a day wasted in the UPS home prison program, mostly wasted, produced glimmers of accomplishment and meaning, but only glimmers. needles. i finished an unexpectedly hard-to-write story about payphones, and how Verizon‘s public phones will vanish from the streets of this fine city in 2011. i reminisced amongst myself about the nights spent on the bridge, listening to phreakers barge in over the sounds of elderly women groaning about their worthless lives. that was a shocking sound, and now that i have come to realize what was going on there i think it was pretty amazing, and i wish i had recorded it, though i had no way to do that at the time. the bridge, i now know, was the moderators line, that line where someone tuned in to make sure nothing illegal or obscene or gay or nazi transpired. and the phreaks hijacked that line, not the actual call-in party line, to share their VMBs and other pearls of information plucked from the trees of the phorest of phreakery. the jungle, haha, that‘s what it was called to me when i entered it, The Jungle. the world of phreaks, not a phorest, but a jungle, true words that, not that i have reason aplenty to contemplate that nonsense now, all these years on, but i occasionally appreciate the bullets i dodged, bullets lobbed after my superficial contact with that scene, and the 20+ years of phreedom which i have so righteously philled with phine things.
in today‘s UPS shipment came a 400mm lens, some piano music books, and an extremely heavy and bigger-than-i-expected fork lift push cart thing, which i should use to move crap to storage this week. a spritely amble from home to storage room, i hope, and i got a union-strength moving vessel that weighs more than i to make me feel powerful.
