In Anonymous on March 24, 2014 at 1:27 am
The genesis of the hacktivist collective Anonymous is a far cry from either hacking or activism. It began as a way to raise hell, for a group of mostly kids tired of a rule-bound world to careen around in their digital clown cars smashing the mailboxes of the Internet’s Babbits.
Since that beginning, the group, insofar as it can be called a group, has changed. Repeatedly. It has moved from lulz, or kicks, to extremely earnest political activities, to self-celebration, and on the way, has alienated many, and not just those who consider the group vandals, but many of those vandals themselves.
In Poetry on November 11, 2013 at 1:24 pm
This story shall the good man teach his son. – William Shakespeare, Henry V
All the words they’ve bitten out of war
And written down with shaking hands and blood
Half-whiskey, or in grim mastery of self
In Poets on September 30, 2013 at 12:29 am
For Kofi Awoonor, killed in the Westgate shootings on September 21, 2013
A poet not of bush but bottle shop,
Just not the kind of bottle shop you think,
One in which each starry shelf is lined
With objects manifold with surfaced time.
We rhyme, he said, and where we make a sign
We cannot be consistently defined,
Oriented as we are upon the infinite.
We cannot die, we cannot die,
We who are the folding sky,
We who broken lie where all the broken bottles lie.