Drunken murmurs of a cyberpunk I
The trigger has been pulled. Time for the hammer to fall.
This isn’t meant to be a manual. This isn’t mean’t to be the word that anyone follows. However, the historical dreary nights that are described in novels of the past are all lies. Instead you just find yourself plopped down in an IKEA chair, sipping on Highland Isley Scotch, sneaking peeks at your phone with an antiquated typewriter in your reach. Why bother? Gibson’s vision is coming true. We might just be in that awkward transitionary period. That’s what this is about.
Working backwards through time, the calming droll of the Star Trek series streaming down in the background, I’m trying to figure out how I got where I was today. I either didn’t care how long ago, or was too dumb to remember but from an early age when I was linked to technology, but it was my only escape out out of the murky water known as life. Technology is just another outlet for creativity and the arts, and with that eventually it’s manipulated for profit, profit, profit!
The mediums are dead. Phone. Television. Book. Everything winds up with an email client.
The absence is passion. And the passion is flesh. We often forget that to improve the system we must sacrifice some flesh. It scabs over and grows. The burst of the bubble, the cyst. The scab, the regrowth of Silicon Valley. Soon it will be reabsorbed back to the rest of the body to be flung against the world again.
The prizes of crypto-coin insufflated and were truly burning like chrome. Gibson was right. A display of pixels before my eyes tinted to adjust for the waning hour and the candlelight that I was surrounded from. Gamma. Yellowed. Another swig of scotch.
How did we get here? Apathetic young adults. The messages that Orwell or Huxley tried to convey. We grew up caring of our own and not so much of others. We ran up against an asymptote of burden after burden. Only to discover our boundaries of our own desires and the abandoned responsibilities of people before. We let ourselves down by never intersecting but shading our eyes from that burning corona.
Google Voice Translation
“Hello, I did not have a problem is the last time we can get the, and we, my name. I do need some ofthem back. Speak okay. Remote you come up. “
Love is like a Nokia Phone