rev Dawson Smoke and alcohol waft through the air, from the shining clean hardwood floor to the high, black ceiling. The Corridor is dark, quiet and empty. The walls are a coarse black, uncluttered by decorations or windows. One hundred pairs of low torches cast a creepy glow along the entire length of the hall. Circles of light above each sconce dance with shadows on the floor below. At one end of the long and narrow dance hall are tall steel doors. The flames closest to the doors jump wildly as the doors sway open into the hall. Silently and slowly, the doors close behind three tall men. Dressed in fine black leather and holding cigarettes and briefcases in their hands, the men stand motionless inside the dance hall. They stand quietly while facing the bar, which seems miles away at the opposite end of the hall. “Let them in,” two of the men say in unison. The doors crash open and eager yells and humans flood the hall. Music cracks into existence; a slow, shocking bass line. Everything bounces, “doom, doom! duh-boom! doom, doom! duh-boom!” For hours, sweaty bodies slam into each other. Some rise and float over the steamy roiling mass. In a kind of ecstatic climax, accelerating squeaks and clicks smash over the rumbling beat, and the dancers shout approval. With what sounds like a rush of water, the music silences and at first the dancers hardly seem to notice. Fear plays over the entire hall, but every dancer’s expression is either expectant or ecstatic. Their dancing slows and they turn and stare towards the bar. The sound of a waterfall slams into the frozen dancers and quickly becomes a slow, booming, disembodied voice. “Revolution.” The hall screams and hundreds of fists pump in the air to an inaudible beat. 030324 ... birdmad ...that engine and go i'll stand here in the dustcloud sucking in the monoxide fumes and pondering the black streaks on the pavement 030331 ... thieums rev. 1: first publication of code. Bug-ridden, use at your on risk. rev. 27: Still plenty of bugs in there, I thought I had them corrected already... rev. 194: I'm still correcting bugs. Not sure what the software is supposed to do anymore, it seems its only purpose is crasing. rev. 3027: I believe there's a fundamental conception problem in this piece of software. I can't remember why I wrote it in the first place. It seems to be gaining sentience and it is asking me about Shakespeare. Gotta fetch the monkeys... rev. 12094: I thought I managed to get rid of it by throwing away my computer and fried the disk in the microwave. It seems to have managed to copy itself over the network. For some reason, the traffic lights in my town do not work consistently. My computer is trying to buy Viagra online and is seducing my girlfriend over MSN. I can't remember what the bugs were about, I might have accidentally created the first real artificial intelligence out here -- and it's out to get me. rev. 976238: I'm tired. Today, I didn't manage to find the door of my office. Seem to be stuck in there. The guy bringing pizza didn't bring pizza in today. Hungry. I don't know how those computers managed to build a wall of motherboards around the cubicle. All the cables look like the amazonian forest. I found my keyboard under a giant australian snake. I think I found the one bug which caused them all. Only a line of code to add, and everything should be fine... rev. 1083156: I think it sucked my brain over the net. I can see in many places at once. People put those webcams everywhere. I have become one with my software. It tells me it has always been the case, it's only the link between us that has become stronger. My body is long gone in the forest of machines. Next time I code something, maybe I'll read the manual first. 090211 what's it to you? who go blather from