December 2003 - cypherpunks-legacy

Re: 3DES weak because DES falls to brute-force? (was Re: JohnGilmore...)
by Kawika Daguio 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

If you listen to those in the exploitation community you might hear that 3DES provides less comparable security relative to DES than you know or have stated. Either way, however, it is more than sufficiently strong to secure any kind of traffic one might contemplate sending over a network. 3DES should work for a while, but I would prefer something more elegant and efficient. We have pushed 3DES forward as an interim standard, and are moving 3DES out into the world and the AES (128 and 256) forward to provide us another long-term solution. We told NIST that we hoped the AES could serve as a 20-30 year solution and are pushing algorithm agnostic standards to avoid similar obstacles to a transition in the far off future. One of the reasons we so aggressively pursued the negotiations over export control with the Administration and have pushed the AES, and our PKI is the collateral damage from the export control legislative debate. When the AES is finalized it will be followed closely by an ANSI X9 standard. Once these standards and infrastructure are established, the concerns about brute force attacks should be largely behind us. kawika daguio my views only >>> Ryan Lackey <rdl(a)MIT.EDU> 07/20/98 02:16PM >>> Sigh. One should not do math before coffee. Let's try this again: If you assume 2^56 requires $50k and 3 days, and are willing to take 2^8 times longer and spend 2^16 times more, and want to break a 2^112 bit key, and assume technology doubles in performance for this particular operation per year, then the calculation is easy to do. 112 - 56 - 16 - 8 = 32 If you wait 32 years, and have *incredible* performance gains in excess of what we have now (but which I think could be possible for worst-case crypto breaking chips, since they have relatively little in the way of communication, and have small units), and have a budget of 16 times what the DES cracker had (about $3b, which is totally reasonable), and are willing to wait about 2 years, you can brute force 3DES in the year 2030. There is still very little that is relevant in 32 years, and there is still a far better chance that some analytic attack will be discovered, a fundamental breakthrough in computation will happen, etc. before that time. 112 bits is below the "physical impossibility" point as far as key size goes (I like the calculation based on free energy in the universe in Applied Crypto). Chapter 7 in Applied Crypto is probably a far better analysis than mine, especially as it includes the caveat emptor section. Perhaps it is correct, "It's time to bring on those 128, 192, and 256-bit keys", at least for some systems, although I'd definitely prefer multiple ciphers separately keyed with long keys than n-DES for such long-term use. Calculating future key lengths really *is* a losing game. -- Ryan Lackey rdl(a)mit.edu http://sof.mit.edu/rdl/

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Re: Request To Be Phlamed
by Corvus Corvax 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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please respond
by Craz8Grl＠aol.com 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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you got that PGP program?
by LrdWill＠aol.com 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

you got it?

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If You Think I'm Crazy Now... - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
by Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

If ou Think I'm Crazy Now ou Should Have Seen Me When I Was A Kid ~Geezinslaw Brothers SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! _____________________________ From: MX%"chrisharwig(a)hetnet.nl" "kryz" To: MX%"bleed(a)west.cscwc.pima.edu" Subj: Re: Leftist Nutly News - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! I think you're a bit out of line. Wish you well and all of that. Strength that is. ---------- A "bit" out of line? I'm trying to be *way* out of line, but I guess I'm a failure at that, too <sigh>. Children of the 60's can all remember where they were when they heard about JFK being shot. Many of them can remember where they were when they bought their first pound of pot, and most of them can remember where they were when they sold their first pound of pot (particularly if they got busted in the process.) I bought my first pound of pot in a public park in Edmonton, Alberta. I needed to sell it to get the money to pay a fine for drug possession, and I couldn't, in good conscience, pay it with money that I'd earned by working for a living at my regular job. Let me explain... It was the summer of 1969... [Debitor's Bad Note: If 90% of the events in the Author's life seem to have somehow occurred in 1969, this might be the result of the massive electroshock and hypnosis treatments HeOrSheOrIt underwent under the...care...of an MKULTA physician in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Abram Hoffer, who undoubtedly appears as only a minor, peripheral figure, if at all, in most literature on the subject...likely as a result of great care being taken by shadowy background figures to keep him out of the limelight, ala Kim Philby, due to the fact that the record of his 'personal history' seems to be unable to withstand close scrutiny once one begins to investigate the time periods preceding the end of WWII. Hhhmmmm...] Quit interrupting, Dogamnnit! Anyway, I was working in orkton, Saskatchewan and living with a sixteen year old high school student with no parents, no job, no source of income, who always paid his share of the rent, and always had better clothes and more spending money than me. [It turned out that he had two motto's in life. 1)Everything that isn't nailed down, is mine. 2)Anything I can pry loose, isn't nailed down...] The apartment we shared tended to be a hang-out for a variety of local high-school kids, who would invariably bring by any interesting characters passing through town on the couch circuit, who needed a place to crash for the night. One of these characters was Frank Skanks, an older fellow. The drug scene in orkton was basically a Virtual Drug Scene, where most people knew somebody who knew somebody who had once copped a bag of weed on a trip with their parents to Vancouver, and shared it with a few close friends on their return. Upon Franks arrival, however, things picked up, and a few of the local kids suddenly seemed to have access to a fair amount of smoking dope. There even seemed to be some acid floating around. I returned home one evening to find a bottle of wine in the fridge, and had several large glasses before 'the gang' returned from a trip to the Dairy Queen, whereupon they became dismayed to find that I had consumed such a large portion of a concoction they had prepared in accordance with Ken Kesey's directions in 'The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.' That seemed to explain the fact that I was able to pick up Messages >From Mars through the fillings in my teeth, which I had always had trouble doing before... I found it to be a fairly pleasant experience, even though I did feel a slight bit of guilt, knowing that I had inadvertantly setback the plans of a dozen or so people who had hoped to get high with the portion of Dr. Skank's Magic Elixir which I had unwittingly consumed. I didn't mind being 'dosed,' since I had already figured on trying LSD on the proverbial SomeDay. When my enlightened reverie was interrupted, however, by the sight of Frank Skanks teaching a group of thirteen-to-fifteen year olds how to tie-off and shoot up, my pleasant experience took on a rather sour note. When my efforts to put a stop to the proceedings failed, largely due to the rush of young children knocking me down in order to get a good place in the line that was forming, waiting for Frank to find one of his few remaining good veins, I decided that, in the interests of saving at least a single child, I would call on Dudley DoRight for help. I walked to the local RCMP station, dodging the dinosaurs and hobbits which seemed to be everywhere, in a multitude of colors, and proceeded to inquire as to whether they might be interested in helping to postpone a group of young teenagers' entry into the world of needles and spoons and basement rooms until a later age, when they might be in a position to make better judgements in that regard. After throwing me in a jail cell, and grabbing a wide variety of heavy weaponry, a quickly assembled RCMP assault force rushed out the door, to 'save the children.' I had the uneasy feeling that they were intent on saving them even if it meant killing them. I didn't get any sleep that night, undoubtedly as a result of the fact that I was 'tripping for twelve,' and I could hear a lot of muffled, semi-legible conversations taking place on the far side of the walls, or door. They didn't seem to make sense, and I assumed that it was because of my temporary residence of planets of another galaxy. The clearest verbal communication I heard, as the door to the jail cells was opened, was, "Wrong door!" I don't know who spoke those words, but I imagine that it was one of the Mounties in the company of Frank Skanks, who was staring at me with extremely wide eyes, and with excrement obviously filling his shorts in less time that it take to utter, "Can you say *cop*! Sure you can..." I was totally dumbfounded, as well as still extremely wasted, but I still managed to smile, and say, "Nice suit, Frank." before the door closed and the conference which had apparently just broken up was quickly reconvened. Being young and naieve, I thought that this was the end of the story, an interesting story I would someday be able to tell my grandchildren, after DNA testing showed my denials of paternity to be outright lies. What I didn't understand, at the time, was that my surprise at finding that the Great Canadian Hero, Dudley DoRight, was somehow involved in something which seemed to run contrary to the Official Movie Mythology, would soon be supplanted by total incredulity that the spot of shit I had observed on the end of Dudley's Dick would soon prove to be a massive amount of shit covering the RCMP members' members all the way to their pelvis, and dripping down off thier balls into their rubber boots. And the shit would smell an awful lot like mine... The Official Story was that, after performing a search of my apartment, and finding nothing, the RCMP returned with members of the force who were more 'experienced' in this area, who, lo and behold, found a single joint in a suit-jacket pocket. I was charged with possession of marijuana. Tiny, a member of the Apollos Motorcycle Club in Regina, who Frank had travelled into town with, had apparently told Frank to 'fuck off' when asked to introduce him to individuals throughout the province, with Frank paying travelling expenses and providing spending money during the trips. Tiny was willing to testify in court as to Franks apparent instigation of illegal activities on behalf of some entity who seemed to be funding him. A few days before the trial, we were pulled over by the Mounties, who took Tiny into their police car to have a chat with him. Upon his return, Tiny told me that it was suggested to him that if I got off on the charge, that they would have to find someone else to take the fall, and that he was next in line. Tiny assured me that he would still be there for the trial. Bye, Tiny... In order to convict me of possession of a single joint, the RCMP sent two Mounties to my hometown for a week or so to investigate me, as well as contacting everyone I have known since birth. Although my lawyer had assured me that the case would undoubtedly be thrown out of court as a result of the RCMP's tacit admission that a wide variety of individuals had been seen coming and going from my apartment between the first and second searches (while I was still in jail), I was convicted, receiving a criminal record and a $ 300.00 fine (at a time when other people were getting $ 50.00 fines and conditional discharges--no criminal record). Being a well-programmed True Believer in Truth, Justice, The Flag, The National Anthem, Dudley DoRight, Mom's Apple Pie, ad infinituum, it took me quite a while to fully understand that I had been screwed, blued and tattoo'd for the crime of...seeing something that I wasn't meant to see. Those who have found themselves subjected to my insane, inane, wild-eyed rants on the CypherPunks Disturbed Male LISP might be surprised to know that I didn't, at the time, get 'a bit out of line,' as <chrisharwig(a)hetnent.nl> might say. As a matter of fact, I pretty much retained my naievity, somehow convincing myself that this event in my life obviously had to be some kind of aberration of TheWayThingsAre (TM), or that the RCMP detachment in orkton had been taken over and subverted by the Body Snatchers, and that I should just mark it all up to having a BadHairDay. {I have not come by my cynicism easily, having had it pounded into me over the course of the years by a variety of members of our Officially Recognized Authorities who deemed that, once I had become an OfficiallyLabledBadGuy, I was fair game for anyone who was in need of 'someone doing something dirty, decent folks can frown on.'} Although I will freely admit that I remained, for the time being, an ignorant, well-programmed middle-class Canadian white boy, I am rather proud of the fact that I showed a spark of future promise as an individual capable of evolving into AManWorthyOfBeingCalledAMan, as Gurdjieff would say, by listening to the voice inside which told me that there was a line I could not cross and still retain any semblance of integrity and self-respect. I could not, in good conscience, allow these thieves to take my hard earned money, in payment of the court-ordered fine. I was met, after my conviction, on the steps of the courhouse, by a group of local teenagers, most of whom I did not know, who were aware that I had never smoked a joint in my life, and had decided that if I had to do the time, I might as well do the crime. The first joint I ever smoked was on the courthouse steps in orkton, Saskatchewan, after having been railroaded into a criminal conviction in order to prevent my being in a position to speak out about my inadvertantly gained knowledge of RCMP malefeasance. The first pound of weed I ever bought was in a public park in Edmonton, Alberta, which I sold in orkton, Saskatchewan, in order to pay a fine that resulted for conviction of possession of a drug I had not only never before done, but had never before seen. So, Constable McClean and Corporal Esau, swear out some new warrants and take me to court. I've already confessed... Sincerely, Mr. BigFuckou

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Re: 3DES weak because DES falls to brute-force? (was Re: John Gilmore...)
by Steve Schear 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

>One of the reasons we so aggressively pursued the negotiations over export >control with the Administration and have pushed the AES, and our PKI is >the collateral damage from the export control legislative debate. When >the AES is finalized it will be followed closely by an ANSI X9 standard. >Once these standards and infrastructure are established, the concerns >about brute force attacks should be largely behind us. I think it likely, biological computation based brute force attacks will be available much sooner than many think. --Steve --------------------------------------------------------------------- reply to schear - at - lvcm - dot - com --- PGP mail preferred, see http://www.pgp.com and http://web.mit.edu/network/pgp.html RSA fingerprint: FE90 1A95 9DEA 8D61 812E CCA9 A44A FBA9 RSA key: http://keys.pgp.com:11371/pks/lookup?op=index&search=0x55C78B0D ---------------------------------------------------------------------

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by success26＠apexmail.com 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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De'Parts - The Parts locating highway...
by Marketing＠departs.co.il 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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De'Parts - The Parts locating highway...
by Marketing＠departs.co.il 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

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Canadian Shock Radio - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
by Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC 17 Dec '03

17 Dec '03

Canadian Shock Radio - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!! ____________________________________________________ Lest anyone think that my rendidion of 'Dudley's Dick In D-Sharp" might be a bit of sour grapes on my part, let me state, for the record, that I hold no ill will against the poor, ignorant Nazis in the orkton division of the RCMP, since basically all they really did was to totally fuck up their own Karma, while giving me a valuable life-lesson which may well have been responsible for my making a very important and far- reaching decision later in my life. ears later, as a result of knowing what awaits TheManWhoKnowsTooMuch I decided to keep my fucking mouth shut about the people and events that I observed from my position on the ceiling, while looking down on my body and the rest of the room during a particularly intensive electro- shock experience. Something told me that I was, once again, inadvertently observing something that would result in 'measures' needing to be taken by the RecognizedAndRespectedMembersOfSociety (of which I was not one), in order to ensure that I did not share with others what I had seen while peeking under the skirt of the GreatWhoreWhoWasWearingNoPanties. One of the more disturbing things I perceived while listening to the rather enlightening conversations taking place among the gathered civilian and military medical personnel, was something that I have come to understand rather recently, as a result of research that was begun after something Tim May mentioned in one of his posts to the CPUNX list. I thought it odd, at the time, to observe my being given a long series of electroshocks in a single session, since it was my understanding that They (TM) just gave a person one, quick whack, and then hosed the shit off your sheets and wheeled you into another room to make way for the next lucky winner. Recent research, however, seems to indicate that this was a special technique pioneered in Canada by Dr. Ewen Cameron, MKULTRA's resident wanna-be-Nazi-doctor, in order to wipe his patients' minds (and identities) 'clean,' in order to prepare them for a rebuilding of their personality, through a technique called Psychic Driving (which turns out to be a kindlier, gentler form of Brainwashing--as long as you are only comparing it to bamboo-shoots under the fingernails and rats in cages placed over one's face). Of course, Dr. Cameron, who retired to great accolade, recognized as a Titan in Canadian Medical History, as opposed to being tried by an International Court and sentenced to be hung, like his predecessors at Dachau, was really only being used as an expendable shill to take the heat if the shit hit the fan over Rockerfeller Foundation funded CIA/ Military experiments obliterating the minds of women being treated for such devastating mental disabilities as 'menopause' and 'post-partum depression.' After all, one could hardly expect the CIA to risk exposure of the players in the Canadian MKULTRA scene whose pre-WorldWarII alleged 'histories' could not withstand close scrutiny. Accordingly, after the shit hit the fan, it was Dr. Cameron who fell off a cliff while 'climbing' <nod-nod> <wink-wink>, while my physician continued to practice...and practice...and practice... Delving into the history of CIA mind-control experiments cleared up a few things that had been somewhat of a mystery in regard to my medical treatment over the years, such as how I had ended up being treated with hypnosis and heavy doses of electroshock when I had originally gone to see the doctor in regard to a particularly nasty hangnail, and what the fuck all of those Navy people were doing two thousand miles from the ocean. I'm just kidding, of course... The fact is, I *already* knew *what* the fuck all of those Navy people were doing in Saskatchewan. They were there conferring with Dr. Hoffer's alleged 'research assistant,' MJ. What I *didn't* know, at the time, was *why*. I was not surprised to recently find out, after a modicum of research, that Ms. MJ Callbeck left the Navy as a nurse lieutenant, specializing in psychiatric nursing, receiving most of her postgraduate training at Allan Memorial Hospital in Montreal, from phychiatrists who were, to put it as delicately as possible...PostWar Refugees From Hitler's Nazi Germany. (With 'refugee' apparently being defined as a physician who had escaped trial and hanging at Nuremburg, as a result of having a wealth of information and 'practical experience' in areas that were of interest to American and Canadian intelligence agencies.) Ms. Callbeck became a 'research nurse' for a research team formed in Saskatchewan with huge grant from the CIA's Canadian funding front, the Rockerfeller Foundation, and was awarded a training grant to visit two U.S. research units funded by the CIA's American funding front, the Human Ecology Foundation, at Tulane University, in New Orleans, and the Psychiatric Institute in New ork. After MJ's return from the HeartOfMentalDarkness of the MKULTRA mind-control establishments in the U.S., she created a psychiatric researching nursing team to 'control' all clinical research for the team, and to ensure that research protocols would be followed. Ms. Callbeck's and Dr. Hoffer's careers were closely intertwined with Dr. Humphry Osmond, a British Naval doctor sent to Canada to look after British Naval Intelligence's interests in the North American mind-control research arena being fronted by the CIA, with their MKULTRA Project, and Captain Al Hubbard, the Johnny Appleseed of LSD, whose hallucinogenic pecker-tracks throughout the OSS and the Manhattan Project led to him receiving a Presidential Pardon from Harry Truman, as well as opening doors for him to a wide variety of employment with such agencies as the CIA and the Canadian Special Services. As a matter of fact, the chronolgy of the U.S. mind-control experiments moving beyond U.S. borders, to countries such as Canada, when publicity and legal technicalities (such as the murder of innocent victims who had been dosed with hallucinogenic drugs without their knowledge) became a bit of a 'sticky wicket,' was mirrored in Canada by the careers of Hoffer, Osmond, Callbeck and Hubbard, who seemed to be at the center of much of the 'progressive' psychiatric research funded by American and Canadian military intelligence agencies, but who always managed to somehow exit the scene just before the shit hit the fan, and, as a result, "not get any fon 'em." {e.g. - Just as Hubbard (who looks surprisingly like my step-grandfather, Ray Hubbard) managed to slip out the back door of the Hollywood Hospital in Vancouver, just as "the Canadian Medical Association was becoming increasingly suspicious of Hollywood Hospital in the wake of publicity surrounding MK-ULTRA" (with the Canadian Citizen's Commission on Human Rights doing a distincly audible "Hhhmmmm..." over discovering a CIA contract psychiatrist, Dr. Harold Abramson, being on the Board Of Directors of the hospital superintendent's Psychedelic Therapy Assn.), Dr. Hoffer always seemed to manage to call a 'slant-right' at the exact time that a hole in the line seemed to open up, closing behind him and leaving the more dispensable players behind to face a legal and media blitz(krieg) that was more interested in kicking ass and taking names, than who actually had the ball. Naturally, after 1966, when overt legal research into hallucinogenic therapy was stopped/banned, Dr. Hoffer, who was then Associate Professor (Research) Psychiatry, College of Medicine, University of Saskatchewan, suddenly deemed it time to go into 'private practice,' where his work/ research would not be subject to the scrutiny of his peers and his employers, who might take a dim view of any connection to what was now illegal research. Ms. Callbeck, Navy Lieutenant, MKULTRA research trainee, also found it a convenient time to depart the Research Unit at the University of Saskatchewan, and assist Dr. Hoffer in the research he was pursuing. As always, what one finds upon inquiry into JustTheFactsMa'am never seems to be quite as intruiging as what one *does*not* find... For instance, one would expect a person who held such an esteemed position as Director General Technical Assistance, United Nations, to include this accolade on his or her Curriculum Vitae, but Dr. Hoffer does not seem to have done so. As well, all research into the details of the position seem to lead nowhere, except when one makes personal inquiries through people who were involved with closely connected areas of the UN agency at the time, and, even then, when one begins to ask more detailed questions about the involvement-of/relationship-with Kurt Waldheim, etc., people's memories suddenly get much worse, and, by golly it seems that they can't seem to remember hardly anything at all, and think that maybe they were mistaken about what they already told you. Of course, when one looks under the dustbins of history, one invariably finds a few dustballs that remain, as a result of someone forgetting to do a thourough cleaning, and one finds such gems as a letter from The Commission For The Study Of Creative Imagination, with such notables/ suspects such as Hoffer, Hubbard, Osmond, Huxley. Smythies, on the Board of Directors (with Hoffer's UN position highlighted), making inquiries into the Urantia manuscripts which Hitler's Deaths Head troops found so enamoring. "Our little planet, Urantia, is poised on the brink of an enthralling epoch of social readjustment, moral quickening, and spiritual enlightenment -- the threshold of true civilization." {Of particular interest is the lack of any mention of Reptilian Nazis, even though it seems to be common knowledge that Jesus descended into the bowels of the earth during his three days of being incommunicado. Were there 'basement stairs' in his 'burial' cave?} Also curiously missing from all references to the history of psychiatry and/or hallucinogenic mind-control experimentation in Canada is mention of an individual whose name I encountered many times in Saskatchewan, and always in relation to communities which contained major mental health hospitals or facilities--Frank Skanks. The above, of course, is just the tip of the iceberg that one discovers upon doing a bit of research into known and documented human figures in the history of mental health research and practice in Saskatchewan. If one begins investigations into some of the more shadowy figures who are usually encountered only when viewing their electroshock treatments from the ceiling above, or by following them from one's doctor's office and eavesdropping on them during their lunch, etc., then things get, as Alice noted, "curiouser and curiouser..." Stan, you've still got something hanging from your lip...

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