From: John Young <jya@pipeline.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Oct 1997 19:54:35 +0800
To: cypherpunks@cyberpass.net
Subject: Re: Tim's worst nightmare.,..
Message-ID: <1.5.4.32.19971028115311.009a71e8@pop.pipeline.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain



Tim's arms race is as hypnotizing as that of the search
for max strength crypto: how to prepare for beseiged last 
war scenarios, when resupply is overrun with refugees, 
weather prevents airborne rescue, comm is jammed, 
deadmeat is piled all around or run away screaming with 
terror ... or numb with media burnout.

Have many other of us have been on that hilltop, too, or
struggling to get there RSN 'cause life truly sucks?

What you do when no help is coming and nobody on earth
gives a FF about your lonely carcass, well, that's when
you fire the last .223 where it's been designed to indifferently
go, to finally solve Cunanin misjudgments with hoseaway 
mess.

Hard life teaches: The only safelove communication is end 
to end to yourself, ricochet alarms of system breakdown of 
pointless existence between heart and head. 

The universe broadcasts: The only totally impregnable 
protection of survivalist megalomania hardwired in all of 
us is to wage war and lose all our ambitions for immortality 
within our custom-made body bag.

Or race ahead terabyte to orthagonal suicide, clearing slow-go 
bandwidth for reproductive mates to logon to a more reliably
lazy DNA ISP.