John McAfee has never been convicted of rape and murder, but—crucially—not in the same way that you or I have never been convicted of rape or murder.
CoinsBank, the company organizing the cruise, has left little welcome gift boxes in each of the rooms. They contain painkillers, Alka-Seltzer, several condoms, the world’s flimsiest pregnancy test, and a half-bottle of Jägermeister.
Roger Ver is a true believer. [...] He’s not a libertarian; he prefers the term “voluntaryist.” “The idea is that all human interaction should be on a voluntary basis or not at all.
He then gives me a metal pin that represents “Metatron’s Cube,” the symbol of his “future of now family community,” he says, launching into a little explanation of sacred geometry. “It’s one of the most powerful symbols in existence. That’s the seed of light, that’s the genesis pattern of creation. Where all life comes from.”
This is no less bonkers and a lot more good-hearted than the five talks I’ve just sat through where people in suits declared, and I am barely paraphrasing, that bitcoin will go up forever, taking everyone in the room with it until we leave this mortal plane and ascend into the ionosphere where ICOs rain chocolate money and there is no death.
FTA: "For instance, in October, artist Kelly Donnelly released the feminist anthem “I Am She” using Ethereum, making it, in her words, the “first unblockable music video ever released … meaning women living in censored regions like Iran, Saudi Arabia, China, and Turkey have been able to watch the video.” Sounds good to me."
Still, I am at least wearing the fresh socks provided by CoinsBank, the one genuinely useful freebie in this cacophony of sleaze and kitsch. Who doesn’t need fresh socks? These ones come with an uplifting message for each day, and a schedule reminding us where we’ll be. It’s Saturday, we’re about to pass by Monaco, and the message on the socks is: “A Man is Always Right.”
“No amount of coercion,” he said, “can solve a math problem.”
I, too, was a lonely intelligent child who knew the special horror, as most lonely intelligent children do, of thinking both very little and too much of themselves at the same time. I am as susceptible to fear of missing out, to the seduction of being surrounded by people who tell me I’m important, as any other elevated nerd.
I am the last person—the very last—to claim that having once made a mistake means you’re morally unsalvageable. Six months ago I wrote an article that really upset people, an interview with the followers of now-disgraced alt-right spokesman Milo Yiannopoulos. I conducted in-depth discussions and attempted to understand the motivations of young proto-fascists on the new far right. What I found was that these people are often horrifyingly confused and misguided in a way that only white men ever get to be. The howling insincerity of leaders like Yiannopoulos who will say anything to shore up their personal power is only matched by the zeal of their followers who really mean it. I also found that people will construct intricate architectures of fake oppression to persuade themselves that they’re still the good guys. A lot of today’s Nazis don’t know they’re Nazis, because they still think Nazis are comic-book villains from history, and they’re not alone. Many people argued that in conducting those interviews, I normalized the message of neo-fascism. Staying in the room with that critique has been extraordinarily instructive. It has once and for all taught me that history doesn’t give a damn how well you meant.
This raises more questions than it answers. Why is it that only two of the four lucky “18+ only” ladies will get passes to the conference? The conference is the whole point of the cruise, right? Also, why would a four-woman suite have only two “twin beds”? (We were initially told this meant two single beds, then two doubles.) Why don't the other room listings mention age requirements? Could it be that we are missing some glaringly obvious subtext here?
Milo Yiannopoulos is a charming devil and one of the worst people I know.
... there is absolutely nothing I have been able to say to Milo to persuade him that we are not friends. The more famous he gets off the back of extravagantly abusing women and minorities, the more I tell him I hate him and everything he stands for, the more he laughs and asks when we’re drinking. I’m a radical queer feminist leftist writer burdened with actual principles. He thinks that’s funny and invites me to his parties.
I’m not going to quote Milo’s speech here. You can find it online if you want to. It’s a very good speech, for a given value of “very good” that’s designed to leave decent people keening in a corner over the death of reason. He tells a racist joke. The crowd goes wild.
It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter that he’s secretly quite a sweet, vulnerable person who is gracious to those he considers friends. It doesn’t matter that somewhere in the rhinestone-rimmed hamster wheel of his mind is a conscience. It doesn’t matter because the harm he does is real.
If there is information on a blockchain that an authoritarian regime disapproves of could they not just outlaw the Lantern service and all Etherium clients?
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