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December 9th, 2017

After Madison, Sylvia and I spent a couple of days in Chicago, which is not a town I know well. Hadn’t been there for years.

We stayed a hotel near the Millennium Park. Some nice stuff there, like a pair of large cell-phone-like sculptures showing short video/portraits of Chicagoans. Damp night, reflections on the pavement.

The really striking sculpture in the park is a large chromium bean. On the top, it’s like a reflecting mirror, but if you go under it, you get these weird multiple reflection regresses..

It’s such an interesting that the complications aren’t from physical elaborations upon the form of the sculpture, which is fairly simple in itself The complications come from the physical world’s interactions with the sculpture. I was thinking the glossy upper surface is like the smiling face a person might present to the world.

And the warped, teeming underside is like the private parts of a person’s mind.

Our hotel building was eighty-stories high, but the hotel section of the structure only went up about twenty floors. It’s the smaller building in the middle here, the Radisson Blu.

Another big sight site for us was the Chicago Art Institute, one of the big museums of the U.S., up there with the Met in NYC and the National Gallery in DC. This work is kind of amusing, it’s by Sam Gilliam, known for his poured color-stripe paintings…and at some point in his career he was like, Why bother stretching them? The canvas looks fine if I just toss it into a corner.

It’s kind of dumb to take photos of paintings as nowadays you can find the higher-quality images of the paintings on the museums’ websites. But I still do it sometimes anyway. Love the ringmaster in this Toulouse-Lautrec.

And this garish gas-lit woman in a Toulouse-Lautrec nightclub, her name is May Milton, she was English, and said to be scandalous and doughy. She was dancer Jean Avril’s close friend.

Like the Met, the Art Institute has old stuff as well. Loved these bronze griffins. Over and over in museums, I’ll see something that’s centuries old, and it’s so “modernistic” looking, and I’m reminded how time-independent art is. We imagine we’re making progress and unearthing new tricks, and it’s all been done before.

An interesting temporary show on a Brazilian woman artist called Tarsina. This is one of her most famous works, called “Anthrophagy,” as in “eating humans,” a sort of playful name she had for her art movement, taking off on the notion that Europeans might view South Americans as primitive cannibals, but also taking into account that, as an artist in a less developed country, she and her peers were in some sense “eating” the art of the Europeans and repurposing it for their own style.

Abstract composition of planes and drawing bits. I have a weakness for these kinds of photos, playing with the viewfinder’s space and then, later, playing with the crop tool.

Did you ever realize that ROOF is (almost) FLOOR spelled backwards? Funny how the artist brings this home with a typographic mural, and the one later that doesn’t match is covered here by the man.

By the way, SPELLED spelled backwards is DELLEPS (that’s pointless old Mad Magazine joke).

Chi has a “North River” area, north of the Chicago River, which runs into enormous Lake Michigan, and Michigan Avenue there gets into a kind of NYC Fifth Ave upscale shopping strip, they call it Miracle Mile, I think. Anyway, at the big Uniqlo store I noticed that they actually had a certain famous cellular automaton running in the light-pattern murals, it’s the “Heat” or “Rug” rule.

So horrible, so ghastly, to see a giant Trump hotel in a new city. It’s the frikkin’ second or third tallest building in town. Like a hideous recurrent nightmare to keep seeing that name and hearing about that person. I still feel like we twigged off into a dreadful minor time fork in November, 2016. The world hasn’t felt stable or fully real since then. Like we’re living in an episode of Twilight Zone. Waiting for the alarm to ring and the bad dream to end.

On the much better side, we went to the amazing Kingston Mines blues club in Lincoln Park and saw the Mike Wheeler band and a blues lady called Dimitria Taylor. Wonderful shows, funky place.

Oh, and something else to recommend: a restaurant in the Loop area called The Dearborn. Very mellow, kind of like a relaxed Balthazar of NYC, wonderful food. Such a good place we ate there two nights in a row.

Nice view of the other skyscrapers from our hotel room, via a mirror. Mirrors are gateways into the fourth dimension, right. But it would be risky to pass through and then be hundreds of feet in the air.

We went down to the park and a bunch of skating-school kids were putting on a show. The coach gives me a fish-eye look, old man taking photos of her charges.

I’ve never understood how they can skate backwards. My mind always seizes up, trying to imagine how I’d do it.

Wandered into an old office building lobby in the Loop buildings, that is, the area inside a loop of the elevated train’s track, a few blocks in from the lake.

We made it down to the old Chess Records building/office/studio, a two-story house on South Michigan Ave. Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Little Walter and even the Rolling Stones recorded there. A shrine.

A guy named Keith gave us a tour, he’s part of the family of the early bluesman Willie Dixon, also a Chess musician. Willie got the deed to the house from Chess in lieu of back money they owed him. Keith posed with me at the spot where Keith of the Stones stood when they reordered their EP 5×5 in that studio. I noticed that one of the walls in the studio were parallel to each other…for a better sound.

They had a case of Bo Diddley memorabilia. Bo’s album Bo Diddley was the first album I ever bought in my life. His song “Crackin’ Up” was my favorite, and later the Stones covered it too. I remember being 13 or 14 and listening to “Crackin’ Up” with its sweet-sour plangent guitar notes, and Bo’s warm voice, me standing in front of my parent’s full-length mirror looking at myself, dancing a little, thinking, maybe yes, maybe someday I can be cool.

They had a case of Muddy Waters stuff too, also some photos of Muddy. Here he is with his girlfriend KD.

It was raining when we got out of Chess, and we went back into the Chicago Art Institute for lunch. Noticed this really odd ancient Greek sculpture of a hand sticking out of a guy’s mouth. I think the idea is that an actor was holding a big mask of a satyr and sticking his hand through, maybe just to make it weird. Actors…

I picked up on this Symbolist painting by the Swiss artist Arnold Böcklin, called In the Sea.. 1883. I thought a lot about what’s going on here. A sea god and four women are singing. I think they’re lounging on a reef, like seals. That dark thing behind the guy might be his tail, or maybe it’s a rock. Note that the mermaid woman’s exposed tail branches in two, which is much handier for orgies. Are the women all mermaids, or are some of them just visitors—or even abductees? Two pointy-eared mermen have joined the party, and one is holding a triton shell. Reminds me a little of the painter Franz Stück also. Kind of like science-fiction painting, but not according to any familiar themes.

Amazing views from the air, always. Too much to even process.

When we got home, my neighbors were cutting down a bunch of small eucalyptus trees in their yard. If you get a big euc with a single trunk, it’s kind of nice. I like how they sway in stormy wind, like kelp, but it can be unsettling.

To keep our trip-feeling going, Sylvia and I hit the San Jose Opera, it had been maybe eight years since we went there, and they’ve gotten better. Good scenery, and good singers who handled their acting well.

And then it was up to SF to share Thanksgiving with Rudy Jr. I always like to get a shot or two of the buildings in the city, kind of visually abstract.

Kids crawled around under the tables during the meal. There were a bunch of us there, a real pilgrims and natives scene.

Someone toots a festive trumpet note into the night. And then Rudy set off a bunch of fireworks. He still had a stash from going to Wyoming last year.

Thank you for the dusk.

Sylvia and I took the grandkids to a beach we’d never been too, Thornton Beach, down at the south end of the long SF City Beach.

It’s a long way down to the water, but so beautiful and green, at least these days with a bit of rain under our belts.

Rudy’s garage has a mobile of those old orange records, a sales angle, peppier than black vinyl.

And a week or two later we got together with my dear old friend Nathaniel Hellerstein, having one of those odometer-roll-over birthdays. He put on a cape and a floppy hat and found a cool old cane from his father Earl. The Duke of Earth. Nathaniel, like me, got a Ph.D. in mathematical logic.

An SF Con and a Visit to Madison

November 28th, 2017

Today’s topics are a trip to an SF con near Chicago, and a visit to Madison, Wisconsin.

Flying over the Rockies to Chicago, looking down at a little town by the edge of the mountains. So archetypal, somehow. I can never believe that some people want to close the plastic shutters on their seat windows in the plane. So they can—do what? Look at a video? When right outside the window you’re seven miles above the ground looking down at cloud castles and landscapes heretofore unseen by human eye?

I was what they call the “GoH” or “writer guest of honor” at Windycon, a small (1,000 attendees) SF con held in a hotel in mall parking lot Lombard, Illinois, nearly an hour’s drive south of Chicago. My writing isn’t very popular among the people who go to cons, so it tends to be a discouraging experience for me to go to a con.

I mean, I already know that not all that many people read my books, but to be on a panel and to look out at a small group of people of whom only one or two has read me, and usually that was a long time ago…well, it’s not something I enjoy. But I figured it was time to try a con, and the GoH honor drew me in, and I wanted to have a look at Chicago.

At any con there are always a few fellow mutants in the mix, case in point, Greg Ketter, owner of the Dreamhaven Books in Minneapolis. I’ve known this guy for over thirty years and—hallelujah—he had a few of my books for sale in the dealers’ room. Nobody else had them in stock. And even Greg didn’t have any of my recent self-pubbed Transreal Books novels. All the more reason to have Night Shade Books reprint nine books from my backlist, a worthy project now underway.

The hotel bar was cozy, with a Chicago feel. Even though I don’t drink anymore, I love places like this. They feel safe, they’re like my early adolescent images of the way the world was going to be. Sitting here, I’m looking forward to my panels and my big talk!

Previsualization: My handlers lead the circus animal from his cage in the shadows behind the tent. He blinks at the bright light, slightly confused. He attempts a growl, someone throws a soda can at him, he snarls. Kafka territory.

I bought a great Cthulhu T-shirt (modeled on Sheppard Fairey’s Obama poster). “Cthulhu for REAL Change.” Got it from Barb VanTilburg of OffWorld Designs—she runs it, and her husband Ray designs a lot of the shirts. They drive from con to con in a big van, selling their wares, kind of a gypsy existence.

The thing about cons…they’re not all that much about the actual books, they’re about the media…comics, video, movies, TV, t-shirts, and free-form user-designed costumes. A con is kind of like a reef, with all kinds of curious critters living on it. A short-lived reef—what Peter Lamborn Wilson calls a TAZ, or a Temporary Autonomous Zone.

Speaking of making costumes—or what the fans call cosplay—these two guards were pretty cool. Another upside was that a con staffer called David Iverson got me a good audio of my “Welcome to You Cyberpunk Future” talk which I posted as a podcast. The con organizers were nice to me. Many thanks in particular to Daniel (Gundo) and Teresa Gunderson for inviting me, and to Marinda Darnell who helped me settle in and stay afloat.

I liked giving a reading of my story, “Attack of the Giant Ants” to a group of twelve (few but fit). [Check out the 2014 podcast of me reading this.] And it was sweet when a handful of tru-fans showed up to get their copies of my books signed. Always refreshing to see those old, and sometimes forgotten, items in the hands of someone who treasures them.

Of course a lot of the people getting signatures are just dealers, looking to flip some product, but, hey, their activities are in some sense generating value for my brand. But the ones I love are the elite core who really do care about my work, the ones who say, “This book changed my life.” I live for that.

Despite the good moments, I did have a very strong flash of “What am I doing here?” when I awoke on each of my three mornings at the con. It’s usually like that. And then I feel guilty and ungrateful for tiring of these dear and all-too-human souls. This annual event is their source of joy, their gay holiday of fun and magic, and they look forward to it, and work on it, and plan for it, and make all the pieces come together, and I, the aloof interloper, I have grave doubts. So I’m a horrible person. What a payoff.

“Why can’t you just relax, Rudy?” says my wife’s voice in my head. “Be happy for them that they’re having fun. They’re touching. Love them.” Well, maybe my wife wouldn’t go that far. Maybe that’s Jesus’s voice, or the Buddha’s, or the White Light’s…

One day I left the con for three hours to go see the Thor: Ragnarok movie on an Imax screen in a 19-screen AMC theater across the parking-lot, between the hotel and the JCPenney store. What an overdone heap of bombast and glitz, that Thor flick. Fun at times, though. Jeff Goldblum was great, teasing Thor and saying “the -ass place or ass land” instead of Asgard. So Beavis and Butthead. And you could order food from your seat in the theater, I got an open flatbread with a Philly cheese steak on it, so delicious in the dark, gobbling it like a wild animal (released from my cage in the shadows behind the tent).

Anyway, I got through it, and, like I say, there were a few good moments amid the con ennui. I kept being polite to people, even delivering a saintly homily at the opening ceremony about how it warmed my heart to see their joy at their little communal festival.

Well, okay, I was nice to everyone except for a fellow panelist on a “What are your fave books? panel. It was all the GoHs on the panel: GoHs for science, art, videogames, writing, cosplay, and signing (in the sense of translating talks into sign language in real time).

The panelist sitting next to me wouldn’t shut up about some dipshit fantasy books, lavishing cliché praises upon them, trading heartfelt hosannahs with a another motor-mouthed fellow panelist, who claimed to be the “moderator.” And they get onto William Goldman’s Princess Bride (a fine work but, I would humbly submit, not the greatest novel ever written).

And I manage to break in and mention that Goldman wrote a good coming-of-age novel called The Temple of Gold and that it was, in a way, a bit like Catcher in the Rye. And the panelist next to me cries: “The Temple of Gold is SO much better than Catcher in the Rye!” And I’m like, “Well, they’re different.” And the panelist is like “No, Catcher in the Rye is whiny garbage!” And, without turning my head, I deliver what is, for me, the mild-mannered math prof / SF writer, a withering put-down. “And you’re an…English teacher? Hm.”

And then I rode an Uber to the airport, which was closer than downtown Chi, and at the airport I got a regional bus to Madison, Wisconsin, where daughter Georgia lives. Wife Sylvia was already there. She’d side-stepped the con. It was a four hour trip, I hadn’t done a long bus ride in decades, especially not alone, and it was kind of fun. That unplugged feeling.

Here’s a random shot of an intersection near our mid-journey stop in Janesville, Wisconsin. What if you just got off the bus in some place like this and tried to make a life? Turing a corner in time.

The University of Wisconsin football team is a big deal in “Mad Town,” and some impish sculptor erected an amusing monument next to stadium. It’s a statue shaped like an obelisk of about two thousand concrete footballs. I love it, although some people think it’s silly. But I like art to be witty and fun, as opposed to bombastic and grim.

Madison has a great art museum, thanks to UW, and we went around the place in the company of a certain impish grandchild. Dig this shot of her silhouetted against some art-glass and a window. If you shoot enough, sometimes you catch a good one. Or, as my self-deprecating mother-in-law Pauline used to say of herself, “Sometimes even the blind hand finds an acorn.”

Here’s a work in this museum that really got to me. “Untitled” by David Klamen. Of course it’s “untitled,” because you can’t see the picture in the picture, there’s not enough light, and it’s all black, and here it is, and you’ve been searching for it your whole life, and you can’t see it. Like a dream. What made Klamen’s painting really perfect in this setting is that the museum architecture kind of matched what you see in the picture.

One last shot for today. This is the hook on the inside of the bathroom door at Mickies Dairy Bar on Monroe Street in Madison, not far from the stadium. I figure the hook’s been in place for forty or fifty years. Look how deep it’s dug into the wood. Awesome. Nothing is ever over, nothing is lost, god is everywhere.

Podcast #103. Welcome to Your Cyberpunk Future.

November 18th, 2017

November 10, 2017. Audio of my talk “Welcome to Your Cyberpunk Future,” at Windycon in Lombard, Ill. The slides are online here. I first gave this talk in Louisville, in September 27, 2017, and posted about it then. Press the arrow below to play “Welcome to Your Cyberpunk Future.”


And, if you like, Subscribe to Rudy Rucker Podcasts.

About Writing, with Pixel-2 Photos & More.

November 6th, 2017

Upcoming events: My 2011 painting “A Skugger’s Point of View” will be part of the group show ILLEGAL, curated by Kal Spelletich at the Luggage Store gallery on Market St. in SF. (“P. S. We don’t sell luggage.”)

===Poster for the “Illegal” show in SF. Opening party Friday, Nov 10, 6-9.

And I’ll be at Windycon 44, an SF con in Lombard, Illinois, near Chicago, from Nov 10 – 12, as Author Guest of Honor, doing some panels and giving a talk.

===Either this is Rudy’s painting “A Skugger’s Point of View,” or it’s Rudy’s view (including peripheral vision) of his audience while he gives his talk on “Cyberpunk Future” at Windycon in Lombard, Friday, Nov 10, 8-9.

By the way, all the images in the rest of this post were taken on my new Pixel 2 phone camera over the last few weeks. I’ll say a bit more about this furhter down.

I’m rockin’ it on Return to the Hollow Earth these days, really pushing it along. I’m about a third done. It’s common to think of novels and films as having three acts. I’ve written Act I, with two more to go.

===Rudy at the Luggage Store gallery, shyly joyful.

With the two acts to go on my book, I need to concoct twice as many events as I’ve already described. I worry about this, as I already have had so much stuff happening. And I can’t easily see that far ahead. Foggy road. But it’s always like this. The muse feeds me one scene at a time. And I hardly even pretend to make outlines anymore.

To keep me going, I always have a few big upcoming scenes in mind. This is my twenty-third novel, and by now I’ve learned not to not to hoard my big scenes for later. Don’t vamp while planning to do the big scene later. Write it now. The muse always feeds me more big scenes once I’ve written the ones I already have. It’s can be nerve-wracking to work this way. To depend on the unseen and unseeable muse to step in, over and over, always handing me the next cue card. But it keeps working.

But I do a lot of stuff to get ready for the muse. I find ways to, like, invite her to sit down by my campfire here in the darkness. I use logic a lot—I do have a Ph.D. in mathematical logic, after all. And I know a little bit about physics. So when something physical is happening, I might run some formulas and numbers to find out what has to be done. And when this is working well for me, the numbers turn out different than I expected, and this forces certain new decisions about how to write a scene.

===I’ve been writing so much that my body is sore all over, and I need to start doing daily yoga again.

I have a number of large creatures in Return to the Hollow Earth. There’s the giant flying nautilus with hydrogen in its shell. They’re call ballulas. The one in my novel is named Cytherea and she belongs to Edgar Allan Poe. My guys ride in the ballula through the hole in a maelstrom at the North Pole. Normally ballulas eat people so—logic dictates—I need for my guys to have, um, magic telepathic gems that can control Cytherea.

===Here’s Rudy Jr. at the Luggage Store gallery with me, in front of googly eyes, and with a badass look.

And there’s these fat flying shrigs, who are pigs in front and shrimp in back. Size ranging from a cow to to a three-masted ship. Very dumb. And there’s a couple of krakens, three miles long, and one of them, Jumungo, is swimming in a circle underwater below the Arctic Sea to keep that maelstrom open (more logic here) and the other one, Fafnir, catches shrigs to eat and to feed to Jumungo, who is slowly, slowly brooding upon a clutch of two dozen eggs on her stomach.

===Kelp in Big Sur. Or neurons in my brain. A ganglion. As above, so below.

To help the process along, I write a book of notes in parallel with each novel. When I’m done the novel and the notes are about the same length. At first, when I’m wiseacreing for the swing of thought (a phrase from Gurdjieff’s intro to one of his books), the notes are much longer, and they continue growing all along, but at some point, I get into a bloodlust writing frenzy and the novel pulls ahead.

===Secret of the universe, revealed in a parking garage. The secret is, however, ineffable and cannot be spoken.

And all along, when I don’t know what to do in the novel—or don’t feel like doing it—I go and put something in the notes. Making drawings, maybe, or a timeline, or a case-by-case discussion of what might happen next, or a to-do list of things I need to fix, or kvetching about not getting enough writing done. And none of this is actually where the ideas come from. The ideas come, as I’m always saying, from sudden random thoughts, fed in by the muse. General principle: if an idea seems too wackball and out there to use…then probably you should use it. Readers enjoy being surprised, so the book should keep surprising the writer too.

===I generally do not write about psycho human lurkers in the basement. Squid, okay, or krakens or man eating ballulas, but not lurkers. Too mass media. I write escape literature, right?

I got excited about the new iPhone 8 and iPhone X, but then after reading about them and about the competitors on the web, I decided to break out of the fold and get a Google Pixel 2 phone—as I mentioned above. Some say the Pixel 2 camera is better than the cameras in the new iPhones, although, of course, this kind of thing is endlessly debatable. The Pixel 2 has only one camera lens (unlike the high-end iPhones which have two lenses), but supposedly it makes up for this by automatically shooting a bunch of images and munging them together for each photo, achieving high dynamic range (detail both in the bright and the dark areas), knocking down motion blur, and suppressing low-light high-ISO artifacts.

===Wow! The tree is God. I think the built-in HDR (high-dynamic-range) is what makes this looks so good. Also the Google Photo app’s “auto” setting is usally very nice.

On the Pixel 2 camera, AI, in other words, is supplanting lens glass. Good image is all about having a lot of info about the thing you’re shooting. More info means more photons. Big glass lens means lots of photos being processed. But one might argue that if you quickly, sneakily, take ten shots each time you press the shutter release, then it’s like your lens had ten times the area. This sounds good, but even so the fine details and the low-light shooting of a camera phone is not as yet able to match a heavy duty big lens.

Anyway I’m quite happy, and even pleasantly surprised, and even at times wowed by the Pixel 2 shots. As I said, all the images in this post were taken on my new phone camera over the last few weeks. Although, as I just said, if you zoom in, the detail sharpness never matches what I’d get on my trusty Fujifilm X-100T with the largish wide-angle glass lens, or on my monster-lens Canon 5D. But, as the saying goes, the best camera is the one you have with you, and this often happens to be the Pixel 2 which, although larger than my old iPhone SE, fits in my pants pocket.

It has been a bit of an ordeal for me to leave the familiar and well-thought-out user interface that that Apple products provide. By now I’ve put in maybe fifty solid hours of, tweaking my Pixel 2 settings, posting on forums, searching for info on the web, and experimenting. I’m still not totally happy with my new workflow from camera to desktop to online posts. But I’m getting there. It’s too complicated and geeky to go into here. But if you’re a phellow photo phreak, you can check my forum discussions online. Disclaimer: I’m often wrong.

Other recent events now: Halloween, Michael Blumlein, Big Sur, walking around Los Gatos, and Blade Runner II! Photos of all that here, with quick comments.

Halloween, we went up to SF and went around Bernal Hill near Precita Park. Kids line-up. I don’t admit to knowing any of these rag-tag urchins.

Some of the adults in costume too. Love this psychedelic garage. The woman’s wig glows, not sure how.

And a house of freaks all dressed like people from “Wizard of Oz.” That might be the wizard himself with the glowing glasses. One woman had a little house atop her head, she was the house that fell on the bad witch.

===Rudy, Michael Blumlein, Carter Scholz, Kim Stanley Robinson, Richard Kadrey

Sylvia and I went to a talk by Michael Blumlein, a fellow Freestyle Cyberpunk Transreal No Wave SF SF writer. We all had dinner together an a new Hungarian restaurant called Duna on Valencia St. Nice easy place, good food, decent prices. So great to sit around with other writers. They understand. The months and years of work at the keyboard, the fuck-all scraps of recognition, the derisory levels of pay, the sweet solace of the craft, the joys of discovery, the pleasure of forgetting you’re alive while you’re lost in the subdimensions.

The big Blum himself. Last year we thought he might be dying, but he keeps hanging in here and maybe even getting better, which is great. We like having him around.

Sylvia and I drove down to Big Sur a week or two after they opened up the bridge, or overpass is more like it, just south of the village itself. On the way home we stopped at Phil’s Seafood in Moss Landing. They had a great bluegrass band playing, “Glad to Be Here.” One of those gifts from the gods, to sometimes happen up on wonderful music.

Wonderful food too. At Phil’s you order at the counter and sit at a picnic table, and they have tables out back on a sand dune sloping to the beach and the sun was setting, so fabu, with the *ping* crescent moon up there. It’s so good to be alive. And every day is the only day.

With that bridge open in Sur, we could go to Pfeiffer Beach (public park, although very nearly unmarked from the highway). The turn off is about a hundred yards north of the new bridge or, as I say overpass. Went down to see the wonderful square hole the big seastack rock, with the surf coming through, a magic door to another world, which I used in my novel Mathematicians in Love. I put the Pixel 2 phone video on YouTube to make it lightweight enough to fit into this post.

Cosmic gnarl brimming through.

And magical sun rays through the pines. Pfeiffer Beach is one of my favorite spots in the world. Oddly enough it is the setting for several scenes near the end of Marlon Brando’s movie “One-Eyed Jacks,” now out on a Critereon Blu-Ray at last. So I went and bought that DVD, can’t seem to stream the new hi-res version online. Marlon was such a physically beautiful man, and had such a perfect “bad attitude.”

Warming up at Rudy Jr.’s hose before Halloween, dig the baby pumpkin and the hand. Alien objects. If you ever really look hard at a human foot or hand…how strange.

So that’s almost enough photos for this blog post. A month’s worth. This is me waking up as Blank Reg from Max Headroom after a night of uneasy Franz Kafka dreams about metamorphosis…

And a still photo from the new Blade Runner movie, which I liked very much. I posted a bunch of stuff about it over at FaceBook. The photo above, that’s the hero K and a 60 foot tall hologram of his girlfriend Joi, who is a hologram even when she’s small, a hologram run by some AI software that poor K is in love with. The image, to me, captures something at the core of a person’s relationship to the internet. The internet so big and sexy, toying with you, pretending as if you, as an individual, matter.

Never mind. The daily world is always just outside my window, incalculably rich and detailed, always free.

The past, not now
The future, not yet
Between two nots

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