47 lines
2.7 KiB
Plaintext
47 lines
2.7 KiB
Plaintext
The L0pht: What I Saw
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A sea of trash wafts across a battered wooden floor. In an
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antiseptic room that smells of vanished industry, the castoffs of
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corporate elecronics flourish beneath a sea of yesterdays high tech.
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The Vaxen, the behemoths of an age when technocracy was
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centralism, lurk like benevolent lords over an amassed army of dead
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displays and battered boards, all verged on the parralell brinks of
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operation and the trash. Peering out from the technorubble is the
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occasional active CRT; the occasional signal bursting forth from noise.
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A moto has been developed, half in jest (but then what isn't):
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"Entropy Rules". It's a double entendre or the technomedia set,
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displaying a brand of love for battered and discarded technology that
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verges on the sexual. All around are piles and piles and piles; stacks
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of fluff and garbage.
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But not really. Fluff and garbage canÕt begin to desribe this
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neo-industrial playground. This fluff and garbage, this TRASH, this is
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the playground of some of the most literate and wel connected
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people that have ever een the light of day. The discarded garbage of
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old tehnology provides the links, the connections to everything thatÕs
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going on, all that's out there, all that can be done. It's almost as if
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these broken boards and obsolete machines breed information, breed
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power. From all the garbage in the world, well, there's all the spare
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prts in the world. Or that's the way they look at it. If somebody else
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threw it out, thatÕs their good luck. This place, vestige as it is from
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another hypertechnical age, is a vacuum for technology. Every
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broken monitor and melted card seems to breed one that works. As
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the density of neophyte los grows greater, so does it attract even
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more.
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This place, this non-home home is more than that though. It's
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a place to chill, a place to party, a place to work: a place to owrship
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the technology that makes up itÕs members hearts and dreams. The
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members, the initiates, the visitors, these are people who live and
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breathe computers: who want and need them for all they do, who
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draw from digital devices the strength to do whatever they damned
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well want. In that sense, then, this is a place of worship. A
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mannequin sits armless atop a cabinet, wearing a veil and a mock IV:
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"Our Lady of the Vax". A joke, for sure, but a joke that everybody can
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get into, a joke that breeds other jokes: another of the mock-serious
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half truths that make up the fiber of those who made this place.
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All those things and more. Worship for the 'technomedia
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prietshood'. Part workshop, part playhouse. Rave center for the
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socially disinclined. Last vestige of the smart sleepless. A place for
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extra storage. The L0pht, man. It's got it all.
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-tfish GO-FORCE! -=RDT Synd.
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