Tim Berners-Lee mourns Aaron Swartz
Ich hab’ heute einige Postings zu Aaron Swartz viel zu frühem Tod gelesen, aber dieses kurze Stück Hacker-Poetry von Tim Berners-Lee hat mir grade das Herz gebrochen.
Aaron is dead.
Wanderers in this crazy world,
we have lost a mentor, a wise elder.
Hackers for right, we are one down,
we have lost one of our own.
Nurtures, careers, listeners, feeders,
we have lost a child.
Let us all weep.
Lawrence Lessig: Prosecutor as bully.
Cory Doctorows Nachruf auf Boing Boing
EFF: Farewell to Aaron Swartz, an extraordinary hacker and activist
My Aaron Swartz, whom I loved
NYTimes: Aaron Swartz, Precocious Programmer and Internet Activist, Dies at 26
Internet-Archive: Aaron Swartz, hero of the open world, dies
Gigaom: The web responds to the death of hacker-activist Aaron Swartz
Guardian: Death of internet activist Aaron Swartz prompts flood of Twitter tributes
[update] Rick Perlstein: Remembering Aaron Swartz: „we are all Aaron Swartz“:
I remember a creature who seemed at first almost to be made up of pure data, disembodied—a millionaire, I had to have guessed, given his early success building a company sold to Condé Nast, but one who seemed to live on other people’s couches. (Am I misremebering that someone told me he crashed in his apartment for a while, curling up to sleep under a sink?)
Only slowly, it seems, did he come to learn that he possessed a body. This is my favorite thing he wrote: about the day “I looked up and realized I couldn’t read the street sign. I definitely used to be able to read that sign, but there it was, big and bright and green along the highway, and all I could make out was a blur. I had gone blind.” Legally blind, it turned out; and then when he got contact lenses, he gave us an account of what it felt like to leave Plato’s cave: “I had no idea the world really looked like this, with such infinite clarity. It looks like a modernist photo or a hyperreal film, everything in focus everywhere. Everyone kept saying ‘oh, do you see the leaves now?’ but the first thing I saw was not the leaves but the people. People, individuated, each with brilliant faces and expressions at gaits, the sun streaming down upon them. I couldn’t help but smile. It’s much harder being a misanthrope when you can see people’s faces.”
This man is dead now.