A Recipe for Disaster...
Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Take some Gibson, add a splash of Philip K Dick, a soupcon of Herbert and season with a little Harrison.

In a separate container, take a little Ford, mix in some Leone, and a dash of Shaara.

Combine elements thoroughly, then garnish with wu xiao, and strain through a mind warped by coffee and too much television.

I can see this place so clearly. From the grand and gargoyled facade of the Justice Building in the Central Square on Londinium, to the Star Line shipping out of Aberdeen, to the city of lights that is Sihnon, rooflines of a design old on Earth that Was transplanted under a new sky.

Other worlds. A plain that is nothing but a storm of ash under a scalded sky, that was once a living world with a horizon big as freedom. Small, dusty worlds with the heart mined out of them, held together with hope and pride. Worlds where the houses are on stilts, and the people travel the humid swamps on flat-bottomed boats. Cold, green little worlds, and worlds where other moons shine down on deserts, and the skyline is broken by the stark geometric lines of a transplanted history.

And everywhere, the people. With the same small concerns that people have always had, spreading out and living their lives. Whether cupping a small bowl of green tea in hands grown cold with early dawn, as you look down from a balcony over quiet valleys, or grabbing a bowl of noodles from the stall on the corner by the el, ready for another day of cubicle hell before you can get out to the park.

Or sitting in the pilot's chair of a battered little ship, looking out into the starfield.

All these worlds to play in.


Wednesday, September 19, 2007 4:38 AM


you have worlds enough and time enough, you have a chance to soar!!


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