Optron #14 03 июля 1998

Lit. Page - Beginning of the End. Poems: Debit and Credit.

               Litstranichka



(C) Paul Vysotsky / Gendalf,

    Sergei Vasiliev / Protein, 1998



        Entry

                     Beginning of the End



  Two men were sitting in the bar, and occasionally exchanging 
jokes, news, thoughts and just rumors, juicy sup foam with a 
large cut-glass cups. Slightly unkempt jeans wear one, and 
crumpled jacket of another, perhaps nothing said, but detached 
viewpoint, nervously running around the fingers and the weight 
of other little things in their behavior, it becomes clear that 
it is hackers. 

  - Did you hear that STS are going to ban? Already preparing 
the article, - asked Jeans hacker, pulling a crumpled in spots

from beer newspaper. The second buried in her
became slightly moving his lips, to read:

  "... For any nesanktsianirovannoe use of monitors, debuggers, 
code-breaking program or not - a prison sentence of two to five 
years." 

  - Yes, well, funny and debility. Do not ban
They STS, though whatever they wanted. Funny ...

  Denim in response grimaced a smile and
silent. And soon they were caught again
yellow foam with new mugs and baited fidoshnye jokes, and 
played outside spring. 



        Chapter I

                  Debility funny



  Several years passed. The events seemed to
their course. One after another
not self-fulfilling prophecy about the end of the world:
He stubbornly refused to come. Only hackers, but
and honest coders had a hard time. Best
debugger of all times has been outlawed, despite the fact that 
its author was awarded the Nobel Prize. 



  Zadernuv curtains and tightly closing the door,
young boy carefully and quietly, even stealthily included kakto 
covered boxes computer. Then, vykovoryav knife plank

at his desk, took out a crumpled packet of biscuits. Unfolded, 
and a little shaking, pulled out a hidden drive. Soon STS 9.4 
was loaded, and the floorboard and the rest dwell ago. 
Dexterous hands darted to the clave and the silence of the 
night was interrupted only a few cries and curses single 
craftsman. 

  Dearest grandmother craftsman, who with great
interest in watching it all through someone unknown sawn 
peephole in the door, a fatherly smile tottered to her.

But I saw a black, strong and inviting, brand new fax machine, 
which is like praying call to follow.


  Craftsman conditionally received five years, but
the process of uncovering the crime
he recaptured the kidney and he spent the rest of my life
in hospitals, programming on MK51. Granny
received a valuable gift and an opportunity to gossip. A World 
of Spectrum in this April day lost another, but not the last 
follower. 



          Chapter II

                     And the last



  Along the main street of the city was excited
a buzzing crowd. She sternly and inexorably
approached the "white house". In the air
flew homemade slogans: "Bring back the STS
hackers "," Hacker - also a man, "" Give
STS! "

  The walls of a government building they have already
waiting cohesive series of shields and hiding
them policemen. The first series of hackers
had slowed down the speed, but the rear pressed forward.
Flashed batons, screams. Somewhere stones flew, and behind them 
and a bottle firebombs. Ranks of peace officers moved forward. 
On the Square left two fire trucks, accompanied by BTR. The 
demonstrators sent streams of water. They ran, they knocked 
feet, beaten and spun, pushing in a "booth". 



  In a dark damp cellar under
dim bulb swinging from the gathered
half a dozen thin, haggard, with dark blue circles under his 
eyes, but determined to humans. They are about something and 
disputed quiet hoarse voice. Against the wall on the cranky

table was a self-made Spectrum. Around him lay a floppy disk 
and sheets of paper with illegible text printed out

on the printer D-100. They're stuck in huge quantities from the 
pockets of the crowd. Y cellar door was armed with a bicycle 
chain people. He also carefully listened.


  Suddenly, the door suddenly flew open and in
Soldiers poured basement interior
troops. The audience was literally crushed by the numerical 
superiority of the enemy. 

   One of the underground, sham
before a hacker, was standing behind the soldiers
and cried out: "Spectrum must die!".
As he tried to spit, but hollow on the
teeth.



  Old grandfather in a mangy fur hat and coat
out of the woods and climbed the railroad embankment to the 
tracks. Digging in the shabby backpack, he pulled otuda 
homemade mine. Carefully as the disk with the new programs, he 
found her, sprinkled snow, looked at the creature's hands with

hand, a satisfied grunt and disappeared
in dense thickets of spruce.

  An hour later, there will be a train loaded with
pisishnoy equipment. It will be the fourth in the account at 
the old partisan Mednonogova. 



              Debit and credit



(C) Protein, 1996

I began to live surrounded by houses,
I taught a crowded city,
I soon tired of the invisible shackles
And in the distance I dreamed of the mountain.

And I turned away from the streets and lie
And for horizon looked immense,
And there he saw revelations keys
And the mountains I opened my arms.

And I drowned in the quiet shadows of the valleys,
Passed like a dream, Affliction ways
And I choked winds vertices
And cried in my chest cracked

                                  stone.

And again, I returned to the city home,
I met a city with its networks.
But the pettiness, apathy, and anger with sadness
Found in this network only cracked stone.