Tuesday, October 26, 2010

F.A.Q. - De ce plang copacii…

SS852223

          Nu stiu ce vor oamenii, la ce raspuns se asteapta, atunci cand intreaba:”ma iubesti?” Ce vor, de fapt? Vor un raspuns pozitiv, vor un raspuns sincer, vor o negatie ? Ce vor? Oare nu isi dau seama ca, daca ai iubi, ai spune-o, fara sa ti-o ceara nimeni? Nu isi dau seama ca fie ii vei minti, ca sa eviti o situatie delicata, fie le spui adevarul, si creezi situatia delicata? Nu am inteles niciodata pentru ce aceasta intrebare… Pentru ce sa fortezi mana celui de langa tine, punandu-i-o? Daca iubesti, poti sa o spui celuilalt si fara sa astepti o confirmare… Prin asta se caracterizeaza chiar iubirea, daca imi aduc aminte bine… Prin non-egoism, prin daruire totala si neconditionata… Daca iubesti, este normal sa iti doresti ca cel de langa tine sa te iubeasca la randul sau, dar este la fel de normal sa nu i-o ceri tu, sa nu il grabesti, ci sa ai rabdare, caci, daca te va iubi vreodata, iti va da de stire… O vei afla cu certitudine: o vei vedea in sclipirea ochilor sai, o vei simti in bataile inimii sau in  tremuratul buzelor  sale… Cat de ciudat e sa cauti dragostea exact acolo unde stii ca nu exista, exact acolo unde ti se spune ca nu se poate. Poate ca e vorba de orgoliu, cum spun unii… Desi nu cred; nu se poate sa o faci din orgoliu prostesc. Cand iubesti, esti gata sa renunti la multe, la foarte multe lucruri, de care nu credeai ca te vei lipsi vreodata. Mie mi se pare ca, din contra, renunti pana si la acest “orgoliu”. Esti gata sa faci totul, nu mai gandesti, nu-ti dai seama ca ai putea parea penibil (caci asa e: dragostea implica penibilul, mai mult decat orice alt sentiment). Faci tot ce crezi ca e posibil tie ca sa il/o faci fericit/a. Si cand constientizezi ca nu e fericita, ca nu te iubeste, te simti mic, trist si rece… Te simti vinovat - poate ca nu am fost suficient de… - si iti doresti sa te fi straduit un pic mai mult, doar un pic ar fi fost suficient. Dar nu e asa. Nu ar fi fost suficient nici mult mai mult, nici un infinit mai mult decat atat... Daca nu exista sentimentul de iubire si in inima ei / lui, ca faci putine, sau prea multe e totuna; nu va conta si nu va schimba nimic… Dragostea nu e direct proportionala cu lucrurile bune pe care ti le ofera el sau ea… Exista sau nu exista, pur si simplu.                                                                                                          De ce oamenii se apropie intotdeauna de cei care ii resping? De cei care ii trateaza cel mai rece? Ce e in neregula cu firea umana? Este auto-mutilarea prezenta in fiecare dintre noi? Este masochismul la fel de prezent ca si sadismul in Om? Cum se face ca, pe fiecare lacrima ce trece, cu fiecare lacrima pe care o varsam pentru cineva, acela ne este mai drag, mai aproape de inima noastra, si suferim mai tare, plangem mai mult?                                                                                                                  Eu stiu de ce fac asta EU, dar imi este imposibil sa inteleg felul in care aleg si in care gandesc ceilalti… Eu caut acea ‘clipa’ pe care am pierdut-o, acel moment de daruire totala, de implinire… si, pentru clipa absoluta, trec peste toate aceste ‘lacrimi’, in speranta ca va veni momentul pe care il tot caut, si ca acesta va sterge cu buretele totul; toata suferinta, toate ‘lacrimile’, toata durerea ascunsa in spatele ochilor reci… De ce pun ‘lacrimi’ intre ghilimele? Fiindca sunt doar un simbol, echivalentul durerii pe care o simt de atatea ori, dar care nu ma face sa plang propriu-zis… Acum, sunt prea rece si am pierdut prea multe lacrimi, ca sa mai pot plange pentru propria-mi suferinta… Mai plang din cand in cand impreuna cu teii din parc, fiindca vor sa transforme singurul loc unde mai pot plange intr-un complex comercial, pentru ca un catelus schiop a fost batut pana l-au lasat intr-o balta de sange, pentru ca cineva plange din toata inima, pentru ca un OM a mai pierdut un VIS… Pentru asta plang: pentru ca omenirea, OMUL, in toata splendoarea lui, se departeaza de tot ceea ce e pur, de toate sentimentele frumoase.                                                                                               

                  Plang, anticipand durerea viitorilor copii, plang la amintirile actualilor batrani. Plang pentru EI, fara ca macar sa banuiasca acest lucru, fara a afla vreodata si fara a vedea in ochii mei altceva decat raceala cu care i-am obisnuit…

The Conscience of a Hacker

“Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"... Damn kids. They're all alike. But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him? I am a hacker, enter my world... Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me... Damn underachiever. They're all alike. I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..." Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike. I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me or feels threatened by me or thinks I'm a smart ass or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike. And then it happened. A door opened to a world. Rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..." I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all... Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike... You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for. I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.”

+++The Mentor+++


Text found in the “Anarchist cookbook 2001”