visionant
Yet another annual round of public Visions from the captains of technomania, Messers Gates and Jobs in particular. What transformative power: a smaller iPod. Do users pay, say, $.099 per downloaded bunch o bits? Are the songs shorter, more like jingles?
And Gates, harping on his nervous system, nervously, waiting for it just once to actually work, while cyborg teens around the globe fill his house with virii beyond measure. And that two foot experience. That's just human phys...human...hu.
Neither will bring the next next big thing: a cloth, size of a handkerchief, into which we speak, from which we retrieve, without needing to reboot. Need someone's address? Ask it. What were the exact words of the Roe vs. Wade ruling? Ask it. What's Dave's podcast today?
Get your answer vocalized, or imaged on the cloth. Riot of moops talking into their hankies. Some nervous system. You'll see.
And Gates, harping on his nervous system, nervously, waiting for it just once to actually work, while cyborg teens around the globe fill his house with virii beyond measure. And that two foot experience. That's just human phys...human...hu.
Neither will bring the next next big thing: a cloth, size of a handkerchief, into which we speak, from which we retrieve, without needing to reboot. Need someone's address? Ask it. What were the exact words of the Roe vs. Wade ruling? Ask it. What's Dave's podcast today?
Get your answer vocalized, or imaged on the cloth. Riot of moops talking into their hankies. Some nervous system. You'll see.
posted by Tom Matrullo at Thursday, January 13, 2005
2 Comments:
The foregoing comment referred to a post, now extinct, consisting entirely of the word "test."
I would not wish to abuse the credulousness of any reader who might otherwise believe Kent to be stating that the hankey is what worked.
Robert Taylor, spinning those small bronze disks while the Eloi watched. The knowledge-memory of the race gathering dust while the Morlocks scuttle, stoking the engines of perpetual subterranean motion; and break from their labors to eat the happy simple children of that time.
We go to the stars with this parasite clinging to our brain-stems - or we don't, we stay and endure its vicious retaliatory brutally vindictive death-throes. Or there's a third option, but I never read that issue of analog.
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