Kris writes:
>>I was there,
Not only that, but you were the only one there who I told who I was. Feel
flattered. Anybody else who knows had to do their own research. That they
did.
After I arrived, I had barely enough time to visit the men's room and grab
a cup of joe before I was photographed three times, up close and from
three different angles. None of the photographers asked permission first .
Do that to certain people in our society and their bodyguards will trash
your camera on the spot, and that's if you're lucky. To do it to anybody
is, at the very least, rude. I don't have bodyguards. Nor did I see much
point in assaulting one of the photographers because it would have
disrupted the symposium and accomplished nothing because the other two
would have gotten away. So I shrugged it off.
I wasn't the least bit surprised, though. I expected this to happen. It
comes with the address. Actually, I'm kind of flattered. You see, it is so
ridiculously easy to take my picture without my knowing it, that the only
possible reason for making a public display of it is to send me a message.
I am deeply flattered that someone thinks I'm worth the effort of sending
a message. If they only knew. Joke's on them.
I have been sent messages before. A few have been considerably more blunt.
One was once even delivered in front of my family. This particular
message, however, was delivered in front of a select audience. This means
the message was not for me alone, far from it. As the day wore on I
noticed the same and similar messages being delivered repeatedly and to a
number of persons other than myself. They, too, should feel flattered.
When I was young, one generally had to actually cause trouble for the
powers that be before a message was sent. Often these messages came with
great gusto, sometimes with extreme prejudice. These days it seems that
all one has to do to warrant attention is to show undue interest. But
don't be too flattered. Some remarkable advances in technology have made
keeping track of us extremely cheap and easy. Gum shoe tails and alligator
clip phone taps have gone the way of the flintlock and biplane. Like the
man said, they can read the brand of your golf ball from space. Even our
dossiers are handled by software. Political repression has almost fully
become automated. Gone are the sunglasses and trench coats. Today we are
tailed by Gestapobots. Himmler would have have cum in his pants, it's so
easy.
And it gets easier by the day, especially when we all get together in the
same room now and then. It's like we were doing their job for them. And
they don't even have to spring for the rent on the hall. We put up
ourselves. They sure must appreciate that because what ever else they are,
they're guys at work. Like guys at work everywhere, they want the job to
be easy. That way they look good in front of their bosses. And apparently,
we're a job worth doing well. But don't feel too flattered about that
either. If we were actually a threat to these guys they wouldn't have been
as subtle as taking our pictures in public. They would have Silkwooded the
coffee and donuts. And who knows, maybe they did. Time will tell.
And if they didn't, well, there's always the next time, or maybe the time
after that. See you there. Pack a lunch.
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