our estimate of the number of web pages per website by Netcraft’s February 2007 count of websites, we arrive at 29.7 billion pages on the World Wide Web as of February 2007.
And there was even more. There were databanks, secure sites, programs, and websites that were supposed to be inaccessible to unauthorized users, but my iBrain knew how to get into them.
My iBrain, my iSelf . . .
My i.
What else did it allow me to do? Well, I could send and receive texts and calls, of course . . . and, what’s more, I seemed to be able to phone and text with complete anonymity. So, if I wanted to, I could send texts and make calls without anyone knowing who they were from. And I could hear other calls, too. I could access other mobiles — stored texts, call logs, address books . . . whatever was there. I knew it all. I knew where the phones were. I could either triangulate their signals or, with a lot of the new phones, simply locate them via their GPS chips. I could reach out into the radio-waved air and pick out a single specific telephone conversation from among all the millions of others . . .
What else?
I could take pictures — click .
Make videos — click , whirr .
Watch videos, watch TV, play games.
I could see every email on every computer and every phone in the world.
I could download everything downloadable . . .
I could do virtually anything.
I could overdose on information.
I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness for a while, emptying my head of everything. I was drained, exhausted. My skull ached. I was excited, confused, bewildered, thrilled . . .
This . . . whatever and how ever it was . . .
This was awe-inspiring.
A radio-controlled clock inside my head (receiving its time signal over the air from Anthorn in Cumbria [MSF 60 kHz]) told me that it was 23:32:43.
I lifted my hands and held them in front of my face. A soft glow was emanating from my skin — a gentle, very pale, almost purplish light. I watched, oddly unsurprised, as the glow started to shimmer, and my skin began pulsating again . . . radiating, floating, swirling with the essence of everything. I didn’t have to see the rest of my body to know that it was happening all over — I could feel it. And now that I was witnessing it up close for the first time, I knew what it was. It was everything , the same kind of everything that I had in my head: 30 billion web pages, galaxies of words and pictures and sounds and voices . . . all of it shimmering in and over and under my flesh.
And now I could control it.
All I had to do was switch something off in my head (I didn’t know what it was), and my skin would fade back to normal; switch it on again, and the cyber-galaxies came back.
I was learning.
At 00:49:18 I learned that Lucy hadn’t used her mobile since the attack, she hadn’t sent any texts or emails, and that she had a Facebook page but there hadn’t been any activity on it for months. No messages, no comments, no status updates, nothing. In fact, her Facebook profile was virtually blank — no friends, no photos, no videos, no favorites, no information at all. Just her screen name — aGirl — and that was it.
At 01:16:08 I learned how to hack into the personal computers of CID detectives at Southwark Borough police station, and I found out that three individuals suspected of carrying out the rape and assault of Lucy Walker were still under investigation, but that the senior investigating officer, Detective Superintendent Robert Hall, was not expecting any imminent arrests.
The three individuals named were: Eugene “Yoyo” O’Neil, Paul “Cutz” Adebajo, and DeWayne Firman.
Other individuals suspected of being involved, but with no evidence against them, were Yusef Hashim, Nathan “Fly” Craig, and Carl “Trick” Patrick.
Between 01:49:18 and 02:37:08 I learned (by experimenting with both a penknife and an old toy gun that fired plastic pellets) that when my iSkin was turned on, my whole
And there was even more. There were databanks, secure sites, programs, and websites that were supposed to be inaccessible to unauthorized users, but my iBrain knew how to get into them.
My iBrain, my iSelf . . .
My i.
What else did it allow me to do? Well, I could send and receive texts and calls, of course . . . and, what’s more, I seemed to be able to phone and text with complete anonymity. So, if I wanted to, I could send texts and make calls without anyone knowing who they were from. And I could hear other calls, too. I could access other mobiles — stored texts, call logs, address books . . . whatever was there. I knew it all. I knew where the phones were. I could either triangulate their signals or, with a lot of the new phones, simply locate them via their GPS chips. I could reach out into the radio-waved air and pick out a single specific telephone conversation from among all the millions of others . . .
What else?
I could take pictures — click .
Make videos — click , whirr .
Watch videos, watch TV, play games.
I could see every email on every computer and every phone in the world.
I could download everything downloadable . . .
I could do virtually anything.
I could overdose on information.
I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness for a while, emptying my head of everything. I was drained, exhausted. My skull ached. I was excited, confused, bewildered, thrilled . . .
This . . . whatever and how ever it was . . .
This was awe-inspiring.
A radio-controlled clock inside my head (receiving its time signal over the air from Anthorn in Cumbria [MSF 60 kHz]) told me that it was 23:32:43.
I lifted my hands and held them in front of my face. A soft glow was emanating from my skin — a gentle, very pale, almost purplish light. I watched, oddly unsurprised, as the glow started to shimmer, and my skin began pulsating again . . . radiating, floating, swirling with the essence of everything. I didn’t have to see the rest of my body to know that it was happening all over — I could feel it. And now that I was witnessing it up close for the first time, I knew what it was. It was everything , the same kind of everything that I had in my head: 30 billion web pages, galaxies of words and pictures and sounds and voices . . . all of it shimmering in and over and under my flesh.
And now I could control it.
All I had to do was switch something off in my head (I didn’t know what it was), and my skin would fade back to normal; switch it on again, and the cyber-galaxies came back.
I was learning.
At 00:49:18 I learned that Lucy hadn’t used her mobile since the attack, she hadn’t sent any texts or emails, and that she had a Facebook page but there hadn’t been any activity on it for months. No messages, no comments, no status updates, nothing. In fact, her Facebook profile was virtually blank — no friends, no photos, no videos, no favorites, no information at all. Just her screen name — aGirl — and that was it.
At 01:16:08 I learned how to hack into the personal computers of CID detectives at Southwark Borough police station, and I found out that three individuals suspected of carrying out the rape and assault of Lucy Walker were still under investigation, but that the senior investigating officer, Detective Superintendent Robert Hall, was not expecting any imminent arrests.
The three individuals named were: Eugene “Yoyo” O’Neil, Paul “Cutz” Adebajo, and DeWayne Firman.
Other individuals suspected of being involved, but with no evidence against them, were Yusef Hashim, Nathan “Fly” Craig, and Carl “Trick” Patrick.
Between 01:49:18 and 02:37:08 I learned (by experimenting with both a penknife and an old toy gun that fired plastic pellets) that when my iSkin was turned on, my whole
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