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8 Apr 2016


      I know you will click https://goo.gl/UMIzzy and like what it says!!
No Kidding

On Thu, Apr 7, 2016 at 6:54 PM,  wrote:
...
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Today's Topics:
1. Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation (Xer0Dynamite)
   2. Re: The Panama Papers: If you thought Snowden's Leaks were a
      'limited hangout' then... (Zenaan Harkness)
   3. Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation (Zenaan Harkness)
   4. Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation (Xer0Dynamite)
   5. RE: [FORGED] Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
      (Peter Gutmann)
   6. Austrian military chief displays subtly rebellious attitude -
      America cringes (Zenaan Harkness)
   7. Re: [FORGED] Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation (Rayzer)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Message: 1
Date: Wed, 6 Apr 2016 18:28:52 -0500
From: Xer0Dynamite 
To: I 
Cc: cypherpunks@cpunks.org
Subject: Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
Message-ID:
        
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8
On 4/6/16, I  wrote:
...
"I've seen prisons."!!
Sorry.  I should have been more clear.  I've been assaulted three
times by police fighting for justice in America.  I've seen them on
the inside.  I've mastered the Law it takes to defend yourself and in
order to do that YOU HAVE TO APPRECIATE THE BASIS OF THE LAW.
They are too thick-headed to appreciate the little guys point of view,
but if you appreciate the law, you can be the victor.
There's serious injustice as I've said happening in America.  But
nearly everyone you report to is complicit.  They are not victims.
They like their redmeat, their television, their iPhone.  Why should
they fight for those with no voice?  (That's the question I had to
answer -- and ANSWERED.)
\0xD
------------------------------
Message: 2
Date: Wed, 6 Apr 2016 23:34:43 +0000
From: Zenaan Harkness 
To: Cypherpunks 
Subject: Re: The Panama Papers: If you thought Snowden's Leaks were a
        'limited hangout' then...
Message-ID:
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CAOsGNSRVvk2yVNtTZF739t7nVLBkU2rUUDLj3LVFd1BoKk+m6A@mail.gmail.com>
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On 4/4/16, Rayzer  wrote:
...
rysiek wrote:
...
Dnia poniedziałek, 4 kwietnia 2016 10:40:18 CEST Georgi Guninski pisze:
...
On Sun, Apr 03, 2016 at 09:13:30PM -0400, grarpamp wrote:
...
http://panamapapers.sueddeutsche.de/en/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panama_Papers
The Panama Papers is a news leak of confidential documents from an
offshore tax haven originating from the Panamanian law firm Mossack
Fonseca.
What is the main point?
The law is written by the rich for the rich.
I suspect a lot of laws have subtle workarounds for "optimizing taxes"
and worse stuff.
What other consequences this may have except to show someone broke
local
laws and have more virtual money than expected?
You're right, none. I suggest you don't read it, ignore it, and hence
make
your prophecy self-fulfilling. It will give you a warm fuzzy feeling
inside,
I'm sure. :)
For the rest of you that might be interested, here's another source:
https://www.occrp.org/en/panamapapers/
About your Panama Papers ... Brought to you by US intelligence agencies
with special thank to the "International Consortium of Investigative
Journalists" (ICIJ), which Pepe Escobar notes is funded by the "Center
for Public Integrity"... IOW:
"...the Ford Foundation, Carnegie Endowment, Rockefeller Family Fund,
Kellogg Foundation and the Soros racket"
One of his commenters:
"The  Panama Papers are the exact kind of weaponized Psyops posing as an
'activist leak' I wanted to see from Hybrid Warfare."
THE ULTIMATE LIMITED HANGOUT LEAK
Put on your Panama hat and dance the leak.
And if you believe in the integrity of the "International Consortium
    of Investigative Journalists" (ICIJ), I got a made in Shenzhen
    Panama hat to sell ya.
I never was, and never will be, a member of this racket; well,
    people asked me, and I'm answering.
The ICIJ gets its cash and its "organizational procedure" via the
    Exceptionalistan-based Center for Public Integrity. The money comes
    from: Ford Foundation, Carnegie Endowment, Rockefeller Faimly Fund,
    Kellogg Foundation and the Soros racket.
This alleged most massive leak ever was obtained by - what else - US
    intel.
But the REAL leak will never be known. Even the uber-pathetic
    Grauniad admitted, on the record, that "much of the leaked material
    will remain private".
Why? Because it DIRECTLY implicates a gaggle of Western
    0.00000000001% multibillionaires and corporations. All of them play
    the offshore casino game.
https://www.facebook.com/pepe.escobar.77377/posts/10154027375976678
https://www.facebook.com/pepe.escobar.77377/posts/10154027598731678
Pepe's article not on Facebook version:
http://russia-insider.com/en/dance-panama-papers-limited-hangout-leak/ri1376...
Well, at least clear directions for those with a genuine intent to
infiltrate and leak^B^B^B<ahem> axe to grind... don't wink now.
------------------------------
Message: 3
Date: Wed, 6 Apr 2016 23:46:40 +0000
From: Zenaan Harkness 
To: cypherpunks@cpunks.org
Subject: Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
Message-ID:
        <
CAOsGNSQKFri3Q_FQkZUXaM6gqDM2hxaW_+vnwNPSvDu7LyOp1g@mail.gmail.com>
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On 4/6/16, Xer0Dynamite  wrote:
...
On 4/6/16, I  wrote:
...
"I've seen prisons."!!
Sorry.  I should have been more clear.  I've been assaulted three
times by police fighting for justice in America.
Ahh, those American police, fighting for justice like the rest of us
should be. What great examples they set.
...
I've seen them on the inside.
Male or female police?
...
I've mastered the Law it takes to defend yourself and in
order to do that YOU HAVE TO APPRECIATE THE BASIS OF THE LAW.
Just as well you've clarified the basis of such MASTERY WITH
CAPITALISATIONS, MAKES IT REALLY CLEAR FOR ME AT LEAST, PROBABLY FOR
OTHERS TOO.
...
They are too thick-headed to appreciate the little guys point of view,
but if you appreciate the law, you can be the victor.
I agree with you, but it can be bloody tough getting to the point of
remaining in one's center in the face of the blatant corruption and
psychological attacks of a Magistrate or "judge".
...
There's serious injustice as I've said happening in America.  But
nearly everyone you report to is complicit.  They are not victims.
They like their redmeat, their television, their iPhone.  Why should
they fight for those with no voice?  (That's the question I had to
answer -- and ANSWERED.)
Very good, perhaps would be useful to share some of your successes
with the rest of us. Yes, there's a whole movement which can be
googled, but I'm responding to you raising specific and personal
events - many of us are interested in actual events, in particular
successes, not hearsay.
Regards,
Zenaan
------------------------------
Message: 4
Date: Wed, 6 Apr 2016 19:04:43 -0500
From: Xer0Dynamite 
To: Zenaan Harkness 
Cc: cypherpunks@cpunks.org
Subject: Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
Message-ID:
        <
CAMjeLr9unHypxOC5uY3hN4-uryPaOF_7A-38w1Kh+ZsxYoq2wA@mail.gmail.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8
...
Ahh, those American police, fighting for justice like the rest of us
should be. What great examples they set.
Agreed, but remember not only are they only 1 branch of the US
government, if they're acting without the authority and direction of
the ELECTED executive, you are at a better legal position than they.
...
...
I've mastered the Law it takes to defend yourself and in
order to do that YOU HAVE TO APPRECIATE THE BASIS OF THE LAW.
Just as well you've clarified the basis of such MASTERY WITH
CAPITALISATIONS, MAKES IT REALLY CLEAR FOR ME AT LEAST, PROBABLY FOR
OTHERS TOO.
Hey, my VT220 doesn't allow italics.  And it's simpler to hold down
the shift key when typing than searching for asteriks.
...
...
They are too thick-headed to appreciate the little guys point of view,
but if you appreciate the law, you can be the victor.
I agree with you, but it can be bloody tough getting to the point of
remaining in one's center in the face of the blatant corruption and
psychological attacks of a Magistrate or "judge".
Remaining in one's center yes.  Blatant corruption by a Judge, show
me.  Most every time people are victims to Judges who expect certain
kinds of proceedings that decades of lawyers have spoiled them with.
You have to remind them that it's a gov't of the People, not lawyers.
...
...
There's serious injustice as I've said happening in America.  But
nearly everyone you report to is complicit.  They are not victims.
They like their redmeat, their television, their iPhone.  Why should
they fight for those with no voice?  (That's the question I had to
answer -- and ANSWERED.)
Very good, perhaps would be useful to share some of your successes
with the rest of us. Yes, there's a whole movement which can be
googled, but I'm responding to you raising specific and personal
events - many of us are interested in actual events, in particular
successes, not hearsay.
Well I'm responding also to the idea that people are victims, they are
not.  They are usually complicit actors and beneficiaries of the
SYSTEM.  My personal story is too complex about how a taser shredded
my immune system so that now I can hardly fight for anything due to
the clinical depression.
Marxos
------------------------------
Message: 5
Date: Thu, 7 Apr 2016 05:12:11 +0000
From: Peter Gutmann 
To: I , "cypherpunks@cpunks.org"
        
Subject: RE: [FORGED] Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
Message-ID:
        <
9A043F3CF02CD34C8E74AC1594475C73F4C3B53A@uxcn10-tdc05.UoA.auckland.ac.nz>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
...
"I've seen prisons."!!
I've seen troopships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
Peter.
------------------------------
Message: 6
Date: Thu, 7 Apr 2016 08:26:33 +0000
From: Zenaan Harkness 
To: cypherpunks@cpunks.org
Subject: Austrian military chief displays subtly rebellious attitude -
        America cringes
Message-ID:
        <
CAOsGNSQ3zd83rScqyMPVGFzXJuvJuaAwd0i6TCNiZ2gK7-tnZw@mail.gmail.com>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8
Can't quite call him punk, yet.
https://www.rt.com/news/338641-russia-austria-cooperation-military/
'Russia closer to Austria than other major world powers' - head of
Austrian General Staff in Moscow
Published time: 6 Apr, 2016 12:46
"
Vienna’s top military figure noted that one of the reasons for his
visit to the Russian capital was to disobey others’ orders.
“I’m not going to carry out instructions and follow orders on who's
worth talking to and who's not. That’s exactly the reason why I
decided to pay you a visit,” Austrian General Staff Lieutenant-General
Othmar Commenda said at a meeting with the chief of Russia's General
Staff, First Deputy Defense Minister Valery Gerasimov.
"
------------------------------
Message: 7
Date: Thu, 7 Apr 2016 08:53:57 -0700
From: Rayzer 
To: cypherpunks@cpunks.org
Subject: Re: [FORGED] Re: [Cryptography] A humble recommendation
Message-ID: <57068295.3070007@riseup.net>
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="utf-8"
Peter Gutmann wrote:
...
...
"I've seen prisons."!!
I've seen troopships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
Peter.
I've seen: "...bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother
finally ******,"
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving
    hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at
    dawn looking for an angry fix,
...angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection
    to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and
    tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural
    darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
    contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El
    and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
    who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating
    Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were
    expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on
    the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in
    underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the
    Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards
    returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who
    ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley,
    death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams,
    with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless
    balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning
    in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating
    all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of
    halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the
    rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking
    traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring
    winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of
    mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from
    Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and
    children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered
    bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
    who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and
    sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s,
    listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked
    continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to
    museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost battalion of platonic
    conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off
    windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking
    screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and
    eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole
    intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with
    brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who
    vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous
    picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats
    and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under
    junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room, who wandered
    around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where
    to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in
    boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms
    in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross
    telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated
    at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho
    seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,
    who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in
    supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of
    Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown
    rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz
    or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse
    about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to
    Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind
    nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry
    scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast
    investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes
    sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who
    burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco
    haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in
    Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos
    wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry
    also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and
    trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit
    detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for
    committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and
    intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were
    dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let
    themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and
    screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
    the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in
    the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public
    parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come
    who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a
    sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked
    angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to
    the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual
    dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one
    eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the
    intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom, who copulated
    ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package
    of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the
    floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision
    of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
    who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the
    sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the
    snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in
    the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen
    night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of
    Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty
    lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops
    in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely
    petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of
    johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies,
    were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked
    themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and
    horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment
    offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the
    snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a
    room full of steam-heat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas
    on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blur
    floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in
    oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the
    crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the
    romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad
    music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge,
    and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the
    sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky
    surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night
    rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow
    morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung
    heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
    kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an
    egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for
    Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every
    day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times
    successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique
    stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were
    burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid
    blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
    of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of
    advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or
    were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who
    jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked
    away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup
    alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of
    their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in
    the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
    danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of
    nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw
    up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the
    blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of
    the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
    watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry
    seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision
    or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver,
    who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
    watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went
    away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
    who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each
    other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated
    its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail
    waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of
    reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who
    retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender
    Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black
    locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or
    grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism &
    were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw
    potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented
    themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
    and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
    and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol
    electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong
    & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
    pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later
    truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the
    visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,
    Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering
    with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight
    solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare,
    bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally
    ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement
    window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone
    slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied
    down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose
    twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary,
    nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— ah, Carl, while
    you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total
    animal soup of time— and who therefore ran through the icy streets
    obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the
    ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane, who
    dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images
    juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual
    images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of
    consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens
    Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose
    and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with
    shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
    of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel
    beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to
    say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly
    clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
    suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma
    lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the
    last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out
    of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
End Stanza I
Howl By Allen Ginsberg
For Carl Solomon
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179381
--
RR
"Through counter-intelligence it should be possible to pinpoint potential
trouble-makers ... And neutralize them, neutralize them, neutralize them"

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