Imperial Undertow

Surefire sign that I'm getting older: science-fiction posthistory is increasingly difficult to distinguish from fantasy-fiction prehistory. Because the tide is going out on this Empire, and the undertow is pulling millions of Americans under.

It's a familiar undertow. I know all too well what they're going through. The rage, the frustration, the steadily increasing desperation, the spiral into near-suicidal depression -- been there, done that. Long ago, the first ripples of that undertow almost carried me out to sea. This was almost a decade ago, when my chosen profession (the teaching of literature in the US) went and shot itself in the head. I shudder to think of what would've happened if I hadn't discovered the world of media studies.

The ripples became waves, the waves became a flood. The horrible tragedy is that most Americans still don't realize it isn't their fault. It is the fault of this dreadfully corrupt and unjust system we live in, this dying Empire collapsing under the weight of trillion dollar military boondoggles and trillion-dollar bailouts for corrupt banksters. Trillions for war and theft, while schoolteachers are fired to save pennies and children are test-milled into oblivion.

We must disassemble the monster, before it disassembles us all.

In happier news, I've posted some new theory-rants posted here (the first of six, they're all up now). Also, I finally scored a cheap webcam, which means more webcasts will be unleashed in the near future on an unsuspecting planet. Next up: thoughts on the postneoliberal era.

Six Levels of Twilight

Grey shapes, formless. The bead of droplets on unknown surfaces. Gibsonian complexity which cuts the eye. Capillaries stream with light. World-systems strobe past, granular and immiscible. Ready or not, the 21st century has finally begun.

Darkness

Bad cold. Nightmares all night. Energy-drain. Crush depth. We're all Joseph Capelli and Susan Shepherd in the war of the Wall Street Chimera on humanity.

I refuse to quit.
I refuse to quit.
I refuse to quit.

There is only resistance.

Twilight Souls

Deep in the dissertation zone, which is much like living permanently in one of the deeper levels of Russian sci-fi writer Sergei Lukyanenko's Twilight in his hugely entertaining Nightwatch novels (now available to English speakers thanks to excellent translations by Andrew Blomfield).

The shaping of each word. Measurements of texture, the scanning of density and mass. The extreme energy expenditure of standing still. Endless dunes of grey sand, beading into opalescent skies, streaked with light. Kneel down and grab a handful of sand: what seemed platinum gray at a distance turns out to harbor shimmering colors, each grain a fractal multitude.

Where have I come from.

Where am I going.

It's hard to think transnationally.