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.

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

Highways of the Higher Self

Today, Dr. Michael Aquino released an interesting book–an  “automobiography.” It’s entitled “Ghost Rides” and features a look back at some of the cars he came across during the adventure of his life. It features an introduction by horror author Don Webb. It can be found HERE.

The release of “Ghost Rides” has actually inspired me to write a car story of my own…here we go:

I have had cars come and go in my life, and there’s one in particular that will always “be the one” for me. My dad and I flew down to Atlanta when I was thirteen to pick up a car in northern Florida. When I first laid eyes upon this beauty of a car I knew that I would never look at another car the same way again. Behold the Camaro 1971 RS. The car needed a lot of work, not to mention a paint job (it was a vomit green color), but that didn’t matter. It was TOUGH. My dad and I drove this baby from Florida all the way back to the Northeast and along the way we had many adventures, including one evening where the power steering gave out and he had to muscle the muscle car into a gas station to figure out a solution. He went to find someone to talk to. I was left completely alone in the car, in the dark for sometime. My mind wandered into places a thirteen year old normally shouldn’t go, but I was acutely aware of problems I had with mySelf and began to speak to “Satan” openly about exactly where I wanted to be in twenty years. Some “deals” were struck, with what I would eventually reframe as my first conversation with my “NeterSelf.” This was 1997. What I said in that car and where I “drove” mySelf to in 2017 all lined up with what I said that night. And while I was far from the day where I would understand what Greater Black Magic even was, especially as a means to communicate with a part of mySelf far removed from the “world that is,” I regard this “apocryphal communication” as my first GBM working.

Within the mythology of mySelf this is the moment where my life began to get turned upside down on its head. All of this happened in the passenger seat of the sexiest car I’ve ever laid eyes on.

camaro

When we finally got home, my dad started to really work on the car a lot. He would lift weights like a beast and work on the car immediately after. I had the opportunity to help him on several occasions, even if that meant holding the light up for him to check the timing belt. My dad painted the Camaro “gun metal.” He rebuilt the engine. Completely redid the interior, black, black, black, no. 1. He put a blower in the car, and a cal induction hood on it. The car went through a total transformation, which also is quite apocryphal to me within the mythology of Me. I often wonder where I would be now if I hadn’t taken that initial “drive” on the highway of my higher Self. I digress.

My dad was planning on passing the car to me, but my parents started going through some rocky times after 9/11 and he ended up selling it to a collector in Washington state. I had a lot of good memories in the Camaro. My dad was a car nut the entire time he was around in my life and it was the one thing I always felt that I was able to bond with him on. There were certainly more muscle cars he rebuilt along the way, but our 1971 Camaro RS, was the last and most important car I’ve had the pleasure of “getting to know.”

One day, I want one my own…

Xeper through the (rearview) Mirror of the Self,

Adept Nikoletta Winters

Highways of the Higher Self

Keep Swimming

Excuse me while I do some thinking out loud.

I don’t often say this, but I’ve been sad lately. I don’t mean a depressive–“I want to kill myself” sadness. I’ve just been sad. This probably sounds like an entitled first worlder having the blues over her materialistic life. I could see that. I assure you that it isn’t. I would simply call it–indigestion to change. This year has been a lot to take in–a major surgery, a cross-country move, and a job change. It’s a lot to adjust to. You could say I traded my old life for a new one.

rising

Overall, life is better than it ever has been. I can’t complain. There is still something missing though. In some ways I can identify that that something is independence. I miss New England. There’s nothing quite like being able to walk in the woods alone in the late afternoon. The silence is deafening. Make no mistake, I’ve spent time investigating the desert. I can’t wait until Summer is over. I hear Autumn and Winter are definitely something else from what we have back in New England. I’m looking forward to having my first snowless winter in quite some time.

The skies around Tucson can be gorgeous. There’s something about being able to look up and being able to see the stars. It’s like opening your eyes for the first time. I’ve always lived in areas with a lot of light pollution, clouds–or both. It’s interesting to be able to finally see the stars. I’ve been missing this my entire life.

My musical endeavours could always be better. I’ve been learning a lot of new things from a production stand point, but I’m still having a hard time. I miss having creative people to jam with. I want to get into an actual studio again with an actual band. Being able to produce my own songs at home is great, but it’s extremely self-limiting. I like getting instant “no-bullshit” feedback about the music I write. The Internet isn’t good for that. Sure, you can get instant feedback–but it’s slathered head-to-toe with bullshit.

swimmingI’ve had to let go of a lot of things this year. I still think there are a lot of things I still need to let go of. It’s not enough to simply tread water. I need to jump in and keep swimming.

Keep Swimming