Time Moves In One Direction, Memory In

She Knows, Now, Absolutely, Hearing The White Noise That Is London, That Damien's Theory Of Jet Lag Is Correct: That Her Mortal Soul Is Leagues Behind Her, Being Reeled In On Some Ghostly Umbilical Down The Vanished Wake Of The Plane That Brought Her Here, Hundreds Of Thousands Of Feet Above The Atlantic. Souls Can't Move That Quickly, And Are Left Behind, And Must Be Awaited, Upon Arrival, Like Lost Luggage.

A Nation,” He Heard Himself Say, “consists Of Its Laws. A Nation Does Not Consist Of Its Situation At A Given Time. If An Individual’s Morals Are Situational, That Individual Is Without Morals. If A Nation’s Laws Are Situational, That Nation Has No Laws, And Soon Isn’t A Nation.

Magazines In The Traditional Sense Were Aggregators Of Novelty. A Good Magazine Was A Lot Of Novelty, Stuff You've Never Heard Of Before, Clearly Aggregated By People Who Have Been Able To Travel Further And Dig Deeper Than You Have Been Able To Do. And That Used To Be Really An Important Source Of Stuff For Me. And Now It Is Less Important Because The Internet Has Eaten It All Up. But My Twitter Feed As An Aggregator Of Novelty Is Like... I Don't Know What I Would Do If It Became Any More Powerful, I Would Have To Start Reining It In Somehow.

The Future Is There," Cayce Hears Herself Say, "looking Back At Us. Trying To Make Sense Of The Fiction We Will Have Become. And From Where They Are, The Past Behind Us Will Look Nothing At All Like The Past We Imagine Behind Us Now.

I Watch For Emergent Technologies And Pay Attention To What People Say They'll Be Good For, Then See What We Actually Use Them For. It Never Occurred To Me That A Tiny Telephone With A Wireless Transceiver Would Do Whatever It Is That It's Done To Us.