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Updated Britain's biggest chemist had its corporate Web site hacked this morning - by someone posing as a poet.

Instead of the usual corporate nonsense, the hacker left behind the 534-word poem known as the "Hackers' Manifesto".

Having never read it before, I was pleasantly suprised at its imagery and style. Thanks for all those who've written in to point out that this is not a new work.

However, I still believe The Conscience of a Hacker, betrays a deliciously dark undercurrent that shines a light on teenage angst in a digital generation.

If you haven't read the poem before, it's printed - in full - below. Or you can view the full page here at attrition.

Boots has now restored its site despite knowing bugger all about the break-in. One Boots bunny this morning even denied that the site was part of the Boots empire. Tut, tut - regardless of how embarrassing it is, that just won't do, will it? ®

The Conscience of a Hacker

Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers.
"Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...
Damn kids. They're all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker?
Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?
I am a hacker, enter my world...

Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...
Damn underachiever. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction.
I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..."
Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool.
It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up.
Not because it doesn't like me...
Or feels threatened by me...
Or thinks I'm a smart ass...
Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...
Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

And then it happened... a door opened to a world...
rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins,
an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found.
"This is it... this is where I belong..."
I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...
Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak...
the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless.
We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic.
The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud.
We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals.
We explore... and you call us criminals.
We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals.
We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals.
You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us, you try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity.
My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like.
My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto.
You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

Mentor (reproduced without permission)

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