Los eufemismos de la guerra (o la vigencia de Von Clausewitz) - II

Carl von Clausewitz
Military person
Carl Philipp Gottfried von Clausewitz was a Prussian general and military theorist who stressed the "moral" and political aspects of war.

Metaforas de Guerra: (link)

On War: (link)

Los eufemismos de la guerra (o la vigencia de Von Clausewitz) - I

Los países occidentales ya no hacen la guerra. Entran en conflictos justos, y solo por razones humanitarias. Las víctimas civiles que provoca un bombardeo no son muertos o heridos, sino daños colaterales. Un soldado que protege un pozo de petróleo en un país extranjero no sirve a unos intereses económicos, sino que lucha por su patria. Así mismo, aquellos que se oponen a las actuaciones armadas de este tipo (antimilitaristas) podrán ser considerados antipatriotas. Y España no vende armas a países que no respetan los derechos humanos, sino material de doble uso. 

REPORTE COMPLETO EN PUBLICO.ES (link)

Realpolitik or the American reality show (Let's defeat Trump!)

I will make mine some good ideas from Michael Rosemblum.

(...)

We vote for the best entertainer. The most entertaining political figure is the winner. And that is Trump. He kills. The rest are dead.

So how can the Democrats defeat The Donald? Like the man in the movie says, you need a machine to beat a machine.

The Democrats should wake up, ditch Hillary (who has all the entertainment of a schoolmarm), and find someone even more entertaining and better TV than The Donald if they expect to win.

My suggestion: Take The Donald at his word and undercut him while you can. Draft Oprah. It's your only chance. Jon Stewart? Good TV but does not really rate big numbers. But Oprah? A ratings titan! And she doesn't seem to be doing much these days.

If you think the Fox GOP debates got viewership wait until you see the Presidential debate between Trump and Oprah. 90% viewership, I bet. The ad spots will go for more than the Superbowl. Battle of the Titans. The Thrillers in Cleveland (or wherever it takes place).

Of course, once the election is over, we'll all have to live with President Trump or President Oprah, But what the heck, move a few cameras into the White House and we'll have a Reality Show that will go on for years.

The country may go to hell in a hand basket, but at least it will be fun to watch.

Like they say in Hollywood: That's Entertainment!

A hacker's manifesto

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The following was written shortly after my arrest...

                       \/\The Conscience of a Hacker/\/

                                      by

                               +++The Mentor+++

                          Written on January 8, 1986
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        Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers.  "Teenager
Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...
        Damn kids.  They're all alike.

        But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain,
ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker?  Did you ever wonder what
made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?
        I am a hacker, enter my world...
        Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of
the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...
        Damn underachiever.  They're all alike.

        I'm in junior high or high school.  I've listened to teachers explain
for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction.  I understand it.  "No, Ms.
Smith, I didn't show my work.  I did it in my head..."
        Damn kid.  Probably copied it.  They're all alike.

        I made a discovery today.  I found a computer.  Wait a second, this is
cool.  It does what I want it to.  If it makes a mistake, it's because I
screwed it up.  Not because it doesn't like me...
                Or feels threatened by me...
                Or thinks I'm a smart ass...
                Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...
        Damn kid.  All he does is play games.  They're all alike.

        And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through
the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is
sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is
found.
        "This is it... this is where I belong..."
        I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to
them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...
        Damn kid.  Tying up the phone line again.  They're all alike...

        You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at
school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip
through were pre-chewed and tasteless.  We've been dominated by sadists, or
ignored by the apathetic.  The few that had something to teach found us will-
ing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

        This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the
beauty of the baud.  We make use of a service already existing without paying
for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and
you call us criminals.  We explore... and you call us criminals.  We seek
after knowledge... and you call us criminals.  We exist without skin color,
without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals.
You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us
and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

        Yes, I am a criminal.  My crime is that of curiosity.  My crime is
that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like.
My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me
for.

        I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto.  You may stop this individual,
but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

                               +++The Mentor+++

SALVE MAESTRO MÁXIMO DAMIÁN

Máximo Damián Huamaní

(San Diego de Ishua, Ayacucho Perú, 20 de diciembre de 1936 - Forever) 

A tough guy with Peruvian bodyguard

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan M. Thomas, (1914 - 1953)