Some people think we can do everything except for confidentiality, which remain silent is always wrong, even when the secret not only depend on money flows, which are not illegal the kind of dung of the devil, but also human lives are not expendable in the name of the principle of total and general sbracamento. Wikileaks is an idea so stupid and dangerous to find, as always happens with stupid ideas and dangerous, many supporters enthusiastic in praise of the revolution, as well as support and funding, however, on which the disgraced Wikileaks-o-matic keeps the secret for some reason, right?
In this case, given that Wikileaks so far only disclose information in a democracy that does not usually shoot at journalists and not imprison dissidents as do other governments that have already disappeared into thin air Assange and Wikileaks, the fans are largely anti-American sempilci that whistling and giggling, some dating to the Cold War, others unfortunately are young people who salivate and rub your hands every time you can enjoy the American woes. Extremism and idealism will never pass out of fashion?
Is certainly correct that information about crimes are out, but selected and sent to the judiciary and not only to journalists who do not gossip hyenas wait to spettagolare the front page to sell more copies. You do not go to trial with torches and pitchforks of the pillory public events and situations that are totally within the normal diplomatic impersonating some kind of evidence of conspiracy, mystery, criminal plans, global dangers. Here not only are there no crimes at stake, but it is a giant pile of shit that only serves to create confusion, turmoil and confusion.
Assange do not know if either the author or the victim of this beautiful found by spy movie of the fourth category, which comes even nostalgia time analog of Forsyth and Le Carré. I hope for him that it happened in the middle and has seized the opportunity to get paid his bunga bunga Swedish with multiple charges of rape and to follow that bet? Would prefer to have remained a secret. Because if he really thought of it all by himself and did not do it for fame and money, the orders of a puppeteer who has interests and conveniences yet to be identified, would be better if it would put serious questions about what they are, for example The sense of responsibility, sense of duty, wisdom and maturity.
Secrets From The Future
Get your Most Closely Kept personal thought:
put it in the Word .doc with a password lock.
Stock it deep in the .rar with extraction precluded
by the ludicrous length and the strength of a reputedly
dictionary-attack-proof string of characters
(this, imperative to thwart all the disparagers
of privacy: the NSA and Homeland S).
You better PGP the .rar because so far they ain’t impressed.
You better take the .pgp and print the hex of it out,
scan that into a TIFF. Then, if you seek redoubt
for your data, scramble up the order of the pixels
with a one-time pad that describes the fun time had by the thick-soled-
boot-wearing stomper who danced to produce random
claptrap, all the intervals in between which, set in tandem
with the stomps themselves, begat a seed of math unguessable.
Ain’t no complaint about this cipher that’s redressable!
Best of all, your secret: nothing extant could extract it.
By 2025 a children’s Speak & Spell could crack it.
You can’t hide secrets from the future with math.
You can try, but I bet that in the future they laugh
at the half-assed schemes and algorithms amassed
to enforce cryptographs in the past.
And future people do not give a damn about your shopping,
your Visa number SSL’d to Cherry-Popping
Hot Grampa Action websites that you visit,
nor password-protected partitions, no matter how illicit.
And this, it would seem, is your saving grace:
the amazing haste of people to forget your name, your face,
your litanous* list of indefensible indiscretions.
In fact, the only way that you could pray to make impression
on the era ahead is if, instead of being notable,
you make the data describing you undecodable
for script kiddies sifting in that relic called the internet
(seeking latches on treasure chests that they could wreck in seconds but didn’t yet
get a chance to cue up for disassembly)
to discover and crack the cover like a crème brûlée.
They’ll glance you over, I guess, and then for a bare moment
you’ll persist to exist; almost seems like you’re there, don’t it?
But you’re not. You’re here. Your name will fade as Front’s will,
‘less in the future they don’t know our cryptovariables still.
Now it’s an Enigma machine, a code yelled out at top volume
through a tin can with a thin string, and that ain’t all you
do to broadcast cleartext of your intentions.
Send an email to the government pledging your abstention
from vote fraud this time (next time: can’t promise).
See you don’t get a visit from the department of piranhas.
Be honest; you ain’t hacking those. It’d be too easy,
setting up the next president, pretending that you were through freezing
when you’re nothing but warming up: ‘to do’ list in your diary
(better keep for a long time — and the long time better be tiring
to the distribution of electrical brains
that are guessing every unsalted hash that ever came).
They got alien technology to make the rainbow tables with,
then in an afternoon of glancing at ‘em, secrets don’t resist
the loving coax of the mathematical calculation,
heart of your mystery sent free-fall into palpitations.
Computron will rise up in the dawn, a free agent.
Nobody knows the future now; gonna find out — be patient.
0 comments:
Post a Comment