Cyberspace. A Consensual Hallucination.

Home. Home Was Bama, The Sprawl, The Boston-atlanta Metropolitan Axis. Program A Map To Display Frequency Of Data Exchange, Every Thousand Megabytes A Single Pixel On A Very Large Screen. Manhattan And Atlanta Burn Solid White. Then They Start To Pulse, The Rate Of Traffic Threatening To Overload Your Simulation. Your Map Is About To Go Nova. Cool It Down. Up Your Scale. Each Pixel A Million Megabytes. At A Hundred Million Megabytes Per Second, You Begin To Make Out Certain Blocks In Midtown Manhattan, Outlines Of Hundred-year-old Industrial Parks Ringing The Old Core Of Atlanta.

I Started Writing Short Fiction Very Briefly, As I Imagine Is The Case For Some Novelists.

We Don't Legislate Emergent Technologies Into Existence. We Almost Never Do. They Just Emerge, Dragged Forth By Adam Smith's Invisible Hand. Then We Have To See What People Are Actually Going To Do With Them, And Try To Legislate To Take Account Of That.

Hollis Thought He Looked Like William Burroughs, Minus The Bohemian Substrate (or Perhaps The Methadone). Like Someone Who'd Be Invited Quail Shooting With The Vice-president, Though Too Careful To Get Himself Shot.

[the Currency Of Being Celebrity] Used To Be Only The Elect Had Any Manna In The Information Society And Everyone Else Was A Consumer.