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Category: Newsletter (page 26 of 28)

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This website was archived on July 20, 2019. It is frozen in time on that date.
Exolymph creator Sonya Mann's active website is Sonya, Supposedly.

Behavior Can Trump Encryption

Advice from Whonix’s guide to preserving internet anonymity via web opsec:

“Someone sent you an pdf by mail or gave you a link to a pdf? That sender/mailbox/account/key could be compromised and the pdf could be prepared to infect your system. Don’t open it with the default tool you were expected use […] by the creator. For example, don’t open a pdf with a pdf viewer.”

I’m less interested in this specific suggestion than the principle behind it. The bolded sentence hits on a key insight — when you can, subvert your enemy’s expectations. How would their perfect target behave? Adopt the opposite practices. Of course, this adds a lot of inconvenience to your life, so keep in mind whether your situation warrants elaborate identity-protection.

Photo by Shannon Kringen.

Photo by Shannon Kringen.

I also read through some of the Hacker News comments on Whonix’s how-to, and this one by user nikcub stood out as being particular savvy: “Your personas [should be] isolated and segregated. They share no information, hobbies, interests and at a tech level they don’t share connections, machines, browsers, apps.”

When you’re trying to stay anonymous, having access to high-tech tools is very helpful — donate to TOR! — but being careful and thinking through every step is even more crucial.

nikcub’s comment also recommended Underground Tradecraft (thegrugq’s Tumblr) so I fell into an opsec rabbit hole. Expect more on this topic soon.

Dance Dance Self-Improvement

This weekend I’ve been playing off-brand Dance Dance Revolution with my boyfriend. He’s pretty good at it, and I’m terrible. The experience of repeatedly failing at novice-level songs has made me realize — once again — how profoundly uncomfortable I feel when I’m not good at something immediately. All those fifth-grade kickball games must have scarred me. (I’m not actually that bad at kickball, but I was petrified by the whole exercise.)

Photo by Rasmus Olsen.

Photo by Rasmus Olsen.

Typically I just don’t do things that I don’t have a knack for, like sports or friendship. But I wanted to share in my boyfriend’s joy, so I bravely stepped along to weird pop songs from the ’90s. I’m only half-joking about the “bravely” part! This sounds ridiculous given that we’re talking about DDR, but it’s legitimately scary for me to be incompetent in front of other people.

Now imagine a world where I can download skills into my brain instantaneously, a la The Matrix. After quickly skimming the training module, I can spar with the experts, no problem. What effect would that capability have on people’s character growth?

Running up against frustration and having to work through it is key to developing maturity. Life is nothing if not perpetually disappointing, and if you can’t cope with initial failure, you’ll never achieve later success. (Unless you’re a bizarre statistical outlier!) That said, the current system means that people avoid activities they’re bad at — at least weak-willed people like me, and I suspect we’re the majority.

So is there a downside to the skills-direct-to-mind idea or not?

We Can All Agree, Right?

“The Internet can move almost any financial instrument as easily as it moves texts and emails. We just need consensus on how this should happen.” — Cade Metz, “The Plan to Unite Bitcoin With All Other Online Currencies”

Of course, needing consensus is a huge obstacle. Arguably, needing consensus is civilization’s defining problem. Complete agreement isn’t necessary, but you need enough to stave off revolution. A sufficiently powerful autocrat can obviate the need for consensus, but only for a limited amount of time — decades, perhaps, but not even a half-century. True cultural shifts depend on majority opinion, and they inch forward like glaciers: slow but unstoppable. The United States wouldn’t have women’s suffrage or civil rights without something approaching mass consensus.

The other day I chatted with Samio Quijote​ about internalized capitalism. For example: if I’m not “productive”, I feel worthless. Economic systems reinforce particular values, which is not bad — it just is. A type of societal consensus emerges from capitalism, or at least it’s an effect of the market. Without a sort of consensus surrounding supply-demand dynamics, there are no prices and commerce must cease. Seeking decentralized consensus, not dependent on explicit agreement but on behavior incentivized by a certain system, is easy. You just set up conditions and see how people react.

One Step Closer To Killer Roombas

Alice Maz discovered Knightscope’s “autonomous data machines”, aka crimebots. Not robots that knock over liquor stores, but robots that prevent crime. (Theoretically? I guess we’ll find out!) On their website, Knightscope enthuses, “Imagine no longer. The future is here today. It’s affordable, friendly, intelligent and best of all, it’s available NOW!” Anyway, Alice thought the crimebot was cute:

crimebots

crimebots

crimebots

But hey, no worries — they’re not weaponized! According to Knightscope’s FAQ: “The K5 is a friendly community tool used exclusively to deliver relevant and real-time information to the appropriate authorities, not to enforce the law. It is an additional set of intelligent eyes and ears used to help security and law enforcement professionals do their jobs more effectively.”

In news that’s totally unrelated, I’m sure, @SwiftOnSecurity tweeted about humanity’s inevitable demise:

“We fear intelligent machines because humanity fears being judged. It is the fear we have no birthright claim to the throne of this world. If the machines should vote us unfit for hegemony, there exists nothing in this empty galaxy to break the tie. We’re down here alone. But really, what has scifi ever been other than a looking glass on our own insecurities in an age of lots of science, and plenty of fiction.”

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Don’t Get Busted

Italian police

Photo by Rodrigo Paredes.

“That’s a cop, you moron,” she hissed in his ear, tugging him down the tight alleyway. Actually, it was too small to be an alley — more like an unfilled gap between buildings. The concrete bricks scraped against Jason’s back. He could feel the roughness through his jacket.

“I know. But my sister is still out there,” he protested, squinting through the narrow channel to the street. He could vaguely hear yelling but couldn’t see much.

Evvy yanked on his arm. “We can’t do shit for her right now. And if you don’t come with me, I can’t do shit for you either.”

He blew air out between his lips. Jason could feel the headache expanding in his brain. When they had dodged into this space, the cop was still fifty feet away. His sister Melissa was frantically packing up her mobile shop, where she sold game IP burned onto old spindisks. Evvy was holding, so she panicked and dragged Jason with her into this tightly squeezed escape route.

Pain spiked in his temples. Jason closed his eyes and shoved his way after her. Evvy muttered an expletive. “Do you know what’s on the other side?” he asked.

“Yup,” she said curtly. “We’ll be fine. I don’t think anyone saw us. But let’s move fast, okay?”

“Melissa saw us.”

“We have to hope she doesn’t squeal,” Evvy growled.

Jason didn’t answer. He felt guilt spreading through his head along with the throbbing soreness.

If the cops caught you with amphetamines and neuro hookups, they’d arrest you. So of course Evvy was afraid. After you were rounded up, there was a slim probability that you’d disappear. Rumored locations ranged from North Korea to Tennessee to an ignominious hole in some police chief’s backyard. The rumors were probably exaggerated — people got picked up and released all the time. But Evvy was paranoid. She had resistance friends. Like him.

Contraband game IP wasn’t such a big deal, Jason told himself. Besides, Melissa was quick. She might have dodged into another unseen escape avenue. Or sweet-talked her way out of a full search.

Evvy gripped Jason’s elbow and pulled him back into the light on an open street. He stumbled slightly as he followed her. “Keep it together,” she said in a strained voice.

“I’m cool,” he said. “Just getting a headache.”

“Stop worrying about Melissa. And don’t freak out on me. I’ll plug you in. Just give me a minute to get us —” Evvy stopped mid-sentence. There was another cop in front of them.

“Hey,” the officer said. He had his fists on his hips, and his sleeves were rolled up so that Jason could see the chrome forearm reinforcements. They weren’t powered on, but the threat was implicit. Metal banded the cop’s wrists, and it shifted when he did.

Evvy was half-crouching, but she straightened when the officer spoke. “Can I help you, sir?” It’s better to stay alive than make a point, Evvy told herself. It’s better to stay free and kicking. She tried to beam this thought to Jason even though 1) she didn’t have neuro ports and 2) he wasn’t aggressive enough confront this guy anyway. Jason seemed frozen like an old OS.

The policeman said, “Why are you in such a hurry, folks?”

“We’ve got an appointment,” Evvy answered.

“Sure,” the cop snorted. “You’re late for a very important date. Okay, you know the drill. Face the wall and get your hands on the brick.”

Evvy turned. Adrenaline buzzed through her brain. The stash wasn’t directly in her pockets, but it wasn’t hidden very many layers deep. She cursed herself for choosing convenience over security. Sloppy. Of course you get caught.

Jason put his hands on the wall and felt his weight pulling on his shoulders. The pain in his head was intensifying. It felt worse than a regular headache. He could hear the officer talking — recognized the noise as a voice — but units of sound weren’t converting to understandable words.

The cop started patting down Evvy. “When I see scrapers like you two running, I know something’s wrong.” He ran his hands up and down her legs, then reached into her pockets to turn them inside out. He grabbed her four-inch wafer and looked it over briefly. “Old school.” The screen awoke when he tapped it. “Unlock this,” he ordered, prodding Evvy to turn around.

Before she could do it, Jason collapsed, jerking against the wall and falling heavily to his knees. He toppled further toward his right side and landed half-twisted, mouth lolling open. Evvy stared at the red wet opening. She noticed that Jason’s teeth were still wired together in the back, from getting fixed up after that fight.

“What’s he on?” the policeman demanded.

“Nothing,” Evvy said. “He’s clean.”

“Yeah, yeah. You kids always lie to me. Just turn over whatever you’ve got and we’ll call this even. I don’t want to deal with your boyfriend.” He nudged Jason with the metal toe of his boot. Jason made a grunting noise.

Evvy bit her lip, trying to decide quickly. Was this some kind of ploy to catch her? But he could haul them both back to the precinct if he wanted, or simply pull out his scanner. Then again, this cop could be a sociopath who got off on manipulating his perps. They certainly existed.

Evvy looked at Jason again. He didn’t seem okay. She knew he kept playing those shoddy games that Melissa ripped — maybe this was a bug. She had friends who tweaked their firmware on purpose, so surely it could happen by accident.

“Make up your mind before he pukes and chokes on it,” the officer advised.

Instinctively turning to face the wall, Evvy lifted the hem of her shirt and pushed down her waistband, then felt for the latch on her hip compartment. The patch of silicon skin popped open, and she pulled her stash out. “Here you go.”

The policeman took her plastic bag of amphetamines and the small tangle of neuro hookups. He stuffed them in his pocket, nodded to Evvy, and started strolling away. She tried not to think about the money.

Passersby were skirting the scene and walking on. Evvy knelt by Jason’s head and jostled him a little. He groaned. “Wake up, Jason,” Evvy said. She slapped his cheek softly. “Now would be a really fucking good time for you to wake up. I want to get out of here.”

He opened his eyes but didn’t say anything.

Quick Anarchism

The essence of cyberpunk is anti-corporatism. All the other principles follow from this. Technology wielded by a large company must be combated, by the police (hence Ghost in the Shell) or by hackers (hence The Matrix). A corporation is a quasi-governmental economic organization — a power structure that coalesces in favor of profit.

Personally, I am not inherently opposed to market operations. But I am opposed to power beyond oversight, which corporations tend to aggregate for themselves. Why wouldn’t they? We need to provide them with alternative incentives — selfish motivation is key. The system must be constructed so that personal benefit is good for others as well.

The Container of My Person

“There were times, I told him, at the age of five, six, seven, when it was a shock to me that I was trapped in my own body. Suddenly I would feel locked into an identity, trapped inside myself, as if the container of my person were some kind of terrible mistake. My own voice and arms, my name, seemed wrong. As if I were a dispersed set of nodes that has been falsely organized into a form, and I was living in a nightmare, forced to see from out of this limited and unreal ‘me.’” — The Flamethrowers by Rachel Kushner

I wonder if you’ve ever felt trapped in this way. I have, of course, and I suspect that you have too. Carrie Fisher said on Twitter (captioning a photo of her dog): “My body is my brain bag, it hauls me around to those places & in front of faces where theres something to say or see” [sic]. It’s unclear whether Carrie meant to apply this sentiment to herself or the dog, but it certainly applies to me. Her comment is a poem about how it feels to be an awful meat-sack — it feels, predictably, awful. Piloting this body is a slog.

Second Life screenshot by ▓▒░ TORLEY ░▒▓.

Second Life screenshot by ▓▒░ TORLEY ░▒▓.

The promise of virtual reality is to free us from such “real”-world restraints. What will our avatars look like in a hundred years? Post-gender and post-form, or exactly like the musclebound hunks and bit-titted blondes that titillate today’s Second Life denizens? We mustn’t forget the furries and weaboos, already a significant contingent of any visually oriented social network (which is all of them) (especially 4chan) (maybe they don’t haunt Instagram? idk).

Part of what draws me to cyberpunk, as an aesthetic / lifestyle / political ideal, is that I hate the tyranny of my physical form. I’m restricted to this flesh, to this brain full of misfiring synapses, and here’s the worst part: every experience that makes up who I am is filtered through faulty nerves. Wouldn’t my identity be completely different in a body with unfamiliar memories? Imagination says that I would be myself but better — yet I’m imposing my illusion of control on a hypothetical future. I’m not in charge of developing these simulation products. I don’t know what options and settings will be available.

Neither do you — don’t forget. Keep hacking, because the rest of us haven’t learned how.

Personal Topography

“Always have 3D glasses — you never know what you might run into.”

CR Anaglyph by Charles Robertson of Sediment Press

I talked on the phone with Charles Robertson of Sediment Press (remember cyberpunk Santa Claus?). He gave me that advice about 3D glasses. The above self-portrait, CR Anaglyph, is best viewed with such eyewear. I told him that I thought my readership was more likely to have 3D glasses than the average Joe, but I couldn’t guarantee anything.

Charles made the topographical map of his face using analogue methods — he lay on his back in a bathtub and had a friend take photographs while the waterline progressively rose. Looking at the snapshots later, he traced the waterline at different levels and compiled the tracings into one composite image.

We discussed maps, a recurring theme in Charles’ work. “You can represent a lot of information in a small space. […] A piece of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven paper can be an entire city.” He likes the aesthetic effect, too: “You set out to do something practical, but out of that you get these shapes, and colors, and geometries.” We talked about the homologies that arise from human design — have you ever noticed that a subway map looks like a computer chip?

Jo Liss on Twitter

Charles and his creative partner Tim Lovelace have been working on Sediment Press since 2011. They met at a screen-printing class. Now they live in different cities — Tim maintains a small studio in his home, and Charles does a lot of the design work, although each of them practices both parts of their craft. Sediment Press is fundamentally a collaboration.

We use maps to keep track of ourselves, where we’re situated. They are abstractions, never able to match the detail or roughness of real terrain. Yet maps also function as grounding devices. “I am here. These are the contours of my face. The context is clear.” Most maps are frozen in time — they represent a slice of eternity. If he had waited a week, the waterlines on Charles’ face would be different. Only a little, I’m sure, but different.

If We Ever Did

“In societies like ours many types of groups form around technologies […] We no longer live in a world of unmediated human relations, if we ever did.” — Andrew Feenberg

I’m obsessed with our continual attempts to expand our physical selves. The experience of being human has always been distributed — individuals are nodes in overlapping networks — and humanness flows between loci through channels outside of ourselves.

Computers serve as vessels for identity expression. Their infrastructure connects the nodes. Of course, conspicuous consumption and performative personal broadcasting are not new — we’ve used objects to communicate our cultural values forever, and our possessions can be said to embody our priorities.

At times we treat technology like a religious fetish. Maybe we’re just drawn to our own nature(s). Every human creation is a self-portrait.

Illustration by Maria De La Guardia.

Illustration by Maria De La Guardia.

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