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################ ################### ######### ### ## ## ## ## ### ## ## ### ## ## ### ## #### ### ## #### ### ## ## ### ## ## ### ## ## ## ## ################ ################## ######### I n f o r m a t i o n, C o m m u n i c a t i o n, S u p p l y E L E C T R O Z I N E Information Communication Supply 10/5/93 Vol.1:Issue.4 Email To: ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU E D I T O R S: Local Alias: Email: ICS Positions: ============== ============ ====== ============== Deva Winblood MeTaL MaSTeR, ADP_DEVA Technical Director, Ephemeral Ask Deva, Tales of the Presence Unknown, Editing Ted Sanders Zorro STU520256399 Writer, Final Editor, Subscriptions, Fragment Design, Final Opinion Jeremy Bek rApIeR STU521279258 Layout, Writer, Editing, Subscriptions, Letters, Role Playing Games, Fragment Design Jeremy Greene Diabolus STU521139287 Technical Editor, Subscriptions Clint Thompson None ADP_CLINT Editing, Writer Steven Peterson Rufus T. Firefly STU388801940 Editing, Writer Russell Hutchison BurnouT STU524636420 Writer, Subscriptions, Editing George Sibley MAC_FAC FAC_SIBLEY Editing, Supervisor _____________________________________________________________________________ / \ | ICS is an Electrozine distributed by students of Western State | | College in Gunnison, Colorado. We are here to gather information about | | topics that are important to us all as human beings. If you would like | | to send in a submission please type it into an ASCII format and mail it | | to us. We operate on the assumption that if you mail us something you | | want it to be published. We will do our best to make sure it is | | distributed and will always inform you when or if it is used. | | See the end of this issue for submission information. | \_____________________________________________________________________________/ REDISTRIBUTION: If any part of this issue is copied or used elsewhere you must give credit to the author and indicate that the information came from ICS Electrozine ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU. DISCLAIMER: The views represented herein do not necessarily represent the views of the editors of ICS. contributors to ICS assume all responsibilities for ensuring that articles/submissions are not violating copyright laws and protections. |\__________________________________________________/| | \ / | | \ T A B L E O F C O N T E N T S / | | / \ | | /________________________________________________\ | |/ \| | Included in the table of contents you will see some| | generic symbols to help you in making your | | decisions on whether an article is something that | | may use ideas, and/or language that could be | | offensive to some. S = Sexual Content | | AL = Adult Language V = Violence O = Opinions | |____________________________________________________| I. FIRST OPINION: By Deva Winblood. This first opinion will explain the current situation of ICS Electrozine. II. THE OLD WAR AND THE COLD WAR: By George Sibley. The creative individual in the institution. (O) III. THE FRIEND I NEVER MET - Notes on Electronic Faith: By Bob Wilson. Computer technology and global networks have provided the genesis for a new medium of friendship. IV. WORLDNET TOUR GUIDE- Ask Deva - MUDs: By Deva Winblood. This instructional information explains how to connect to the multi-user games known as MUDs. (O) V. THE MARTIANS ARE COMING pt. 3: By Russel Hutchison. The next installment in the "short" story begun in ICS issue #3. VI. MY GOD, WHY HATH THOU FORSAKEN ME pt. 2: By Ted Sanders. The conclusion to the short story begun in ICS issue #4. VII. POETRY: By Stewart Carington. A good six poems that some may find enjoyable to read. VIII.BRAINWASHING: By Rodrigo de Almeida Siqueira. This is an article on brainwashing. Rodrigo submitted IMPURE MATHEMATICS which appeared in ICS Issue #4. IX. FINAL WORD: By Ted Sanders. This is the final opinion for Issue #5. A few thanks are given out, and a little reflection is pursued. #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*# * F I R S T O P I N I O N * # By # * Deva Winblood * #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*# ICS is back after a summer of unpredictability. ICS is now managing to gather wind in its sails. ICS has undergone significant staff changes and is now planning for the next issues. --- --- --- --- --- --- --- In the future ICS will be sent out in fragments. These fragments will be sections of an issue. Then when all the fragments have been sent out for an issue it will be stored in its entirety on an anonymous FTP site. There is a problem with this plan that ICS can use the help of its readers to solve. The UGLYMOUSE archive site where ICS back issues have been stored in the past is down. Thus, ICS is in need of new FTP sites that are willing to archive the back issues. If any readers of ICS have a site and/or know someone else in charge of a site that might be willing to archive ICS back issues, then write ICS immediately at ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU. The staff will be seeking to remedy this problem while bringing new ideas, stories, poetry, and hopefully some interviews in the near future. The staff now consists of people who are getting college credit for working on ICS and people who are not. The goal of the staff is to offer something of quality and creativity to the world. This goal will be the guiding principle behind ICS with other considerations such as class credit being of consideration only where time is concerned. The style of ICS will probably have some noticable changes in "flavor" whenever the staff changes in make-up. Continue to send ICS your letters and ideas. ICS will change with the lively new ideas that are stumbled upon. - 10/5/1993 - Deva B. Winblood -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - \ / \ THE OLD WAR AND THE COLD WAR / / George Sibley \ / \ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In the last issue of this 'zine, I posed an invitation for our reader-writers to offer constructive suggestions on how the evolution of "cyberspace tradition" in coming years might work to improve the usually rocky relationship between creative individuals and the institutions of human culture--schools, governments, corporations, and other entities of this sort. It is easy enough to see how dependent the creative individuals and the institutions are on each other. On the one side, institutions need creative problem solvers in order to retain the flexibility and adaptability necessary to survive in a changeable world; and on the other side, few individuals can muster the cultural resources (money, manpower, materials) necessary to thoroughly develop new ideas. But this very dependency seems to grate on the psychologies involved on both sides: creative individuals tend to be iconoclastic, impatient and freedom-oriented; whereas the individuals that dominate organizations tend to be conservative, consensual and control- oriented. As a result, the collaboration necessary for the success of either entity is usually ad hoc, temporary, and tense, with both entities settling back into an illusion of independence from each other as soon as the collaborative task is finished. Well, okay, you might say: that's just human nature. But when these collaborative tasks are finished, their consequences for the rest of us are just beginning, and enough evidence has accumulated to suggest that the products of those collaborations carry the uneasy "karma" of the processes that brought them into being. This is part of the message of an interesting new book by Joseph Schwartz: THE CREATIVE MOMENT (HarperCollins, 1992), subtitled "How science made itself alien to modern culture." In this book Schwartz is exploring the gap between what British scientist and writer C.P. Snow described in 1959 as "the two cultures"--the physical sciences on the one hand and the humanities on the other. Or more accurately, perhaps, Schwartz is trying to cajole, shame and beat alleged humanists into accepting a critical role in mediating between the (literally) explosive development of the physical sciences and the incomprehension of that development in the general public. His first book, EINSTEIN FOR BEGINNERS, began out of his own puzzlement at the standard contemporary response to Einstein: a kind of mass adulation on the one hand, and a culturally acceptable lack of comprehension of Einstein's work on the other. "How," Schwartz asked, "had Einstein, whose work was characterized by simplicity, clarity, and directness, become such a symbol of incomprehensibility to the outside world?" THE CREATIVE MOMENT is essentially Schwartz's generalization from the specific example of Einstein to a larger overview of how the present-day relationship between science and society developed. He drops back to the Galilean revolution of the 17th century and traces the major "creative moments" in science up to present, exposing the dangerous pattern whereby, even as all modern societies became increasingly dependent on and surrounded by the applications of science, the general understanding of science and its life-dominating applications decreased. Directly and indirectly, Schwartz's problem comes back to the "old war" between the creative individual and the institutions of culture, from Galileo versus the Church to NASA's uneasy alliance of science and politics that led eventually to the Challenger disaster. But one of the more fascinating chapters in Schwartz's book is his narration and analysis of what was arguably THE greatest, most tension-ridden, and most significant collaboration between the most impressive assembly of creative individuals a culture has ever managed to bring together for a common purpose, and the most massive mobilization of cultural resources in history for achieving that purpose: the "Manhattan Project which took nuclear physics from some vaguely formulated theories to the production of the nuclear bomb in a period of less than four years. The impetus for the Manhattan Project was reports from Nazi Germany that nuclear super-weapons were in some stage of development; President Roosevelt and his advisors felt the Allies had no choice but to go all-out to match and, if possible, beat the Germans in that development. As a result, between 1942 and 1945 government and industry--a tight and mutually profitable alliance of institutions--worked together to create, in Schwartz's words, "a nuclear weapons industry equal in size to the entire U.S. automobile industry of the time." But all that institutional mobilization of cultural resources--manpower, materials and money--would have meant nothing "without the dedication of some three hundred physicists from Europe and the United States whose practical research skills enabled them to find out whether the device was even possible and if so to find a way to build it." The creative individuals. And the "old war" between creative individuals and cultural institutions was never more evident. The scientists were concentrated at the hasty laboratory set up on a remote mesa north of Santa Fe--Los Alamos; there they lived and worked like a small anarchic republic in the middle of the massively authoritarian military-industrial machine that had effectively taken over the running of the country: a small republic, contained but not quite controlled--so long as the issue wasn't pushed too far by the scientists. Schwartz gives an overview of the tension that existed between the scientists and the military-imdustrial establishment, as personified in Brigadier General Leslie Groves--who, Edward Teller said, "could have won almost any unpopularity contest in which the scientific community at Los Alamos voted." Other scientists were less euphemistic: "The biggest sonovabitch I've ever met in my life," said one. "I hated his guts and so did everyone else." But a better picture of the nature of the situation at Los Alamos between the "creative individuals" and the "institution" probably comes from some of the accounts of the scientists themselves--such as Richard Feynman's account of his Los Alamos days in SURELY YOU'RE JOKING, MR. FEYNMAN. Feynman undoubtedly worked hard at his tasks, but he also put a lot of time and energy into efforts to confound military censors, find flaws in the security plans, and otherwise tweak at the institutions. In a sense, Feynman got the chance to live out every hacker's dream: he could tweak the system almost at will, and the system had to put up with it in a kind of a fuming silence because the system knew it needed Feynman more than Feynman thought he needed the system. But Schwartz's analysis of the period shows that, in this rather adolescent squandering of intellectual power, Feynman and the other scientists might have given away their chance to really influence world history in a positive way. The scientists knew when they began the project what kind of fire they were playing with; and many of them, according to Schwartz, were only willing to work on the project at all because of the danger that the Nazis might also develop nuclear capability. Many of them were clear about the fact that they were NOT doing it "for the United States" or even for the Allies, but to save the world from Nazi madness. What the scientists did not know was that, within a year or so of the project's beginning, the military knew that the Nazis would never manage to develop a working nuclear capability. But the military and the government--to the extent that that was a viable distinction in the war years--wanted to continue with the bomb project because they were increasingly worried about "the red menace" to an American world hegemony in the postwar period. In 1944, the purpose of the Manhattan Project quietly changed: it was not to counter a nonexistent Nazi threat but--in words attributed to Groves--"to subdue the Soviets." Very few of the scientists knew of this, however, for the simple fact that the controlling institutions figured that sometimes it is better for the right hand to not know too much about what the left was doing. Of the few who found out that they were no longer working to save the world but to advance American postwar foreign policy, some asked to be released, and returned to the "real world." But the scientists themselves had so little internal community that the word of this change did not really get around. Thus, perhaps, it ever is with creative individuals. The bomb was developed, and the bomb was used--pretty clearly, according to Schwartz's well-documented analysis, not to stop the war but to wave a warning flag to the Soviets. After Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the scientists began to wake up--both to what they had done, and to what had been done to them by the institutions they had served without trying to understand. Many of them called for immediate international control of all nuclear research and products, but it was of course too late. They had, in essence, opened the door to the barn and to the horsestalls; it was too late to call for locking the barn. Schwartz is harsh in his judgment of the military-industrial complex that had exploited the scientists with partial truths and unrevealed agendas: The physicists' main accomplishment was to deliver a bomb to the U.S. authorities that strengthened the hand of the anti- Soviet hawks in the U.S. establishment who, in their attempt to intimidate the Soviet Union, initiated a nuclear arms race that fifty years later has spread across the globe and shows only the most minimal signs of abating. The physicists, motivated by the best of intentions, entered into an employee-employer relationship with the corporate and military power structure of the United States, a rela- tionship over which they had no control. There they were manipulated into creating a technology that gave their employers the power of life and death over the entire planet. That said, however, Schwartz does not let the scientists off the hook--a pack of gullibles, perhaps, no worse than suckers, just bad poker players. He suggests, as many of the scientists themselves have since admitted, that the "physicists on the Manhattan Project have a lot to answer for" even though "there were very few turning points." But the whole problem with "creative individuals" resides in his next sentence: If objectively they had the power to stop the project, they had neither the consciousness to conceive of this possibi- lity nor the forms of social organization that could have made such an action practical. To make a radical lateral leap, historian Richard White came to the same conclusion about the mythos of the "rugged American individual" in his wonderful new history of the American West, IT'S YOUR MISFORTUNE AND NONE OF MY OWN. It was in the best interests of both the federal government (which White claims "invented itself" in the West) and the private networks of finance and commerce in America to nurture that mythos of the rugged American individualist, because that created the cultural "vacuum," devoid of meaningful local community structure, into which private and public power structures could expand. There is something sobering for creative individuals in these lessons (and of course we each want to think that, yes, there is at least a little bit of that creativity in me): the individual's private contempt for those institutions that control the resources might be more the source of the individual's trouble than the institutions themselves. The example of Feynman--as he portrays himself in his book--is interesting in this regard. Feynman is so pleased with his abilities to play around with the institutions' censors and security arrangements. Suppose, however, that Feynman had invested the same kind of time and energy in taking the military-industrial machine seriously, as an entity out to exploit his knowledge for the increase of its own power--over him as well as the rest of the world. Suppose he might then have opened some discourse among his fellows about how they might both do their work but retain some say in how their work would be used. Suppose they had hatched there the entirely revolutionary idea of the "creative community. . . ." But reading Feynman, I at any rate get the feeling that there is simply no capacity in Feynman for THAT kind of thought- -or action. All of his psychic development seems to have gone into the development of the awesome powers that made him a first- rate "creative individual"; there was just nothing left over, no brain-space or whatever, for the development of a social being. And the inverse is of course true for those nonindividuals who work for control through ever-larger bureaucratic institutions: the creative impulse (along with any other impulse) is the first thing that has to go when control is the primary goal. So let's hear some more thoughts on this from out there. Maybe not all of you are so fundamentally pessimistic about this as I'm afraid I am. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ^ ^ |\__________________________________________________/| | The Friend I Never Met - Notes On Electronic Faith | | By Bob Wilson | \__________________________________________________/ I'm one of those people who has always had a hard time making friends. Oh yeah, I'm out and about, social and friendly enough, and I know (am acquainted with) quite a few people. But there are very few that I trust enough to touch my soul, allowing them to see the person behind the mask. Yet, what has most surprised me of late is the number of friends, real friends, I have made on the Internet. I'm absolutely amazed by how quickly I came to trust someone I had never physically seen, touched, or spoken to. Given the ever-increasing traffic on the global networks, I don't think I'm alone in this discovery. When I subscribed to my first electronic discussion group, I had no idea what would be involved - what my or anyone elses level of participation would be. I remember thinking, "Well, I'll just sit quietly over here on the fringe and read what these folks are writing about." My hesitancy to become involved was due to a lack of trust; I didn't trust the global blackbox called Internet, and I didn't initially trust the content of the messages flashing across my screen. The idea that I would have a personal exchange never occurred to me. I expected clinical opinion -- lists of lists -- dry discourse -- data. That is not what I got. What I found instead was absolutely wonderful! Here was the whole human experiment being played out on my desk. I sank into pools of language, expression, wit, and thought. The logical arguments offered were stark and beautiful, like Euclid's Postulates, while the illogical drew circles in the clouds and called them cowboys. Every morning my terminal spewed out blips of new ideas and numbing doubts, snobbish aloofness and secured acceptance, unremitting rage and unplumbed patience. I was allowed to read the thoughts, written just the night before, of someone who lives in Austria or Brazil or Finland. I had no idea what these folks looked like, what they sounded like, what economic level they enjoyed, what skin color they were. But none of that mattered; what mattered was that they wanted to share their ideas with me. Once involved in some of the discussions, I was drawn to those subscribers who had a better gift for the English language than I. Language skills are a lot like music skills or math skills, some people are better endowed with the gift than others. I wanted to be like them. I coveted their command of language, their ability to deftly paint pictures in the mind's eye using nothing but an ASCII text file. I also coveted their ability to approach a problem or idea from more than just one direction at a time. They consistently attacked or supported ideas from completely unanticipated directions. Although most of the time they came up with junk, there were also times that they hit on something really new and exciting. I learned that nothing was more delicious than a fresh, juicy idea marinated, broiled, and served in a sauce of humor - and that the quality of the dish reflected the skill of the chef. Although it served for introductions, electronic friendships weren't built through a listserver discussion group. It required a one-to-one contact. I had to shove aside that universal fear of rejection, knock on private electronic doors, introduce myself, and be invited in for tea. The usual reaction to my gentle tapping was typically, "Yes, what do you want?". I remember feeling awkward and intrusive. I wanted to go to great lengths to explain that I really didn't want any money from them and that I wasn't trying to sell life insurance on the Internet. I finally just said "Hello - I liked what you wrote the other day. Where did that idea come from?". For some people, that's all the encouragement they needed. They poured out like water from an artesian well. Making and keeping electronic friends requires all of the same elements as personal friendships, but in somewhat amplified form. A primary element is honesty. Your words, opinions, and ideas HAVE to be honest to a fault - you can't lie and expect to keep your friend. With nothing else to support it, an electronic friendship is built on words and a fragile thread of trust that binds them. The smallest lie, discovered, snaps it. The second element is permission. If I send my friend a note about my faith or family or whatever, I also convey my permission for him/her to comment upon it, whatever they think about it. An electronic friendship cannot withstand the strain of a detonated emotional word-trap laid at the door. If you don't want comment on a topic, don't throw it out there. As in cards, if it hits the table face up, it's played. Keep it private. An electronic friendship is a pact, a covenant of privacy between two human souls. It is strange to get email discussing marriages, relationships, money, job security, etc., from persons you have never physically met. To get such mail at all is an extreme statment of faith. If you betray the privacy of your friends, the voice in the back of your mind begins to wonder aloud if your friends may likewise betray you. And then there is that nagging remembrance that Email files are, at least occasionally, archived. I prefer the term "grace" to define the final element necessary for electronic friendships. It means to demonstrate patience, acceptance, compassion, understanding, and empathy. Your friend is just as human as you are, with all the fears and failings you have. You won't have answers to all their questions and you won't necessarily be in a position to help them. You can disagree with them without dishonoring them. You may be able to help them in ways that no one else can, but it will require a certain quality of grace to do so. Here's to a long and fruitful life - and a few good friends. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _______________________________________ / Column: Ask Deva \ MUDHead | | Multi-User-Dungeon VR SO RL | W o r l d N e t T o u r G u i d e | BSX Clients BRB BBL | Number Four | MUG DikuMUD Lagging |---------------------------------------| MUSH LPMUD TinySoap | Multi-User Games: Followup to ICS | MUCK MUSE TinySex | Issue #1, MUDS: A Computer Social | MOO UNTERMUD IRC | Virus. | MUDWho UriMUD Haven \_______________________________________/ MAGE TinyMUD PRE-GARBLE: The current ICS staff members suggested creating a column called ASK DEVA. They were thinking that our readers might have some specific questions concerning the net and such that they would like answered. From this point on WORLDNET TOUR GUIDE will be the ASK DEVA column. In this column I will do my best to answer questions that our readers have concerning the net. If the situation should arise that none of our readers have questions to ask, then this column will be the same WORLDNET TOUR GUIDE column that many of you have expressed interest in. It is the wishes of the ICS staff that the technical aspects of this electrozine be kept to a minimum. Thus, this will most likely be the only column of a technical or instructional nature. "There are always exceptions." - Someone (Myself on several occasions) INTRODUCTION: After publishing the article MUDS : A COMPUTER SOCIAL VIRUS for ICS Issue #1, ICS received many letters expressing the views of some of the readers concerning this topic. Many of the letters received indicated that a number of ICS readers were disappointed that I did not explain how to access any MUDS so that they could go see for themselves. This WORLDNET TOUR GUIDE will focus on MUDS, how to access them, how to quickly learn the syntax, and a few warnings. --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- The first thing a person needs to know in order to connect to a MUD is the ADDRESS and the PORT. There is a very good source for obtaining MUD site information. The source I use is called _The Totally Unofficial List of Internet Muds_. This list is copyrighted and published by Scott Goehring. To obtain a copy of this list you can either subscribe to the mailing list which sends out a new list every month, or you can FTP it (FTP -> WorldNet Tour Guide #1 ICS Vol 1. Issue 2). SUBSCRIBING to the MAIL LIST: ----------------------------- Everywhere except .UK addresses send mail to .UK addresses send mail to PJC@COMPUTER-SCIENCE.MANCHESTER.AC.UK. FTPing the BACK ISSUES of the MUDLIST: -------------------------------------- FTP to and look in the directory /pub/mud. WHAT THE MUDLIST PROVIDES: GameName Text Address Numeric Address Port Status EndNotes The GAMENAME column just tells the reader of the MUDLIST the title that the MUD designers have chosen for that MUD. These names are often misleading when one attempts to relate the title to the contents of the game. The TEXT ADDRESS is the address that you will need to connect to as represented in a WORDY text format. The NUMERIC ADDRESS is the actual INTERNET ADDRESS of the machine you will need to connect to. The numeric address will sometimes work when the TEXT ADDRESS is not recognized by your machine. The PORT specifies which PORT/SOCKET you will need to connect to inorder to connect to the MUD. A PORT is a communications CHANNEL, all devices for Input and Output on a computer will communicate through one port or another. To use a MUD you must connect to the PORT that the MUD has seized for use in communication. The STATUS column indicates how succesful attempts to connect to this MUD have been. Refer to the bottom of the MUDLIST for more information. The ENDNOTES refer to special considerations that need to be looked at for a specific MUD. The meanings attributed to these ENDNOTES can be found at the end of the MUDLIST. CONNECTING TO A MUD: -------------------- Most machines connected to Internet use the command TELNET to connect to another computer across the Internet. If your machine does not allow you to use Internet, then try using the command RLOGIN. Try these various formats of commands until you find one that works for you. > TELNET address/PORT=port# EXAMPLE: $ TELNET > RLOGIN address/PORT=port# > TELNET address port# > RLOGIN address port# If none of these formats work properly then contact your systems administrator or your local computer guru and ask them how to connect to a remote machine on a specific port. CONNECTION ERRORS: ------------------ Errors can occur while attempting to connect to a MUD. The common errors can usually be interpretted to mean the following things. CONNECTION REFUSED: The port you specified is not accepting connections. This usually means that the MUD Designers are working on the MUD and it is temporarily not running. However, this is also the first sign that a MUD is gone for good. So, check the next available mudlist to see if the MUD you are looking for is still up and running. CONNECTION TIMED OUT: The connection between your computer and the host computer that the MUD is running on is currently experiencing difficulties. Internet does fail for brief periods of time on occasion. Keep checking every once in awhile. Eventually, the MUD will probably come back up. NO ROUTE TO HOST: This one is the one that can often mean bad things for the MUD you are searching for. This means internet is down (temporarily?) between yourself and the host. It could also mean that the computer which holds the MUD is no longer connected to internet (Hopefully, it is just temporarily turned off for maintenance reasons). VAX/VMS SPECIAL PREPARATIONS: ----------------------------- If the your machine is a machine using the VMS operating system, you may have to take a few extra steps to get some of the MUDS to function. You need to enter SETUP mode and change NO NEW LINE to NEW LINE in order for the text of the MUD to appear on your screen in the proper fashion. MUDS that need this preparation are MUSH, MUSE, MUCK, MAGE, and any derivative of these code types (SEE MUDLIST for confirmation of code type). ONCE CONNECTED: --------------- Once you are connected to a MUD try typing HELP. This will usually give you a list of other categories for which help is available. The HELP command will aid you a great deal in learning how to manuever in the MUD of your choice. The other method of learning that you should pursue is that of asking OTHER players. To communicate you usually will find the command in the following format. > SAY what you want to say To find out who else is currently playing the MUD try the following. > WHO If a command does not work then try it in UPPER and LOWER case modes. EXAMPLE: > WHO > who To QUIT a mud you usually can type QUIT. WARNINGS TO WOULD BE MUD EXPLORERS: ----------------------------------- As I said in the article in ICS Issue #1, MUDS are extremely addictive and should be approached with caution. A MUD user will often progress to 10 -> 18 hours a day of MUD playing. These MUDHeads will neglect schoolwork, fiances, girlfriends, significant others, work, etc. and soon find themselves in dire situations that would not have happened had they never stumbled onto a MUD. So, if you plan to explore a MUD, please for your sake, and for the sake of those you love, practice moderation!! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ____________________________ / The Martians Are Coming \ \ (part 3) / \ / \ By Russell Hutchison / \______________________/ Before the story continues I would like to offer a recap of parts 1&2. A fleet of warships from the colonies on Mars are battling the Earth Defense Fleet in an effort to win independence from Earth, hoping to catch the EDF off guard and overwhelm them. But, last issue, the EDF showed that they had a few tricks left to play and fired massive railguns that were mounted in the space station 'Garden.' Meanwhile Rick, Frank's wingman, had broken away from Frank in persuit of an Earth BAT class fighter. (continued from issue 4) Rick wasn't as impressed as Frank with the firepower of 'Garden.' Mostly because he had followed the path of the BAT fighter and was facing the opposite direction of 'Garden,' trying to achieve a lock-on. "Frank, what's wrong with you! Get your ass down here!" Frank pulled his gaze away from 'Garden' to locate his wingman. His hands felt sweaty inside the gloves of his space suit, and a feeling that he was helpless to effect the outcome of the battle settled over him. He spotted his wingman and began to close the gap with him. I can help Rick, he thought. Frank could see the BAT fighter executing a tight loop with Rick in his less manuverable ANGEL trying to keep up. "Circle right and bring him towards me, Rick." "I can't see him anymore, Frank. He can turn tighter then I can." "Circle right, fast, he's coming around behind you." "Where is he!" "He's low and to your right! Circle right and double back on him! Do it NOW!" Frank's advice was too late. The faster BAT completed its loop and was behind Rick. A flight of ten missiles were racing through space before Rick had turned enough. The left half of Rick's delta-shaped ANGEL blossomed with explosions, three missiles missed. The light coning from the ANGEL's engines died, and the fighter began to tumble towards Earth. The BAT began to head towards the rest of the Earth Defense Fleet. "Rick! Are you conscious? Answer me--" Rick's yelling cut Frank off. "I've got no control! Help me Frank!" "You've got to get your engines started, or at least your maneuvering thrusters. Do it fast before you get any further into the atmosphere." Frank was finding it hard to think of ways to help, like an alcholic haze was enwrapping his mind. Come on Rick, he thought, get something to work. He ignored the retreating BAT fighter and began to follow his friend into the upper atmosphere. A slight glow was already forming around Rick's tumbling fighter. "It's not working. It's not working! Help me Frank! It's hot, oh God it's hot in here!" Frank couldn't think of anything to say or do. Rick's fighter was now only a cherry red streak in the atmosphere. "I'm burning! OH GOD I'M BURNING! HELP MEEEEE!-----" Frank could think of only one way to end Rick's agony. He opened fire. Both lasers and the particle cannon hit. The three beams of energy were so hot that they ionized the atmosphere like lightning bolts. The glowing beams split the ANGEL in a firery explosion. Rick's screams ended. Frank pulled his fighter out of its dive and redirected it towards the battle in space. The Vengeance had changed course and was heading to support the battleship and the last frigate who were firing frantically on 'Garden'. The lights of the station dimmed. Both the battleship and frigate took evasive action as twin blurs leapt from the station's coilguns. One shell passed harmlessly beneath the battleship, but the slower frigate was not as lucky. The massive coilgun round ripped a huge furrow from the head of the frigate to its engines. A cloud of debris burst away from the frigate as the atmosphere escaped into space. But Frank didn't care. With Rick's screams still echoing in his ears, he commanded the computer to locate the fighter that had crippled Rick and identify it on his H.U.D. The BAT was closing on the Vengence. Frank pushed his ANGEL to maximum acceleration and plotted a course that would intercept the BAT slightly behind the Vengeance. Within fifteen seconds Frank was in range, but he didn't fire. He wanted to see this one die up close and slowly. Frank dropped his weapon power to 30% and closed to only 500 feet. He triggered both right wing lasers. Two flashes appeared on the BAT as twin gashes tore across the fighter, the edges of the gashes glowing white-hot. "That's right, you bastard. I could have scrapped you but I want to pick you to pieces first." The BAT was racing over the Vengence now and executed a roll that placed the warship between the two fighters. But at the speeds that the fighters were travelling, the BAT quickly ran out of cover and the ANGEL descended quickly behind it. The BAT tried to use its greater acceleration to get to the protection of the other fighters around 'Garden', But as soon as it increased the range to 900 feet Frank fired his lasers again. Both hit in rapid sucession. Two more jagged glowing scars ripped across the BAT's wings. Then, the ANGEL's particle cannon hummed to life, melting into the side of the BAT. Two of its three thrusters flickered and died. Frank closed the range to 400 feet. The dueling fighters had left the Vengeance five miles behind and were a third of the way to 'Garden'. "Game over, fucker." Frank growled. Resetting his weapons to maximum power, he dropped his crosshairs onto the BAT. His finger came to rest on the trigger, and he took a breath to steady himself. Suddenly, the BAT snapped into a steep rolling dive and declerated. Frank turned down after him in an effort to bring him back into his line of sight. But his dive brought him out on a collision course with the side of an Earth battleship. With a startled curse he dove bellow the battleship, skimming barely ten feet from its hull. The last Frank saw of the BAT was it doing a similar manuver over the battleship's top. Frank's jaw went slack as his H.U.D. informed him of the situation. The two largest and newest battleships in existance, and the pride and joy of the Earth Defense Fleet, had just dropped out of light speed between the Vengeance and the space station. Together with eight destroyers, six frigates, and 250 fighters. His H.U.D. labled each one as supposedly on duty in other solar systems. "Ambush...," Frank whispered. Earth must have heard about Mars's plans to attack months ago and recalled all these ships. They must have hid them all on the far side of Venus until the Martian forces had committed to the attack. One of the Earth battleships opened fire on the Martian battleship with eight coilguns. The battleship dissolved in a flurry of explosions. Then four more coilguns fired from the aft of the battleship and the already battle damaged Vengeance also ceased to exist. A flicker of light at the edge of Frank's vision caught his attention. Looking to his left he saw the BAT that he had been trying to destroy barreling down on him. The light that had caught his attention was being generated by a cluster of ten fighter-to-fighter missiles swarming down apon him. Massive explosions rocked the ANGEL as control panels flared and died. Burning white sparks filled the cockpit along with smoke from burning wires. The polarized canopy fractured into a webwork of cracks. Frank was thrown hard into his restraining straps, and his vision went dark. When Frank's vision cleared only the H.U.D. and the incoming radio signal systems worked. One static filled monitor screen bathed him in irratic white light. The ANGEL was drifting towards deep space and had turned towards Earth, affording a perfect view of the raging space battle. The laser lights of his H.U.D. highlighted every ship against the cracked canopy. In the absence of a working communicator, no one could hear Frank crying as he drifted helplessly away from the Martian slaughter. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _____________________________________ / \ \ MY GOD, WHY HATH THOU FORSAKEN ME? / \_______ _________/ \ PART II / \ / \ BY / | | | TED SANDERS | \_____________/ Stuart had felt the hit, and it did not feel good. According to the optical clock on Stuart's screen, he knew that he was out for more than three hours. He had felt the stinging of the cold sand ruffling against every part of his suit. His microphone had gone dead, and that was no mystery. As blood slowly trickled out his mouth, Stuart realized that he had been cut in the blow. Probably bit his tongue, but it still hurt. Who in the hell could have knocked him down that way? It had to be one of those raiders, the kind that would hold people hostage for a time and then release them for small and trivial demands. It didn't matter because Stuart belonged to The First Pentecostal Church of Linear Saints. That was enough diplomacy to save him from anything. Stuart shook his head, and the sand fell from the top of his helmet. The landscape was the 46th parallel, and it had to be hostile! Many craters crossed over many hills: this was hell! No cities, no atmosphere, and worst of all, no women! As the numbness faded, Stuart realized that he was positioned on a metal cross. Two metal beams crossed, resembling a crucifix. Stuart was suspended from the remains of a hijacked starship. Stuart knew this starship; it was the Excelsior. The beams had the serial numbers, and the Environmental logo, a little rat sitting on top of a planet, supposedly Earth. 20 gauge wire suspended Stuart from his blessed terra firma, and there was no apparent way down. As Stuart eyed the landscape, he saw the edge of the supercrater. Rows and rows of small figures, all clothed in dark robes walked in unison. Each about 3 ft. tall, and each carrying tools, obviously tools of destruction. Picks, axes, torches, and forks, all heading right at poor little Stuart. At the sight of these dwarves, Stuart had felt something he had never felt before. It wasn't just one feeling, it was many, it was terrifing, it was horror, it was a need for penance. Stuart felt the need to get down on his knees and pray to god. He hadn't done anything wrong, but he just needed the security that the Church would save him. As the creatures approached Stuart, one pointed a finger at him. The methodicism of this small man were unusual; he couldn't be a raider, then what could he be? A brother of The First Pentecostal Church of Linear Saints? No, the requirements for that were to be fairhaired and over six feet tall. No, this was not a friendly man. The creature in front lifted his hood, to expose an old fashioned bubble helmet and a grotesque face. The face was similar to that of a rat, the kind that plagued earth for over a century. The kind that transmitted the bubonic plague, and destroyed half of Europe. There was only one species that Stuart knew that looked like this. It had to be a Gaumerton. The Gaumerton were, supposedly, a mythological brotherhood of social outcasts on Delta-9, who formed their own monastery. Due to their lack of social graces, and their taste for human sacrifices, this made their race quite endangered. Were these the alleged raiders that held so many other environmental explorers captive? The first Gaumerton approached Stuart and grabbed his suit. A series of howls and high pitched screams came in unison out of the little beasties' mouths. "Ahhhh!, is beeped!" said the Gaumerton. "Think you hurt Gaummy's moon! No way beeped." "I'm not trying to hurt your moon! I'm trying to..." "Shut-up beeped!" interupted the Gaumerton. "You no good! Many other beepeds try to hurt Gaummy's moon! No success!" Stuart knew that his fate was sealed, so he began to recite the Lord's prayer. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thine name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." chanted Stuart. "Quiet beeped!" interupted the Gaumerton. "Me no father, Me Gaummy and me pissed, and so is he!" What could this mean. Obviously the Gaumerton was pissed, but who else was pissed? Stuart's social graces flew out his atmospheric suit. Stuart began to scream and cry and pray. The Gaumerton slowly and methodically began to pry at Stuart's helmet. Just as the Gaumerton began to pry at the two locks, Stuart's microphone turned back on. "Stuart, are you there! Come on: it's time you get back, you stupid jerk!" said Bradkins. "Bradkins! Help me! I have a swarm of Gaumerton's all over me! They're trying to take my helmet off!" "Stuart! I have to put up with your racist shit, and now you want me to believe that a group of rats are trying to kill you!" said Bradkins. "Bradkins! Get your ass down here you stupid kike! I tell you that if you're not down here in five ...." Stuart was interupted by the sound of a dead microphone. What was left? Stuart began to sob and pray again. "Dear lord! Help me! Everybody has abandoned me, and I know that you and the church are still here. So please HELP!" screamed Stuart. Just as Stuart uttered his last request, a large plume of black smoke covered the horizon. The Gaumerton's were petrified, and all of them ran. They only one that stayed was the leader, the same Gaummy that was trying to pry Stuart's helmet off. As the black smoke darkened, a bolt of lightning struck the remaining Gaumerton, and knocked him dead on the ground. Stuart began to sigh, but just then, another bolt of lightning struck Stuart's helmet, knocking it to the ground. As Stuart began to inhale the vacuum, his tongue and eyes began to bulge. A thunderous voice covered the landscape and said. "Stuart, guess who! And boy, am I pissed!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ________________________ / Poetry \ / By \ / Stewart Carrington \ /______________________________\ _______________________________________________________ "Tender Tear" | A crystal swelled amongst the ceaseless vessel | A scenic wonder not ever to be understood | A cry of pain for endless hunger | A wonder for what we all have to endure... | No crystal tears, please, for I have a life | No crystal fears, please, for I have enticed | No crystal portraits, please, for I am the painter | No crystal dreams, please, for I am not perfect | No sense of emptyness, for I am fullfilled | No sense of belonging- for my mind has just cleared | No sense, for I am alive | No reason, for I left my shrine | No life, for e'er I was dead | Yes, now you know.... my life was just led | ------------------------------------------------------- SUBJECT:Horizon --------------- enter into my little world, There- my ship's host unfurled Glare and deny me my life- I shall not accept it and make it my right. I shall say goodbye, for you are blind to the truth- And to another I shall say hello, for she is my youth. Return into the reality you think should be, for I am the light that shall always escape thee. As I said before, remember my love and forget me- You said it could never be. Now in the break refurl the host.......... ..........send flowers, forget-me-nots, for I have forgotten SUBJECT:Raze or burn......... ------------------------------- You raised me..... and razed me. You looked at me with praisefull eyes, then looked right through me... I am of your blood, though you can't tell. I am of your life, though you fail. I am of your beliefs, only more. I am of your rights... what a BORE!!!!!!!! This was of the past, I say, but you won't listen, my life you spin into your own submission. I shall in the end be without thee, And alone, after life, is when you shall meet ME. For as of now, and the future to come, you do not know your aging son. I shall raise thee, and praise thee..... but shall not follow, for I am but one........ and that is me. _______________________________________________ SUBJECT:Recreation | ------------------ | might remember recreation | is also re-creation | or perhaps if a flower | was a flow-er | People would understand. | Life's not in the living or dead, | But of God and the living inside one's head. | ----------------------------------------------- SUBJECT:emotion --------------- Mental tears shall all abound; Yet in the physical realm none shall be found Mortal thoughts may all remain; But no love is there left to yet reclaim When you trace the sullen flight, Of a Crow into the speckled night All that remains a distant dream-Until the sun breaks the endless seam... Sunlight turns in it's puest form, Releases the traced emotions worn Grips the fist on one's fate, Gives the choice that you shall in time berate Inters the worth of your wealth, to find in the end it should have been health Cross the cavern of your dreams- To caress the tears of mighty seas. Think of yesterday as freedom's chain, And never know that bond again. Drink from the pool of broken sorrow, Then breathe the air of newborn morrow Awaken to that light, tender touch, and remember to feel.... I miss you much. SUBJECT:a walk through my wall ------------------------------ no, It's not the same, and I would love to walk through the rain with you. A lonely sill, lonely true. A silent dove, through the window grew. Sit next to me for mine life, scream the silence of eternal strife, To be with me you must leave me alone, let me face myself, the ugly clone. desert rain beat through my brow, a speared patter, hits me now tis the tear of your lip, from above reflected in the isles of love. silent pondering one-hundred proof, sink emotion, but bury me away.... from truth..... for tis not like me to do this here, not like me to put you through this spin..... only alone can I but win.....sorry, it's true, let me be for a while.... insanity's not new.... an old friend, back again doesn't like visitors....... .............will leave in a while.... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ___________________________ / Brainwashing \ \ By / / Rodrigo de Almeida \ \ Siqueira / /___________________________\ Brainwashing is the process of deliberately subjecting individuals to physical and psychological hardship in order to alter their thoughts, attitudes, and actions. It differs from other forms of persuasion or instruction not only in the key element of coercion, but in the radical intent to clear the mind totally of one set of ideas and replace them by another often completely opposed set. The term indoctrination is applied to the implanting of new ideas, but indoctrination may take place without brainwashing. The term brainwashing is a literal translation of the Chinese: hsi nao, referring to thought reform. When the Chinese Communists came to power in 1949, they sought to reeducate the intellectuals and middle classes with brainwashing techniques; they applied the same methods to prisoners taken during the Korean War. Similar efforts to control the minds of individuals have been made by authorities in other countries. The two aspects of brainwashing are confession of past crimes or errors and reeducation to new beliefs. Prisoners are brought to confess by lack of sleep and food and other forms of intense physical discomfort, isolation from familiar surroundings, a prison routine requiring absolute obedience and humility, and social pressure from cell mates. The last includes mutual criticism and self-criticism sessions, which play particularly on the generalized guilt feeling that all people have to some extent. At the same time, regular indoctrination sessions are conducted. The acceptance of the new ideas is again fostered by group pressure and the anticipated reward of freedom. Improved understanding of psychology and neurophysiology have enabled modern totalitarian regimes to create extremely effective brainwashing programs. Some of their techniques, however, have been used for centuries; the Inquisition, for example, elicited confessions from alleged heretics by similar methods. In the context of religion, some scholars have noted a parallel between brainwashing for political purposes and the techniques used by some religious groups to generate religious excitement and conversion. The parallel is observable in religions that use physical means (such as scourging, rhythmic dancing and drumming, and sometimes drugs) to induce a trancelike state in which the individual is open to conversion. It is also apparent in the mind-control practices of some of the religious cults of the 20th century, most notably the People's Temple group of Guyana, whose membership committed mass suicide in 1978. Bibliography: Bromley, D. G., and Richardson, J. T., eds., The Brainwashing-Deprogramming Controversy (1984); Lifton, Robert Jay, Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism (1961); Sargant, William, Battle for the Mind (1957; repr. 1971); Schein, Edgar H., et al., Coercive Persuasion (1971). -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*# * THE FINAL WORD * # by # * Ted Sanders * #*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*# The staff of the ICS, current and past, apologizes for the delay in issue #5. Over the summer each of our staff have left their humble little terminals and conversed with the entire world. I myself have talked to several people in South Dakota and Nebraska that are dedicated groupies of the I.C.S. We enjoy the fact that many people read our 'zine and hope that they have stayed with us over our "cybervacation." In the midst of writing the final word I referred back to Bob Wilson's article, "The Friend I Never Met-Notes on Electronic Faith" and felt the true joys of a new subscriber to the cyberworld. Reading this made me think of the first time I was introduced to the world of VAX. I remember Benjamin Price, alias Beelzebub, dragging me down to the lab and showing me the groovy world of Vax Internet Environments. I talked to a (supposed) young lady who absolutely loved my wit and humor. Later on I found out that this young lady was actually a young man, specifically Matthew Thyer, former Final Editor of the I.C.S. Many people do not realize the effects that a few small blips of electricity can have on the human psyche. I have several friends that have been kicked out of school due to their obsessive involvement with MUD's. I've seen people stop their entire lives and travel to other countries to visit friends from the NET. In my opinion it's not the computers that do the harm, it's the suckers that use too much time on the NET. We can play in our cyberworlds, we can use and abuse our cyberworlds, but we can't live in our cyberworlds. That's part of the focus of the ICS, aiming at everyone, even the average joe that spends 30 minutes a day on his computer. So "Cowboys in the Sky" keep dreaming of electric sheep! Love ya Bob! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ICS would like to hear from you. We accept flames, comments, submissions, editorials, corrections, and just about anything else you wish to send us. For your safety use these guidelines when sending us anything. We will use things sent to us when we think the would be appropriate for the goal of the issue coming out. So, if you send us something that you DO NOT want us to use in the electrozine, then put the words NOT FOR PUBLICATION in the subject of the mail you send us. You can protect your material by sending a copy to yourself through the mail and leaving the envelope unopened. NOTICE: If you plan to send a large work that should be spread out over several issues, we want the work in its entirety before we will begin to publish it. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- BACK ISSUES: Back Issues of ICS can presently be obtained only by mailing us at ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU, but we hope that some of our readers will have a few connections and that by ICS #6 we will once again have one or more FTP sites archiving our back issues. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ICSICSICSICSICSICSICS/\ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICS CSICSICSICSICSICSICS/ \CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICS ICSICSICSICSICSICSI/ \ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI CSICSICSICSICSICSI/ \CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI ICSICSICSICSICSIC/ I C S \ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSIC CSICSICSICSICSIC/ \CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSIC ICSICSICSICSICS/ Electro- \ICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICS CSICSICSICSICS/ Zine \CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICS \ / \ / \ / \ / An Electronic Magazine from \ / Western State College \ / Gunnison, Colorado. \ / ORG_ZINE@WSC.COLORADO.EDU \/ '*' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------


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