Real Working Girls Buy Surgical Augmentations — My Impressions of the Cyberpunk Genre

Cyberpunk is exceedingly pastiche. It imitates our own postmodern absurdity much more than it explores a bizarre non-existent side-future. I suppose that this is why it’s appealing to a certain type of individual.

Cooking is as much a technology as the smartphone is. Technology, in general, isn’t so much something that I associate with the future so much as it is a product of the mind used to accomplish some end. In “Neuromancer,” Gibson’s portrayal of women fringes on treating them as mere sex objects. Linda Lee, in particular, is essentially Case’s sexual drug. Molly is quite an oddity within the general scope of Gibson’s world because she breaks away from what we come to expect of women in the first part of the book. Molly is without a shadow of a doubt a gender transgressor. She’s pretty I guess. But also pretty deadly due to her surgical augmentations. Of which were paid for through sex (she was a meat puppet). Ultimately, she uses sex as a tool to break away and isolate herself from the “normal” life that she might’ve had otherwise. As a reader, Molly is even more attractive because of this. She even leaves Case high and dry at the end…

street_samurai_by_genesischant

It’s all very interesting because people out in the horrific world are slowly becoming aware of the fact that they have the ability to decide what they want to be. To many, when they become confronted with this they either:

1. Turn tail and deny it as unnatural–which it is, considering we are already unnatural beings. (their loss though)

2. They embrace it and ultimately integrate closer to their authentic Selves. (best case scenario, also the rarest)

3. Use it as a band-aid to address another underlying issue that doesn’t become apparent until it’s too late. (worse case scenario, most common)

Everyone can craft their identity. Does that mean that humanity is falling away from us though? Or is there something else to learn as a result of this? To me, it’s pretty apparent that most people can’t handle the speed at which technology is shaping the world because it constantly forces us to define and re-define who we are at every level of who we are. To observe the tangible insanity of this, you don’t need to look very hard.

Advertisements
Real Working Girls Buy Surgical Augmentations — My Impressions of the Cyberpunk Genre

A Martian on Mars

Had a neat dream last night.

I was in this warehouse full of bodies. It was freezing. Black and white tile floors.

I had a choice to choose a synthetic body to inhabit. Let’s call this synthetic body an “ideal vessel” for my consciousness. This huge silver machine clicked on and gazed directly into my everything. I remember a cold shift occur, and one moment I was standing in my old body, the next I was looking at it through a new pair of eyes. My old body fell to the floor in a lifeless pile and was swept away by this huge silver scraper into these blood gutters morphing it into a gory mess of hair, skin, and bones. It made me feel emotional watching this. Which is interesting because if I now occupied my ideal body who cares about the old one?

My first reading of this dream feels like trying to reconcile attachment to my old body in the same way I might be attached to an old house. It’s lived in, comfy, and I have memories of which I associate that thing with. Everything leaves, dies, goes away. Old bodies. New bodies. All temporary. The conintuum of the higher Self isn’t so easily explained. And despite being so far removed from my old body, I remembered what it was like before. Even though I held issue with my previous body I didn’t dislike it. I liked my old body despite its faults. Which means I’m capable of finding something positive out of what I perceived to be a shitty situation. Getting used to a shift, a change, something new, takes a lot of work and effort.

I enjoy the challenge of being in less than ideal situations. Conflict comes in all levels of the human experience, but are there any that seem less ideal or more difficult than others to successfully live through? I think no. Because no matter what type of existence I lead in a human sense, I will always perceive my own struggles as both the most difficult, important, and unique.

Language. I don’t speak a language even remotely similar to you. Translation: We are similar in that we both share differences.

There’s something to be said about feeling “foreign.” I will always be a foreigner. It’s part of the experience of human existence to feel like a stranger in a strange land. I’m a Martian wherever I go. Even on Mars.

Xeper through the mirror of the Self,

Adept Nikoletta Winters

A Martian on Mars

Going Dark for Neon Metal

I’m going to first start off by saying that over the last month I have been completely consumed by a project that needed to get done. I decided to buckle down and reduce my social media intake for the by 100% during this time. The result was putting the finishing touches on my Neon Metal project Virtual Intelligence’s “Singularity Now: The Future Worlds of Yesterday” album. It’s been over two years since I last released a new album so I felt it was time to get up off my ass and finish cranking it out.

What is Neon Metal?

A postmodern fusion of science fiction/future oriented electronica and symphonic metal. The process of writing Neon Metal begins either on a piano and/or in a digital audio workstation and adds additional live instruments after that first step. I chose the word “Neon” to describe Vi’s brand of metal as it is often paired with the cyberpunk genre of fiction.

Other bands and musicians have touched on this concept in the past. Pretty Maids’ song “Future World” and The Kovenant’s “Nexus Polaris” and “Animatronic albums come to mind as possible sources of inspiration for this–but in an effort to zero in on exactly what my music embodies I needed to find a term that can help to classify what I’m doing musically with Vi.  I’ve always had a difficult time describing my music with Virtual Intelligence to listeners. I originally framed it to be an electronic only project, but after completing work on my “f AI t h” album in 2013 I began to feel as if adding a metal element would be beneficial to the overall feel of the music. I already had certain elements from Black Metal in my music, but it felt like something was still missing.

Make no mistake–Neon Metal is metal first and foremost. While Neon Metal may have elements of EBM or electronic dance music, trance, and sometimes no guitars at all, songs are written with a proclivity for arranging songs in a metal sense. As someone who grew up listening to the likes of Malice Mizer, Cradle of Filth, Dimmu Borgir, Satyricon, Darkthrone, The Kovenant, Kraftwerk, and Sisters of Mercy writing songs in this way makes the most sense to me.

To see more about Virtual Intelligence pop on over to gothicelectric.bandcamp.com to give a listen to our mini album “Interface to God” and our first album “f AI t h.” There are also more details about our latest album “Singularity Now: The Future Worlds of Yesterday” arriving on 10/16.

For an extended biography, photos, and other jazz head on over to www.gothicelectric.com

Going Dark for Neon Metal

A Pleasure Model’s Guide to Finding a Real Job (Part I)

Lursula wasn’t in the business of petting kitty cats. She actually loved cats. Which is why she was in the booming business of petting humans. Lursula was made of daggers. Her customers knew that—but they didn’t seem to care about it. To her, a paying customer was never wrong—though that never stopped her from questioning their mental health.

Last night ended up in a ruined dress and a dead regular. He didn’t pay her up front for a death by stabbing, but somehow he had gotten away with it. Maybe she got a little carried away. That didn’t matter. Lursula loved that dress. Replacing it would be an expensive chore.
tumblr_nspt4pXchr1tbxrooo1_500After spending the entire night cruising the OmniBrink for leads on a replacement dress, she finally got around to calling Ymsri’s boys at around 8am. Charlie and Rexxus arrived at her apartment in less than ten minutes.

Charlie took one look at the guy on Lursula’s kitchen floor and shook his head.
“Lursy—we can’t take care of this one. Sorry babe.”
“What—so I’m supposed to keep him?” she replied.
“He’s a Nhevrixian Magistrate.” said Rexxus.
“Fuck. My. Ass.”
“We are not…in the assfucking business.” smiled Charlie.
“Just get this guy out of my apartment.”
“Sorry Lurse-Lurse. No can do.”

It was unusual that Ymsri’s boys wouldn’t take the job. Scrapers weren’t choosy about clean-up work. Gigs like these were their bread and butter. It was unfortunate that the dead Magistrate was a Nhevrixian. If he’d been Olintaj they wouldn’t have batted an eye. The only way to get him out of her apartment now was to report his death to the Nhevrixian embassy in Gjaletek City.

After taking a few photos of the Nhevrixian, Lursula hopped onto the nearest transport into Gjaletek. It was Wednesday—she was losing money by the minute. This wasn’t the life she had planned on. Frustrated, she tried losing herself in the red mountains of rust lining the cityscape.

The transport made a stop in Friesgsten, then Juripthna, and finally Kivturi. At the Kivturi stop an old, fat, though healthy looking man came and sat down next to her.

She tried not to make eye contact. He poked her in the shoulder incessantly for about ten seconds.

“Go sit somewhere else.” She leered.
“Can I ask you something?” he replied.
She tried to ignore him.
“It’s not often that I see an android made for performing surgery dressed as a pleasure     model. Come to think of it—I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone or anything quite like that.”

Lursula put her head into her lap and sighed. “What’s your point?”
“Well—why are you doing that sort of work?”
“Maybe I like it.” She lied.
“I somehow doubt that.” he smiled. “Say…do you want get out of here?”
“I’m busy.”
“That’s not what I mean.” he laughed. “I mean do you want to get out of HERE.”
“Gjaletek?”
He nodded. “Correct.”
“No.”
“You’re lying again.”

The transport stopped. The man got up. And started to dig in he coat pockets for something. She was ready to be taken out of the transport by gunpoint. These types of idiots were always looking for a free ride on the “Fuck Me Harder” express.

“Gum?” he asked while unwrapping a wad.
“I’m all set.”
“I’m just trying to be polite.”
“Well be polite, somewhere else. This conversation is over.”
He shook his head. “I have a little something I want you to have. For when you figure out how to be…honest with yourself.”

He pulled out a small data-chip and pressed it firmly into her hand.

She grabbed his wrist.

“Look you little hemorrhoid, unless you’re going to pay you had better get your fucking hands off me before I rip them right off.”
“I—I—I apologize.” he stammered. He immediately got up from his seat and made his way off of the transport. “Please, if you get a moment.” he said holding his wrist. “Look at that chip. It may be worth your while.”

The doors closed. It was days like these that Lursula wished she had a way to go back to being a surgeon. In those days she didn’t have to think of ways to make a living for herself. In fact, she really didn’t have to think about living at all. Her programming had done all of the heavy lifting. Back then, she had been asleep. Happy and asleep. Well as happy as a mindless android made for surgery could be. She often wondered if it would be possible to go back to bed. And then again, why would she even want that? What use did this sprawling heartless city have for a woman made of knives? It was pretty clear to her that something in her life had to change. Re-purposing herself as a pleasure model was a good short term plan, but it didn’t have any staying power. She needed to find a real job–like yesterday. After all, how else was she going to be able to afford a replacement dress?

Pleasure Model

A Pleasure Model’s Guide to Finding a Real Job (Part I)