From: rita@eff.org (Rita Marie Rouvalis) Subject: CORE2.05 Cyberspace Issue Message-ID: <1993Apr24.231220.28431@eff.org> Sender: usenet@eff.org (NNTP News Poster) Organization: Instant Karma Publishing Date: Sat, 24 Apr 1993 23:12:20 GMT Lines: 719 QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQ] QQ] QQ] QQQ] QQQ] QQQ] QQQQ] QQ] QQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQ] QQQQ] QQ] QQ] QQQ] \QQ\ QQQQQQQQQ] QQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQ] \QQ\ QQQ] QQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQ] \QQ\ QQQ] QQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQ] QQQ] \QQ\QQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] QQQQQQQQQQQQQ] Volume II Issue IV ISSN: 1062-6697 ~~~````''''~~~ CORE is an electronic journal of poetry, fiction, essays, and criticsm. Back issues are available via anonymous ftp from ftp.eff.org from the /pub/journals directory, and in the Electronic Frontier Foundation Gopher Space on the Instant Karma Zine Stand. Please feel free to reproduce CORE in its entirety only throughout Cyberspace. To reproduce articles individually, please contact the author. Questions, submissions, and subscription requests should be sent to core-journal@eff.org. ~~~````''''~~~ "April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain." T H E C Y B E R S P A C E I S S U E _____________________________________________________________________________ Rita Rouvalis rita@village.com Scroll Concise Oxford Dictionary, 8th Ed., Copyright 1991 Oxford Univ. Press /sestina/ <> n.[Prosody] a form of rhymed or unrhymed poem with six stanzas of six lines and a final triplet, all stanzas having the same six words at the line-ends in six different sequences{foreign word}. All of the following poems are Bout Rime Sestinas written for Bill Knotts' Forms of Poetry graduate class at Emerson. It will become quickly obvious which six words where assigned. To my knowledge, only one of the poets has an e-mail address; when taken together these verses offer us a snapshot of the ways in which the Ethersphere has leaked into the popular consciousness. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Once in Cyberspace Prosper Barter Once, when it was all worthwhile, we sat in a room, but darker. I can see how the lava lamp stands near the fake fire place; we sat and whispered through the night, ringed round bunkbeds, in altered states of bliss and light. We were the people your mother worried on. Then there was no cyberspace. You speak of your brother's acid, cybersapce raves, techno pop loudspeakers for the new young, room to dance and thrash and dress like other people -- people from the past (the sixties, *again*). It stands to reason some of us will still be trapped there, it's a state of mind. And you lament, on through the night, in front of the TV, smoking. Through the haze, you lambast your brother's cyberspace friends: frozen, boxed to a machine, in states of comas and worse -- no exercise, no room for real words. I cannot accept it. It stands for all I hate. And yet, I wonder. Do people change so much? Are the youth as we were: people passed on on stair wells, Maya leaping through the window, thinking she could fly? No photo stands on my dresser, yet the time before cyberspace is the most real. Far from your new home, this clean room, was joy -- "Beer stick ball": another state of mind. My brother yelling, "He's no pitcher, " states, "He's a belly itcher!" We were real people, reaching out. Yet were we making room for the new way then? Was it through us that they came to live in cyberspace, the land of the dead, draped about -- fakes! -- a boy stands in the corner, dosed all day; not like Bran, who stands out in memory, ranting on the states of love in Asia. "Youth are lost in cyberspace". But then again, I remember certain people -- you and I, Kevin -- who smoked and drank through the night, the day, ending up in a cellar room watching the TV that stands there. Two people lost in states of -- Pee Wee's Playhouse -- silent through the cyberspace haze (even then) in that room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> States of Mind Jean Mauriello Unheard, the ex-husband creeps into her room after breaking in with a baseball bat. He stands there; she screams, "How did you ever get through security, up the alley wall, and crawl in?" He grins, and states, "Walls are never too high, and people never pay attention. Like cyberspace, the alley behind the wall led me here. The cyberspace made me do it, like a magnet drew me in this room and brought me to you. The people you'd be here, and this bat stands in my hand as a tribute to you. The states where I've whirled and passed through since you left me, everything I've been through has been for you, and for cyberspace, sweet cyberspace. His face as he states these foolish words shines in this room as she in fear watches, in fear stands and says, "Get out of here. I hate people like you. You're crazy, nuts, loco -- people like you wave bates, crawl through bathroom windows, why? He stands taller, silenced. She insists, "Cyberspace is no excuse. You're rude. This is my room. I want you out of here. He states his displeasure -- he has come so far for her, through states She doesn't care -- she worries that the people would wonder why he was in her room after the divorce they'd been through and all that. No room for him and cyberspace. She refers him to newspaper stands so that he can get in touch. He stands another moment before her, the states he's travelled in his eyes. "The cyberspace made me do it," he says again, "The people I met who understood me and helped me through the emptiness that led me back to this room. She stands and watches him leave, the people from all the states are expecting his return, through the cyberspace, crawling from her room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> A Division of Walls and Cyberspace Jean-Pierre Cuello Silence locks Joshua within his room, surrounded by computer and printer stands, clicking keyboards and humming laser printer, through which he scans the alternatives states of existing, without the stress of those people who neither undersand nor believe cyberspace is real. How could anyone doubt cyberspace as the new manifest destiny? from the room next door, heard are shrieks and bitching of those people. Distracted for a moment, Joshua stands near the wall and listens as some woman states, "Just pack up your 12-pack VCR and walk on through my life. I'm tired of fast-forwarding through the good times and rewinding..." Bless cyberspace for its muted voice and objective states of expression. There is no more room for this future; drywall stands between his beliefs and the people who have no need of technoids, people whose windows are LCD screens, seeing through to the other side of scrolls and icons. He stands tranquilly in the grasp of cyberspace; his mind exceeds any computer head room or Zen-ish transcendental states of mind. The only fear he knows, he states on his MAC screen as, "Error." Lines the people he's loved along one wall of his room, bit-mapped pictures of Josh's life through which only one dared to reach out into cyberspace. Her reach fell short and now a new wall stands between the real World which somehow stands for something other than what his manual states. Physical parameters restrict cyberspace only in as much as what people, themselves, restrain their wishes and wants through the confinements of any physical room; only an imagined wall stands between people and their ink-mapped states. Joshua lives on, through infinite cyberspace, his silent room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Welcome To Their World Joshua Davidson Lots of little stacks become fewer big ones to make room for the new universe that's to fit on my desk. It stands to reason that the old ways be pushed aside, their time is through. Now I will wander electronically through my states of confusion, before now at least bounded by my desk. People say, "Enjoy the 23rd Century!" As I zoom off into cyberspace with the flick of a button, and a beep. "Welcome to Cyberspace! Beep boop. Please allow me to show you your room. Don't worry about noise or embarassment, there are no people here, just their digitized thoughts." It's no time to take stands, the age is upon me. Hell, even Time Magazine states, in so many words, that the days of real virtue are through. But reports of my surprise are greastly exaggerated. I see through this: as I sit at my desk, I'm also travelling through cyberspace, not subject to any boundaries -- their are no cities or states (other than those of being), just a universe right in my room, which used to be earth-bound by papers and books where stands now a machine, speaking a modem idiom to other virtual people. Internet, modems, acid house, brain implants. Where do people come up with this stuff? I mean, it's intriguing to get through to 8 gazillion people at once, but something this big stands for something, or maybe nothing. But what do I do in cyberspace? Maybe my old-fashioned pen-and-ink brain just doesn't have room for another reality, virtual or not. How do I get into these states? So far this whole thing seems pretty much confined to the States, but can you imagine what sort of virtuous reality bad people might create? I can here them now: "There just ain't enough room in this network for the 8 gazillion of us, so I'm through putting up with the rest of you, you're invading my cyberspace and I want you out now, Or I'll delete ya where ya stands." I'm sure that I'll be just a spectator way up in the stands, never really knowing what's going on. Even the United States President knows more than I, as he launches the nation into cyberspace. Perhaps there are others like me, digitally dysfunctional people hoping only for some electronic mercy, trying to get through life tangled in an internet. Gosh, I hope there's room for us.. As it stands now, most ordinary people can't name the states. Maybe I can be led through this mysterious cyberspace, like Dante by Virgil -- if there's room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Dream Ricia Anne Chansky I rise from slumber to search my room For means to hold a dream where our nation stands For more than money and taxes and greed, and through The land the new rose up. In each of the states All kinds, all colors all creeds, all people Came together in a new land: Cyberspace. In this land without history, called Cyberspace, The world as a whole could find plenty of room To comfortably raise and support its people. There a word of promise isn't a lie, it stands As the word of truth. Even varied states Of mind agree, and it becomes easy to follow through; Because what is an idea if it's not seen through? Within a human creation lays Cyberspace, Unseeing of our looks, our body's states. Conscious only of its yearning to fill the room, To force us to take a leap from the stands And into an arena filled with other people. but the people, they will resist because people Have for so long been casually defiled through The ways in which our world works and what it stands To give; yet takes. Now someone gives us Cyberspace. The cursor is a doorway to a room, A way out of a room, into altered states. I dreamt people permanently leaving The States, Bowing down before terminals (as people Tend to do) and freely worshipping their new room. They have been give a promise; kept through The magic of, the miracle of Cyberspace. Find a computer and alter life as it stands. If all people were to jump on the stands And pledge their allegiance to their new states Of mind, dream would be reality -- in Cyberspace. But sleep returns and I've no pencil for the people. They'll never find the door, let alone a way through The door, if they can't imagine the room. Our nation for which it stands, people divided by people, ignorant of higher states, denied a way through to Cyberspace; will one day, see the room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Stolen Room Deirdre O-Neill For years now, we've been circling in this room then again, its been no time, and the room stands silent and undisturbed. We see each other through the dusty lenses of too long, not long enough. States of mind constantly exchange like the fire people in circus duos toss back and forth. Cyberspace was a place for couples long before this cyberspace vogue. A voyeur, like Madonna, came into our room and stole our show, our ways, our House. The people in the cyberspace were couples turning handstands, or dancing in that I-know-your-info way. Such states were for insiders, the ones who'd been together through "it". Whatever the hell that might be. Talking through less molecules than most people, the cyberspace then was the private virtual reality states for long, longtime companions: the room in which we knew everything. Cyberspace stands for something else now, just the way people refer to Vogue-ing or House. Hip people think they know it. Like a step to get down or through somehow some kind of electric slide. Madonna stands to get millions and fame in cyberspace for stealing from the House dancers. Our room stands to dissolve or burst with all these states of information free-floating like states of depression, voguers without a ball, or people to watch them and clap. See how silent the room is with all these people knowing everything? Through all this networking the truth gets lost. Cyberspace is no longer a place name, something that stands for knowing someone hard and all the way. It stands to lose its meaning entirely. A friend states she proved it by naming her dog "Cyberspace". See now its not a place at all, but a puppy. People stare when she calls for her. Through my computer, I'm calling on you to find room for a cyberspace that stands for just two people, a word that states its for partners who've been through the net. Make cyberspace a kind and well-worn room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Empty of why's this room Diane M. Joao Do we know how turns to hesitation leave room for questions, to wonder aloud what stands between this sex wall sex? We, having been through such things, know. The questions, like various states of undress, are comical. Funny, we're people not quite human enough to replace cyberspace with touch, to reinvent compassions. Cyberspace, you've often said, is empty jargon. What room have you allowed me then, that people like ourselves must compensate? As it stands, I've no answers now. A kiss, perhaps, states much more clearly what we've been through, Though who's to know for sure? But still through it all, the all that's been, cyberspace is constant. What if one day it states that all's enough, what then? This room we rest in now, a kiss that stands between us, knows the sort of people we've become. We remember people, (for lack of a better word,) from our pasts: through the love of she or he, bare witness stands of who we were, and are. Come cyberspace: the what when where and how? This room's too small for miracles. What states of mind are we in now? Our sex wall states the obvious: you and I are hungry people starving for some slight of touch. There's room enough for two in here. The words through you come into me. A word like cyberspace -- that's it. Your definition. So it stands then. We'll kiss. We will take the stands we've measured through the years. Various states of discontent, perhaps, but more. Cyberspace has filled us both with adjectives and verbs. People like us contain ourselves in words. Through it all, perhaps one kiss will make room for a couple more. As it stands, we're people. The states we've earned by living through this noun: cyberspace. *Empty of why's this room.* ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Is There Enough Room for Cyberspace? Frank Wardega Although some people might think there is enough room for all these computer generated intellectuals, something stands in their way: Me. I am absolutely through with all these idiots, the United States is full of these ridiculous people who want us all to go to cyberspace with them. Well I don't want to go to cyberspace, mostly because it's for geeks who sit in a room, peek into the minds of other people that they don't even know. What stands in the way of these punks taking over the whole United States and running us all through the wringer? And then through the wash as well. Cyberspace, who needs it? I'm in the happiest of states alone. I don't need to look into someone's room and poke into their head. The stands I've taken before are nothing -- how I feel about these people who want to log-on with so many other people is almost enough to make me go through the roof. It seems like a bunch of one night stands with other peoples' brains. A pseudo-orgy in cyberspace? Well, I wish they would all just get a room. It will be along time before these United States become just a maze of bits and bytes. Oh the states these worries send me to! I tell you. We're all people here, we can't forget that. Although there may be room for everyone's terminals, we've got to get it through our heads that our space is not cyberspace its' just space, it stands for nothing. It just is. While cyberspace stands for everything that is wrong with the United States these days. OK. You might say that cyberspace can't be that bad. After all some people use it occasionally and seem to get through the day with no problem. but we'll have to make room for the stands that these crazy people are gonna take. Altered states of consciousness through my space? your space? cyberspace? How we gonna make room? ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Bring on the Band Jason Barr I was playing the skin flute in my room. the music was loud, the band stands were in my hands. I let the tunes roam through my country, my body: plains, cities; all states represented in dance halls in my veins. People swaying and stomping. My brain, a cyberspace, awash in a techo rave. This cyberspace was DJ to the beats of the flesh. Every room in this nation heard the horns. The cells, the people of this body were shouting, "United stands each member. We will fight for these states no matter what punishment we go through. You see, men can come and romp through this door; try to end this jive, drain this cyberspace of its wave, but this body's motto states, 'When the bands jamming in this room come hell or high water, the hand stands no interruption. People may come and people may go, but when the gettin's good people just don't know.'" Suddenly! I hear banging through my door. My irate mother shouts as she stands, "What's going on? This is not cyberspace where you can do anything. Who's in your room? You're having too much fun for one." she states. In fear, the party quickly ends; all my states drained from my body -- the people return to their cells, and into the room comes my mother, she slowly walks through. "I can hear you in the basement." My book, _Cyberspace: The Final Frontier_, lays on the floor. She stands above me as I lay on my bed. She stands little noise in her house. "I'm warning you," she states, "I hear that again; you're out. Pick your Cyberspace book off the floor. I'm expecting some people for dinner tonight so when you're through with your little party, CLEAN YOUR ROOM!" She leaves; the band stands begin to play. "Those people coming to dinner," my mind states, "Should come through this cyberspace and join the party in my room." ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> My Friend Nate Explains Virtual Reality Michael Henry My friend Nate takes up a lot of room, and he reads alot. Over 6'4" he stands. He's got James Joyce pecs and he snores so loud. Through concrete you can hear it. It's a condition, he states, named apnea. Like narcolepsy, tons of people have it, maybe millions. Now he's reading _Cyberspace and Nirvana_, by Tim Lary. He wrote _Cyberspace_ because it's "THE drug of the next century. We need room to blow boundaries, smash time as we know it... People are going to become amalgamated with stands of microchips with Intel Inside." Leary states in Part 5, "Safe Sex with Cyborg Helmets" (I hear this through Nate's re-telling, his gruff, voice echoing through his cave-like nostrils), that in our heads, cyberspace will have a plug-in outlet to join you with states of ecstasy, endorphins, and room after room of electronic orgies. This stands as a major breakthrough, says Nate, for all people worldwide. If you're one of many depressed people, forget your pain and plug into a vast menu through which you might enjoy Bar-BQ ribs (Nate's favorite). Nate stands up, scratches his armpit, and adds, "Cyberspace is coming, and whether you like it or not, make room because its already kind of sheik in the states of California and Texas. It's in these states because of demand" Nate says, yawning. People will toss out their shrinks and TV's, and set up a room with a special chair, black walls and carpet, and through a glass sphere and temp controls, cyberspace will rock their world. Just think of the stands of diskettes with the worlds you can play in; these stands will have stuff like, KILL YOUR BOSS, BUNJI JUMP, STATES OF UNDRESS, YOU ARE THE HULK, CYBERSPACE LAS VEGAS, where you play Blackjack against people like James Bond and Don Trump. There's also, I'M THROUGH WITH YOU -- VIRTUAL DIVORCE. Leary writes that "there's room for grand stands full of users. They'll be common people from all states in the US. It's their ideas through which Cyberspace will expand God's Heavenly Room." ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> Sestina In Two Voices Virgina Crawford It's when we're alone and the room is dark, when the blue reflection stands on the floor and I can see you through this blueness, as it progresses through states of light and depth, two people curled on the bed in the cyberspace of each other's heads. Their cyberspace expands to include the whole room, the bed, and shadows and people, all seeped in this night's blue glow that stands watch as they grow in the marked states of their engagement. Through skin, souls feel as easily as the light comes through the window and dances around the blue cyberspace of the room. Fingering his full lip she states that she can't leave the things she's felt in this room, where they screamed and too their stands, then settled like civilized people. And when we had to divide, be two people, we cried and wondered how we'd get through. The house where they lived still stands somewhere between cyberspace and their dreams where there's enough room to write without being harassed by the State's lawyers who haggle until he or she states what they want to hear. These aren't fair people who hold us in a cell, a tiny room where we can't breathe, light can't get through the window cracks. don't even think of cyberspace. I don't believe what I see on the stands. I don't think the country stands for what it used to, take me from these States, I need more than the narrow cyberspace of this place to survive, these people suck and slurp me down, drag me through hell instead o fleaving me to our room where I used to write, where blue stands and we're the people in constant states of eclipse, ascending through, to the whole cyberspace of our room. ............................................................................. <&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&><&>&<&> A Less Crowded House J.D. Nelson Sometimes I don't think there's enough room in this house. If one of my sons stands in front of the Nintendo, the other can't see through him, and soon they're both yelling. One states "I was here first," and it seems like people in a brick Cape clog each other's cyberspace. My husband went in search of his own cyberspace two years ago, saying he needed more room to find himself, and there were so many people here, he couldn't think straight. It stands to reason that I got pissed, and when he now states that he wants to come home, I say no, I'm through with hoping he and I still have a chance. Through seven years of marriage, he lived in cyberspace, I think, never able to see my states of distress increase when the room between us widened. Now he stands before me, proclaiming that two people who love each other should be together; people don't need to be alone, and it's through my own fault if I continue to take these stands: not allowing him back into my cyberspace, and insisting he find the time to make some room for change. You see, I was sick of the drunken states he used to come home in, and that states' ability to hurt all the people closest to him, the ones who room in this house now. It could only be through some miracle of cyberspace proportions that this family will be saved. My son stands by his father, but I make my stands on the principle that I can't tolerate some states. My husband lost in cyberspace, floating on a beer high with people he grew up with, traveling through all the bars in town, leaves me no room. My husband stands to lose allthe people whom he states he loves themost; through cyberspace he'll drift while I make my own room. ____________________________________________________________________________ April 1993 =] Instant Karma Publishing [= -- Rita Rouvalis rita@village.com