(no subject)
[Ok doing this again in a better location, better format, and better written so hiding it from teh gooogles... Changing my mind, this is historical I guess...]
The city was laid out in geometric forms. Only hermeneutics could explain the twists and turns of the sewers, buildings, streets; their relations. Cantwell Crip woke up screaming and drenched in his sweat, as was usual. The dream of the fall already fading away. Rain on the window. Splattering water on the glass waiting for the sleeper to awaken and hear the noise they made. Cantwell ignoring the self-annihilating whispering raindrops, clutching his head in his hands, rocking like grass in the wind.
The alarm clock, a marvel of engineering designed to exacting specifications, flung against a wall moments after it goes off. The clock unharmed. Cantwell starts rocking again, but the motion is slowing.
"Incoming call. From Rosebud."
A genderless soothing voice says. Cantwell clenches his jaw then slowly counts to ten.
"Onscreen."
He grunts, and a shimmering square appears midair. It resolves slowly as a face appears within. Until a happy smiling young woman appears.
"Hey hey! Cripster, you're awake! and I was wanting to ask"
Cantwell cuts in.
"Yes, and what did my availability icon look like? Was it a red angry face with a storm cloud above it? Now what does a red angry face with a storm cloud above it mean exactly?"
Rosebud deflates for a split second then brightens.
"It means you're no longer asleep, and I was bored and got to wondering... Why weren't OPEC nations in the 20th and early 21st century..."
Cantwell stands up and starts pacing backwards and forth the large luminous square following him like a dog.
"... politically dominant? I mean they controlled the main physical economic resource of that period making them a prime candidate for a hydraulic empire."
Pausing to glare at the luminous square for a moment as if its mere existence was a personal insult, Cantwell sighs.
"If I tell you to go do your own research you're just going to play SomaCrack for an hour then come back and ask me again aren't you?"
"Cripster, my most cunning boojum. However did you guess?"
Rosebud flutters her lashes, blinks and leans into the screen. Cantwell relents.
"Ok. Ok... It's because OPEC were never a political entity. They were are cartel, and the ruling elite of the component politicogeographic entities were more interested in maintaining their wealth and social position than reshaping the politicoscape of the era."
"Oh how delightfully Marxist of you Cripster! You're such an curious anachronism. You know that? Oh! and you're grinding your teeth again. Why do you do that? It's so... primitive... And dare I say it?... Anachronistic. Have you heard that back then people used to dress up and conduct these things called renfairs where they pretended they were in an earlier era?"
Mid teeth grind Cantwell catches himself.
"How many times have I told you I'm not a Marxist? It's merely that the Marxist-Hegelian dialectic combined with Nietzschian analysis is the best metanarrative within which to approach the Second Axial Age. It's impossible to be a Marxist in the modern era, the economic assumptions behind it are irrelevant. And..."
Cantwell realising that Rosebud is sniggering stalks over to his bed, sits down, and rests his head into the heel of his palm, elbow propped against knee.
"Why did you call me anyway? Really?"
All of a sudden serious Rosebud replies.
"Well, it's just that the various Lunar and Asteroid mining Corps are having joint board meetings. Rumours on the line say that they're putting together a merger agreement and will be bringing it to their respective Stakeholder meetings within the fortnight."
"Shit!"
Says Cantwell Crip, and walks through a wall.
To be continued...
The city was laid out in geometric forms. Only hermeneutics could explain the twists and turns of the sewers, buildings, streets; their relations. Cantwell Crip woke up screaming and drenched in his sweat, as was usual. The dream of the fall already fading away. Rain on the window. Splattering water on the glass waiting for the sleeper to awaken and hear the noise they made. Cantwell ignoring the self-annihilating whispering raindrops, clutching his head in his hands, rocking like grass in the wind.
The alarm clock, a marvel of engineering designed to exacting specifications, flung against a wall moments after it goes off. The clock unharmed. Cantwell starts rocking again, but the motion is slowing.
"Incoming call. From Rosebud."
A genderless soothing voice says. Cantwell clenches his jaw then slowly counts to ten.
"Onscreen."
He grunts, and a shimmering square appears midair. It resolves slowly as a face appears within. Until a happy smiling young woman appears.
"Hey hey! Cripster, you're awake! and I was wanting to ask"
Cantwell cuts in.
"Yes, and what did my availability icon look like? Was it a red angry face with a storm cloud above it? Now what does a red angry face with a storm cloud above it mean exactly?"
Rosebud deflates for a split second then brightens.
"It means you're no longer asleep, and I was bored and got to wondering... Why weren't OPEC nations in the 20th and early 21st century..."
Cantwell stands up and starts pacing backwards and forth the large luminous square following him like a dog.
"... politically dominant? I mean they controlled the main physical economic resource of that period making them a prime candidate for a hydraulic empire."
Pausing to glare at the luminous square for a moment as if its mere existence was a personal insult, Cantwell sighs.
"If I tell you to go do your own research you're just going to play SomaCrack for an hour then come back and ask me again aren't you?"
"Cripster, my most cunning boojum. However did you guess?"
Rosebud flutters her lashes, blinks and leans into the screen. Cantwell relents.
"Ok. Ok... It's because OPEC were never a political entity. They were are cartel, and the ruling elite of the component politicogeographic entities were more interested in maintaining their wealth and social position than reshaping the politicoscape of the era."
"Oh how delightfully Marxist of you Cripster! You're such an curious anachronism. You know that? Oh! and you're grinding your teeth again. Why do you do that? It's so... primitive... And dare I say it?... Anachronistic. Have you heard that back then people used to dress up and conduct these things called renfairs where they pretended they were in an earlier era?"
Mid teeth grind Cantwell catches himself.
"How many times have I told you I'm not a Marxist? It's merely that the Marxist-Hegelian dialectic combined with Nietzschian analysis is the best metanarrative within which to approach the Second Axial Age. It's impossible to be a Marxist in the modern era, the economic assumptions behind it are irrelevant. And..."
Cantwell realising that Rosebud is sniggering stalks over to his bed, sits down, and rests his head into the heel of his palm, elbow propped against knee.
"Why did you call me anyway? Really?"
All of a sudden serious Rosebud replies.
"Well, it's just that the various Lunar and Asteroid mining Corps are having joint board meetings. Rumours on the line say that they're putting together a merger agreement and will be bringing it to their respective Stakeholder meetings within the fortnight."
"Shit!"
Says Cantwell Crip, and walks through a wall.
To be continued...