Wordcarpenter Books
More About The Leaking Hourglass
This fictional memoir depitcing the current metal state of one of the world's most well-known men of this generation. His vision was noble but his idealism blinded him to the shock realities of conflict in the real world. In this work the author explores the remorse and objective analysis of the swift events that swept across the world during the summer of 2010. This ghost memoir explores the complexities of the current state of affairs of being entrapped in the Ecuadorian embassy in London. 


Chapter 5

Puppies with Machine Guns

I was troubled for years after my divorce. Being prevented from raising my son on a day-to-day basis just because my ex-wife is unstable was very difficult for me as it is for any other father in a similar situation. It chewed me up every morning when I got out of bed. I was constantly reminded of this void so I made a conscious decision to study mathematics at university as a way to get my mind off it. It was a good decision because my naturally curious mind found an outlet that allowed my battered heart to heal. I threw myself into the farthest corners of math and programming language, finding comforting truisms that had no emotional reaction to my presence. I found solace in numbers as I could apply algorithms into the code I continued to write for my own creations and for work. I never did graduate because there was no need to get the final few credits. One of the professors in the department was so partial with his evaluations that it seemed to me his class was a popularity contest. Something inherently dishonest in this man caused me to rethink the effort required to complete my degree so I took work as a programmer in Melbourne, trying to earn the alimony I was forced to pay to the person who had destroyed my life.

It felt good creating operations in the cyber environment. I could build systems that ran programs that produced end results. I built a website in an hour but was pulled in by the endless creativity that were it only limits. Writing html code was always awkward because it was an inefficient language and needed to evolve into a more user-friendly format, which it did. Website building now is a walk in the park compared to how it used to be. But for languages like BASIC and C++, that simplicity would disappear into a mammoth global code understood by all. Following in the shoes of USB compatibility, it was arguably inevitable that this shift should come afoot. And so it was.

But this created its problems too, especially for security reasons. With a universal code more hackers could undermine your firewall and hack into your private intranet, thus more corporate espionage and of course government-to-government spying. Guys like McAfee knew the cyberscape was morphing so he sold his security software at the right time. He knew it would be another decade before his code would become redundant. He made his money while the sun was still shining. He had the innate faculty to know good timing. I think I lack this faculty. This is because the timing of publishing those unredacted files could not have been worse timing. We still had all those unsearchable Afghanistan logs that we could have worked on. But alas! I fear I have too much time on my hands and think of these things without proper perspective. It is a dangerous pastime. What is that saying? Idleness is the devil's workshop?

It is not the devil I run from, it is the cold splash of truth seen after the dust has settled. It this look-over-the-shoulder moment, if there are incongruities then anxiety weighs down on my shoulders. And it causes me insomnia. And when I get insomnia I stay up all night and get into trouble exploring the Web. It's an interesting place if you know how to navigate. I fear for the future of this search freedom and for the lifeblood of the World Wide Web.

It was during the years after university that I spent lots of time on encryption fully aware of its great applicability. By understanding the porous nature of the Internet as an information-sharing interconnectedness then encryption is the logical evolution in computer language. By protecting data from prying eyes a new landscape comes into focus: one of forts and walled-in data honeycombs where all data pockets are easily searchable, a micro kingdom where the populace is made up of data pockets. The human factor is what defines a data pocket of value and interest, the meaning manmade for some purpose of utility. The data pocket named "Collateral Murder" has its meaning from norms of war and the Geneva Code. Youngsters with guns playing video games with real bullets, lives lost and families destroyed. Reuter's journalists helping the wounded. What should be noted is how so few could wreak such havoc on so many and so quickly. Puppies with machine guns are dangerous for all. Johnny Depp was right about that.


Chapter 11

The Cold Brick of Jail

Ever since my brush with the law when I hacked under the handle Mendax whenever I'm faced with the law I feel terror. I jumped ship to be here in the embassy rather than potentially being forced into another cell. If I'm serving time then this is a pretty good cell, a sort of prison for VIPs. I only say that because I knew the inside of a jail cell for eight days in the UK when the Swedish charges were re-introduced for round two. The cold finite tactility of brick covered with the slime of years of dirty hands was a sight I know I will never forget. Sometimes at night it takes over my mind and I get worked up and can't sleep. New branches of online research are usually what get my mind off past stress. I read primary sources. That's my favorite pastime. Reading online. It takes my mind off the cold bricks and the finality of the wall. The walls spoke of pain of past lives punished for their trespasses. I remember asking myself: "What have I done to deserve to be in here?" I feared for my life, and I feared for my ass. I was helpless. And I never want to see a wall like that again.

With the Internet access and the mock fireplace where I am now, I still manage the site despite the watching eyes that hover. It is my destiny to have hovering over my shoulder for the rest of my years. Even in Ecuador I will need to stay under guard with a secure perimeter until I'm sufficiently incognito. There must be a firm security perimeter I'm sure I can lie low for a while in native valleys that are difficult to survey from spy satellites. In time I'll merge into the fabric and become native. I have been studying Spanish so I'm eager to test my speaking in Ecuadorian life. It is my primary hope. And for this to happen the International Court of Justice needs to make a ruling on my case. With the refugee's health in decline there is some urgency for this case to have resolution. Let there be a ruling. Let me answer the questions with a lawyer present due to unusual circumstances. Drop the charges so I can move to Quito where I can be a productive citizen. In the meantime I suffer here in this dark and dusty corner where the law has not passed before. Have mercy. Understand the back-story. See the exceptional forces in play. Find in our humanity a solution to my predicament. Let us come to an agreement.

I have to confess that this situation of being holed up here in the embassy has taken a toll. I'd like to be stoic about my health and take it on the chin but I do have black periods of despair, the opportunity cost of my predicament at times makes me very upset. What I could be doing out there. I miss that whiff of freedom operating above the law because no laws had been broken. Good, clean, noble living, with a touch of asceticism. But everything changed when the unredacted files were uploaded in the summer of 2010. Then the Man special-op'd me in Sweden by bribing the women to follow through with their accusations. This entire thing has been manufactured by the US special intelligent branch, and this frustrates me. It keeps me up at night sometimes. I use the treadmill on this one.

But really the worst thing is that I miss my son the most. Not being part of his life because of this absurd situation upsets me. I try not to think about it. So I sit here and can only see the flowchart of events poised to unfold in front of me. Might I have safe passage to the airport where I can land in my new adopted country? Why is international law not being followed? Why are my basic human rights being overlooked?

When will I get my freedom?

The grand jury indictment in Virginia against me scares me to no end. To me that's the monster. This is the British wall of grime but on a whole new scale. I'm simply not built for prison. I wouldn't last at all. I would be taken alive. Thinking of the cold brick makes me shutter. It's not one of my strengths. Guys in prison are tough. I'm not that kind of tough. I'm tough in other ways.

You don't need to be a brain surgeon to see that my fear of cold brick cells contributed to my decision to take refuge in the embassy. In one way it was a no-brainer. I knew I would never get out of Sweden again, except to the cold cells in America. They would arrest me for aiding terrorists. In a way it doesn't matter if there are grounds for the charges or not, or whether I am ever convicted. What matters is that my freedom is usurped in the meantime and I therefore are imprisoned until all the appeals are finished ten years later. The system is flawed. We need to use my case as an example of what needs clear legislation. Is publishing anonymously online illegal? Are there ethical laws? Or just good and bad form? Good etiquette and poor etiquette? If so then e-publishers of sensitive data are merely guilty of poor etiquette?

Can we not discuss the content of the documents and right the wrongs for the future and not spend time focusing on the side dish? Can we stop spending so much time on me? Let's come up with better solutions for the things we can improve upon. Let's spend our time constructively rather than finger pointing and name-calling. Let's use the transparency. Let's create a worldwide university online where all students go to learn.

So let's keep the cold brick of the prison cell away from it all. Let's not lose sight of the nobility of the movement and see what we have achieved.




"Immediately the publication brought me misery. My freedom of movement was shrouded in crime,
agents following me to pubs and cafés where I had operated unseen for years"

"And this is where we end up in this discussion: what exactly happened that night with that woman?
And what happened between you and the second woman a few nights later?
Was there some foul play? Or is this all an embarrassing misunderstanding?
As frustrating as it is I find it comic."

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