The view from down a hole
I have a question. It's been asked before, but I'll ask it again. What the fuck happened to my future? I reread Masters of Deception again recently; in it one of the boys told another what he would buy when he was rich: a flying car. He saw it on the news, and he fucking had to have one. This was the year of our lord nineteen ninety five, and Masters of Deception was not a novel. I read Popular Mechanics each month and every month they laugh at their rediculous predictions from ages past. They laugh at their own visions of flying cars and cities below the sea. Every month I want to headbutt them until they spit out their laughing teeth and bleed out into their brains.
Today I should expect to live for two centuries; my children should watch their sunsets through the iron red dust of mars; I should feel the electric hum of the world as data pours down the bright lines straight into my head. I should bring war from the cold between stars to foreign heavens on chariots of adamant and iron; drowning them in nuclear flame and spearing them on lances of pure light.
For decades we have ridden the cusp of the future. For my entire life the breakthroughs have lurked a dawn away, teasing us. About eight years ago I started hearing about stem cells, and the promise of infinite transplants rode with them. Today we still see only theories and controversy. In an age where processor power doubles every year and a half, we are apparently unable to put said power to work. Today we use these computers to play World of Warcraft.
What happened? Who dropped the ball? What is their address and why can I not beat them to death with a brick? I will almost certainly never see the stars from the otherside of atmosphere. I will never move beyond this mere flesh. Our future has slipped away from us. I want it back.
Today I should expect to live for two centuries; my children should watch their sunsets through the iron red dust of mars; I should feel the electric hum of the world as data pours down the bright lines straight into my head. I should bring war from the cold between stars to foreign heavens on chariots of adamant and iron; drowning them in nuclear flame and spearing them on lances of pure light.
For decades we have ridden the cusp of the future. For my entire life the breakthroughs have lurked a dawn away, teasing us. About eight years ago I started hearing about stem cells, and the promise of infinite transplants rode with them. Today we still see only theories and controversy. In an age where processor power doubles every year and a half, we are apparently unable to put said power to work. Today we use these computers to play World of Warcraft.
What happened? Who dropped the ball? What is their address and why can I not beat them to death with a brick? I will almost certainly never see the stars from the otherside of atmosphere. I will never move beyond this mere flesh. Our future has slipped away from us. I want it back.