If I were to put together a truly essential thank-you list for the people who most made it possible for me to write my first six novels, I’d certainly owe as much to Ronald Reagan as to Bill Gates or Lou Reed. Reagan’s presidency put the grit in my dystopia. His presidency was the fresh kitty litter I spread for utterly crucial traction on the icey driveway of uncharted futurity. His smile was the nightmare in my back pocket.
Funny enough, though, Bush is a worse one.
Of course, Bush makes no pretense of being a Catholic–or even of going to a church–so, in this wierd, upside-down world we live in, that means he’s less subject to criticism than Kerry.
(can one imagine having any other sort with her, and then being derided mercilessly for at least 18 hours on the site?), I imagine I’ll have to restrict myself to being amused by her use of such amusing phrases as
…”but that’s why the baby Jesus invented mixers, buddy.”:http://www.wonkette.com/archives/tiny-jon-stewart-and-his-crushed-self-esteem-023725.php
Well, first, I’m glad to see William Gibson is back blogging..
But, much more important than that, Peter Weir (whose film The Wave I should probably view again sometime, to see if it’s as confusing now as it was when I saw it at 10 or 11) is currently slated to direct a movie of Gibson’s novel Pattern Recognition.
Although I haven’t re-read it yet, I think PR is probably Gibson’s best novel, period. Yes, better than Neuromancer, if, perhaps, less ground-breaking.
The new iMac G5 that I hinted at a few weeks ago has arrived. Of course, the first thing I did was open it up and admire it like the techno-porn star that it is.
It gave me a good feeling inside watching these two bats go at it. When I began Attack Poodles, full of the idealism that accompanies the arrival of the first advance check, I dreamed of writing a book that would drive a wedge between ordinary Americans, that would bring strangers together and have them turn on each other within minutes without quite knowing why. And on this Sunday afternoon in New York came proof that I had accomplished my mission.
While–should I get back to any sort of substantive posting before November 2, which is unclear at this point–I may link to things other people have to say, or discuss the way my involvement in all this has changed me, I don’t think I can continue to talk about my feelings, because it’s obvious that when I do so I am unable to rise above fairly corrosive incivility.
So I’m going to stop. I’m unlikely to convince anyone, no matter how well I document the compulsive mendacity, or the failed programs or the disastrous policies, if I can’t even begin to make the case at anything less than a primal scream.
More yoga is probably the answer. Or more gin and tequila. It’s probably situation-dependent.