair which stands out.  This is the only difference I could discern between my group and the others and to me this does not seem reason enough to warrant such inattentiveness from our hostess.  We were paying customers just the same as the others, did we not deserve the same level of treatment they did?  Like I said earlier, I will not be patronizing this location again, which is a loss to myself because I truly enjoy their menu.  However atmosphere of the sort I witnessed this evening is enough to keep me away.  I heard mention that our hostess was indeed the owner and if this is the case then I feel the shame that she obviously does not for such a lowly posture.

Journals kept for my CAMH counselor

Saturday, Aug 18, 2001
it starts when I wake up .... in the middle of the night.. for no apparent reason .. suddenly I'm back in "that place" .. where the world is talking to me and trying to tell me something .. I don't know how to explain it without going into everything that's happened in my "trip" ...

I can't even really call them flashbacks.. because it's not like it's reliving something that happened.. it's always progressive.. it's new pieces to the ever-growing puzzle...

it's like I'm allergic to everything .. and different stimulus give me different reactions ..

I can't seem to sit down and write about what happens when it happens.. so I don't know how to give you dates or times ...  I'll try to be more punctual with my writing as the week goes on.

Monday, Aug 20
.. I wake up in the morning and I feel like I'm waking up in the wrong place.. like somehow my body is somewhere else and I need to try harder to put this body back to sleep so that I can wake up where I'm supposed to.  Like I'm borrowing this time and this place and they're not reality.  Sometimes I try.  I hold my eyes shut with my fingers and try to open that third-eye and see where I REALLY am, but it doesn't quite work.  I hear noises here and feel like they're just to cover up for the noises I'm hearing in the other place.  I'm afraid they're burying me alive over there, and one day, when this "game" is all over, I'll wake up in a coffin, underground, and all I'll have with me is a lighter.

Tuesday, Sept 4
I try to go to bed .. and my thoughts just wont stop racing .. I feel like "They" are attempting to fill my brain with the rest of the story..  I don't know how else to explain that part.  Somehow there are only 2 people/entities in actual existence, everything else is just figments of their collective imagination so they don't have to feel alone.  Some days I think I am the sum total of one of those entities/people .. and other days I feel like I don't exist at all, like I'm just the story teller/keeper of wor(l)ds....  To make the sensations go away, I just pretend like I don't hear it, like I don't understand it .. and slowly things will fade back to normal .. but the problem is I DO understand it.. I CAN hear it when the voices talk to me.. they're never loud and clear, they're always in the distance and something only my subconscious mind picks up .. but I am consciously aware that they are there.........

Other times, I wake up and I'm sure that this is going to be the last day.. time doesn't exist.. it has already expired -- its always 4:20 ... nothing matters .. *sigh*

Wednesday, Sept 12
I lay down to take a nap ... I close my eyes .. and its like somehow I'm transported to this other dimension.  I'm stuck in this "game".. its like, I'm controlling the altimeter of my domain ... trying to keep myself level .. and some random bursts of thought tip me one way or the other .... then I try to LOOK with my minds eye at the patterns that are there and I find myself in a tailspin, so I have to try to remember how NOT to look .. and finally I'm back out in that place where I'm just trying to keep myself level ... and if I hold that level spot long enough . its like the game goes on to the next sequence of the game .. where there is this strange rotating image and I have to figure out which way it faces .... and sometimes I do, and I move on .. but by that time I get lost and scared and I try to "wake myself up" .. I'm not really asleep though.......... *sigh*

Disgust En-Mass -- by shiloh

[an article written for and published in a Computer-related e-zine]

It wasn't that long ago that I was a starry-eyed kid, who followed the scene blindly.  But it also wasn't that long ago that so-called hackers had morals, of a kind.  There was an unspoken collective agreement that hacking actually stood for something worth-while.  Somehow the term hacking has been seamlessly forever misdefined by all the cracker/fraudulent kiddies out there.  What ever happened to the freedom of information?  What ever happened to the righteousness behind a good hack?  Somehow young pre-teens have grown up on exploits and power-trips.  Somehow the latest crack has been given the title of a "hack" and we all spread the word.

But that's not what hacking is and never has been.  Years ago I remember sitting in a backwards channel on a not-so-reccommended corner of IRC arguing over the definition of a hacker.

hacker (n.) 1. one who works as an individual or as part of a team to gain access to information otherwise not available to the public, under the belief that all information is and should be public knowledge.  2. one who works as an individual or as part of a team to bring forward into the public eye the flaws and loopholes present in current so-called secure systems.

When we happened on that one, there was still some semblance of truth to it.  There were still those we could point out who worked under the guidelines of such statements, rather than for the simple purpose of being able to "0wn" a system and then leave their mark, possibly destroying pertinent data in the process.

With the new millennium rapidly descending upon us, and the possibility of the end of the world, most wannabe hackers are just out for a name for themselves.  They want their alias flashed across the web, they want faces in the news.  They like the idea of a stack of newspaper clippings with THEIR alias in it, because they would only agree to be quoted if "their identity remains unknown".

These so-called hackers are simply mislabeled.  They're not hackers.  They're something that no one really wants to relate to, but deep inside knows they are.  These script-kiddies, who steal other people's work and use it to crack into a system, are simply one thing collectively:  criminals.

"... a California consulting firm, Computer Economics Inc., issued a report June 18 that estimated business losses of $7.6 billion to virus and 'worm' attacks in the first half of this year alone. " (Taken from the online The Inquirer, an article Sunday June 27, 99 - http://www.phillynews.com/inquirer/99/Jun/27/front_page/HACK27.htm)

There is no end to the amount of damage caused by these people working in the name of hacking.  They easily slip into systems, through glaring flaws in the security, and then wreck havoc.  The worst part is?  They're proud of it.  They're 14, 15, 16 year old's for the most part and they brag to their friends about it.  Common-place today is what is best known as Web-hacking, where an individual or group will enter a system and re-write www/html files to put their name on the web.  Normally such edited files will include nasty threats, proclamations of superiority, shout-outs to friends, disturbing graphics and if we - the viewing audience - are lucky, there'll also be a group logo, such as the Keebler Elves 0wned icon.

It's criminal.  What is the betterment to anyone by this?  Sure, the site goes offline, the administrators spend time and money checking into their security, and the police/fbi make a half-hearted effort at tracking down the vandals.  It's an electric form of tagging.  That's all it is.  WWW pages are just another form of large down-town brick buildings eager for a coat of spray-paint.

I suppose what gets to me the most - the real clincher is - rarely do these kids get in by their own devices.  It's usually some exploit they picked up from slashdot or bugtraq, written by maybe even a friend of theirs, but not them, and put to use after multiple testings of online IRC unfortunates.  In all honesty, I'm not computer illiterate and am capable of running an executable file on my *nix machine.  It wouldn't be so hard for me to crack into any number of severely crippled security-wise web pages and maybe even post this article.   It's something I've written and put my own effort into.  Why shouldn't I plaster is all over the web for the world to read?  Because there's a little bit of morality in me.  I wouldn't break into my next-door neighbour's house and leave it on their kitchen table for them to read, or wallpaper their house with it.  I wouldn't break into the Police Station's file room and put one in every case folder for someone to happen upon later.  Why should I break into a company web site and plaster their page with my words, why should I attempt to 0wn an FBI site for the sole purpose of making a name for myself?

When speaking with a long-time security consultant who has experience from the at-home aspect, on up into corporate Motorola and then back down to the level of local ISP, he shared a few words of wisdom "What you should do, as a hacker, is leave a file, maybe something called iwashere.txt - because then it's 8 characters and works in all platforms, including the out-dated DOS ones - with something to the effect that you broke into their system, have looked around, that they're not going to be able to track you, but you want them to know that you were here and then sign it with your online alias.  After you do this to a number of sites, you're going to get the fame you want, and the sites are going to go about securing themselves just as they would if you'd edited their web page, but you haven't caused any REAL damage."

Over the years the term "hacking" has become one related closely to computer/phone-crimes and credit-card fraud.  The previously given definition has little chance of ever standing true again and those of us who remember the "old-school" days sit back silently and watch the youngsters quickly bury themselves in a world they just don't understand.  Anarchy has yet to find a solid ground in our society and when one tries to live outside the walls of the norm, but insists on leaving trails inside, there's only one place for them to end up.