Lavinia sits on the bench outside the local Starbs and swallows her antifutureshock meds with a soy chai latte. After a few minutes, she feels able to switch her shades from obstacle-imaging to full vision. The world slowly fades up from green and black wireframe to three-dimensional colour. She gazes blankly over the rail station, at the full-
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*blink*
*looks at own LJ name*
weird . . .
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You're a fucking genius!
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Also, I never feel like Warren's writing the future. Weird Fiction, even and especially that with Sci-Fi themes, is never truly about the future, it's always about a timeless right now under a microscope constructed of digital Ayahuasca and any given madman's drunken perfect insight into our selves and our cultures. That's good scifi anyway.
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And the juxtaposition of the ideas that he's writing futuristic living, and we're finally starting to live in the future dreamed up 40 years ago.
I'm left thinking of some quote or another that I'm going to screw up and can't credit anyway. But something to the effect that reality is weirder than science fiction, because science fiction is limited to what's possible.
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Quite nice. A third of the hair on my back is raised and that's pretty impressive. Thanks.
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