William Gibson fans's topics - tribe.net

drug theme

junkie_dolphin — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 04:56:30 GMT

Hi all,

there was some mention on one of these topics about a drug theme in Gibson's works. I just picked up a copy of Virtual light, flicked open to a random page and there was a party with people smoking crack out of a big glass dolphin.

Ive found drug related points in all of my Gibson novels.

Don't take this as a complaint, I like the man's work, but just want to discuss themes further...like is it any coincidence that the main characters in Virtual Light and SnowCrash are couriers? Even Johnny Mnemonic was a courier, Cayce Pollard also, if you push the definition.

peace

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

Pattern Recognition, worth a try ?

vruz — Mon, 22 Dec 2003 05:39:46 GMT

I still haven't read Pattern Recognition
because I wanted to read older works first.
Anyone has read it ? Is it worth a try ?
The September 11 thing makes it look like
a soap opera at first sight.

cheers,
vruz

posted in William Gibson fans - 26 replies

Pattern Recognition - A Review

Chris — Tue, 22 Jun 2004 09:57:32 GMT

Pattern Recognition Review - Published in Voidspace UK
The Digital Firestorm Reaches The Here and Now.
A Review of William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition.
By Christopher J. Bradley
1/19/2003 9:26:20 PM
©2003 by Christopher J. Bradley

Its been roughly 3 years since Gibson’s last science fiction novel touched down, and this one has so much Boeing that by the end you need an airlift. It’s actually set in the present but along the history line of the last sixty years jammed in with every element of bleeding edge that you could possibly think of. We are in, lets say, England, and then Tokyo, and then more England, and then Moscow, and then France. With fences and attaches of all sorts and street runners of antique computers the pace never cuts out.

The principle’s name is Cayce Pollard. She’s got a sort of boyfriend who’s a director of some vicious Russian war saga who isn’t in London at present. In the midst of receiving e-mails from a channeller for her missing father (presumed dead on September 11th), her apartment is broken into during the course of normal business. Cool hunting she calls it, free-lance marketing consulting which she is apparently very good at, she travels first class. Business allegiances begin to change and after a while, we begin to wonder if it’s really business after all, or something more sinister. You see, she has a horrible fear of the Michellin man, and what’s worse, he keeps appearing places he doesn’t belong.

She finds herself relying heavily on e-mail from a web contact named Parkaboy who is a “footagehead” that she met from a users group specifically dedicated to the discovery of information related to 135 hot film clips that have been appearing on the internet. How, why, or who are the questions that keep her up at night, and she finds herself more and more wrapped up in finding out who the “maker” of the clips is as time passes.

Gibson’s e-mails and intermittent cell phone calls and PDA references are countered by the more conventional packets of data folded in real envelopes and cases, carefully woven in cloth and string. And the mirror-world, Cayce’s representation of London on off-net time, is every bit as intricate as the spy story that is slowly unfolding. The evolution of global capitalism is at work and the forces binding it up are not all at agreeable purposes. Especially not in Russia.

When the subway maps begin to include templates for Claymore mine blast radii and Stegonographic watermarks are discovered in some of the footage, you know things are going to begin to really warp into high gear, the only question is, will you be able to keep up?

Our author handles the discussion of September 11th both artfully and respectfully. His rendering with the falling of rose petals in a store window, leaves no emotion un-wrent while not taking advantage of public hatreds or fanaticism. He appears to view it from the perspective of someone swept up, but not toppled by A Megalomania too intense to ever be properly expressed in words. The situation was artfully crafted and he does not dwell on the past, but looks to the future, and a settling on the present with hope.

posted in William Gibson fans - 8 replies

Idoru as Anime

seanpkearney — Fri, 21 Apr 2006 13:23:48 GMT

"You probably haven’t heard of Alex Steyermark’s films Prey for Rock N’ Roll or One Last Thing, but if he’s the guy who finally cracks the William Gibson movie, he’ll be our hero. One of his next projects is an adaptation of Idoru, which will be a Japanese anime film." /http://www.patternhunter.com/

posted in William Gibson fans - 6 replies

Sppok country

Mark — Sat, 13 Oct 2007 23:30:28 GMT

Anyone? Gawd, will gibson seems forever obsessed with heroin. I hated the ending to this one, but well.... :)

posted in William Gibson fans - 9 replies

William Gibson coming to Second Life August 2!

remy — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 02:47:23 GMT

From "New World Notes"
http://nwn.blogs.com/nwn/2007/07/william-gibson-.html

"At the beginning of August, the man who gave "cyberspace" its name and its imaginative texture will visit the place that probably wouldn't exist, without him. As it happens, one of Second Life's very first regions is named in honor of William Gibson. Tyrell Corporation, one of SL's first groups, gave the place that title, then proceeded to build Nexus Prime, an ever-changing city with gleaming spires above, and mean, untamed warrens below, on top of it. An ideal tribute to the author's work, when you think about it, so I hope Gibson visits Gibson."

The appearance is slated for August 2. You'll need to be a Second Life member... www.secondlife.com; membership is free. To attend, from within Second Life join the SL group "Penguin Readers" or IM Jeremy Neumann.

posted in William Gibson fans - 1 reply

new here

the_Case — Sun, 19 Nov 2006 12:13:49 GMT

Hi all,

I'm new here, also a big fan of Gibson and waiting impatiently for his new novel Spook Country to hit the bookshelves next year.

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

1967 CBC TV footage of draft dodger WG touring the TV crew through Torontos "Hippy Central" Yorkville

Eric (aka Elric) — Sun, 08 Jan 2006 01:26:00 GMT

Hopefully this link will work. Gibson is just a couple of segments of this 15 minute clip but given that he sounds stoned out of his gourd (or maybe thats just his southern drawl) he also sounds quite insightful and thoughtful.
A fascinating chunk of early history; both his and the worlds.
Pass the popsicles...
http://archives.cbc.ca/IDC-1-69-1587-10799/life_society/60s/clip11

posted in William Gibson fans - 2 replies

I met him

leonmac — Mon, 25 Apr 2005 08:58:46 GMT

I was walking down 4th at Arbutus (Vancouver) one sunny afternoon and spied this happy, lanky man. I had to stop and think who he reminded me of... so I approached him, and said" you could be a double of William Gibson" He said "yes". Thats when I realized it was him. I thanked him for all the books, and he said "and many more". It really made my day, I wish I had the time to follow him around for a bit, and ask him about his thoughts on life... wondered what he would say.
L

posted in William Gibson fans - 9 replies

The List.

Tue, 21 Jun 2005 21:43:07 GMT

I have read all of Gibsons books( except 'the differance engine')
I dunno if I ready them in "proper" order...or at least in written order.
so whats the list of his books in written order?
so I can read them all again.
thanx,
bc3

posted in William Gibson fans - 2 replies

Curta Mechanical Calculators

Sun, 18 Jan 2004 21:32:47 GMT

I did some research into the Curta mechanical calculators mentioned in PR and have found quite a bit of information on them (they're even featured in a recent Scientific American article). I've uploaded a picture to the tribe's image archive. A beautiful example of form following function.

I'm currently trying to find out how one would go about acquiring one of these devices. I understand that they are hard to come by collector's items, but if anyone has any information I would love to hear it.

posted in William Gibson fans - 2 replies

Origins of Cyberspace

Wed, 02 Feb 2005 08:39:48 GMT

Gibson posted this to his blog yesterday:
http://www.christies.com/LotFinder/search/LotSummary.asp?sid=&strNextPrevious=N&intSaleID=19326&intObjectID=0

posted in William Gibson fans - 1 reply

Does anyone have a current pic of William Gibson

Shane — Wed, 26 Jan 2005 04:01:56 GMT

I think I have met him several times. Not sure. I work in a leather shop in vancouver and well there is this guy who looks like it could be him that comes in about once a month and the name on the credit card is William F Gibson.

posted in William Gibson fans - 2 replies

2014: How we got here

Tue, 25 Jan 2005 05:48:13 GMT

http://oak.psych.gatech.edu/~epic/ols-master.html

posted in William Gibson fans - 1 reply

[opening the mnemonic]

Chris — Mon, 26 Jul 2004 11:03:36 GMT

[opening the mnemonic]
by Christopher J. Bradley
4/23/2003 3:56:27 AM
For those who know

The title flared and phased away
An alarm clock flickers in his iris
He sits up to the vidphone
With a prostitute black silked at his side
He makes a bad attempt to bargain with his fixer

The sequence is Beijing hotel
Gate crashing protesters revolt as he wades
In and through the shields and batons of riot cops
A silence counterpoints in the lobby
Twin girls and his head refracted in a fish bowl

In an elevator he unwraps a fake cigarette pack
The dial whizzes past red digital digits
While the gigabyte expander taps his mind
The doors open and he squares off
Delivering a nonexistent pizza to armed research defects

He jacks into a minidisc and they feed him the data
Three images click, click, click
The minds eye opens and he’s in the bathroom
A nosebleed into a chrome sink reflects mirrored
Laser flare – The motion sensor trips
Canceled Tai Chi becomes re-arrangement of the towel rack

They enter the room with trauma guns
Blue anime shrieks with the meeting of lead and red plasma
The laser whip cuts fingers and color photo fax
A bald head meets steel piping crashing to bathtub marble
Those left clear him a tight path to the door
In the elevator Johnny dons a Lennon wig rose colored lenses and a topcoat

It’s a quick step back past the fishbowl
No more twins – A quick turn – He’s back in the riots
The NAS signs flood like driftweeds into the China night
The plane arrives on a Jersey industrial runway
The digital inspector reads his implant as dyslexia prosthetic

It knows that it is seeping
A deadly consequence of his masking of the truth.

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

washington st. matrix

Chris — Mon, 26 Jul 2004 11:02:46 GMT

[washington st matrix]
by Christopher J. Bradley
4/23/2003 3:35:59 AM
©2003
for all telecom people inspired by Gibson

Multi-Media
Big – Time
The journey into everything corporate
Retail phases out behind steel rims
I am standing at the 3rd floor elevator
Escorted to Paul’s cubicle

It’s all ties, briefcases, and planners
Deskwork headsets and terminals
Flowcharts, graphs, reports, and schedules
The timepieces are on the walls
These are the days of 3.1

February 95
Seven months and counting
Until the big change
The personal computer
Will never be the same

The interview was last week
I’ve been hired
The project he outlines for me is Disney
The Lion King Animated Story Book
A public relations nightmare
From a technical perspective

Two weeks training commence
A customer service MASH unit boot camp
All of the rigors of DOS and windows
And an Access composite Database
A quick introduction to Microsoft Mail
The precursor to modern Outlook

For three months the Callmaster was my overseer
I punched keys and executed clicks with precision
I pasted notes and scanned faxes
I learned cool down tactics
And rewrote code without paper or machine

With the headset locked on my temples like a vice
I was a verbal relay, a conduit
I rattled out execution orders for driver updates
I reconstructed autoexec and config files
And depressurized the callers en masse

One Saturday in May the ice broke
I went to the McDonalds for lunch
On the way back I peered into
the cinema window
There was a slick posted for
Johnny Mnemonic

Keanau in sharkskin grey against the Matrix

After my shift I called home
To let my parents know that I would be late
The entire spectrum of the bizarre
had hit pay-dirt

Internet 2021 had opened for me
in the Voidspace

The Washington St.
Market Arcade General Cinema
With the projector alight beside my employer
was a home to Gibson.

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

The Neuroscience of Christopher St.

Chris — Mon, 26 Jul 2004 09:57:13 GMT

The Neuroscience of Christopher St.
By Christopher J. Bradley
4/24/2003 5:42:26 AM
©2003
for William

I.

Lady Ada’s fingers dance,
On an ivory punch,
And the cards fly,
She is the first,
Of the mutltitudinous,
Modern day conquests of Babbage.

Our new Rome rises,
The seeds scatter through the wilderness,
Sowing the Grapes of Wrath of Milnet,
In the homebrew clubs.

A hundred thousand Mitnicks are born,
On the waves of fruitfully colored sand,
Vacuum tubes shine Basic on the retinas,
Of young wizards and fighters.

This is the Proving Grounds of deep space,
The calculators have long since fallen by the wayside,
In the currents of the war to end all wars,
They will be the relics of an established author.

I am a young keyboard player,
With a Commodore 64 and an RCA television,
The magazine arrives and I trip my vision,
Over the letters and sculpture on the cover.
Cyberpunk.

William Gibson and Bruce Sterling,
Inspired musicians and artists it said,
Some of the kinds of artists,
That took up the animal rights and other political causes.

The journalist pointed out the new move,
From Industrialism to Informationalism,
I had to come to terms with them,
I asked my aunt for some money to buy a first book at Walden’s.

The flechette of his stylo needles text into thought,
Case is fixing up at the Gentleman Loser.
Molly is tooled up all in leather with her deadly nails,
3 jane is mixing up signals in the Spire.

Riviera is taking in the Scorpion Sting,
The Hwang is cutting Black Ice on the Hitachi,
Case is riding the back of a silver virtual shark,
The Turings are being offed by the landscape spider drones.

Neuromancer is plotting a merge with Wintermute,
The haunting spectre of the Finn is overshadowing his communiqués.
On the Sensenet riot hack by the Panther Moderns,
The Masses are executed like code.

II.

Time froze and I got to work,
My BBS became Sensenet,
My handle was Flatline,
Suddenly dragons and outer space,
Turned into Coding and Implants.

All of the colors became vivid,
I had to get an IBM,
The true tech heads came out of the webwork,
The Matrix found me with Charles.

Bobby Newmark punches deck,
While his mother’s hooked on stim,
His problems with the vampires are many,
With their shark cartilage makeovers,
And their jet set whores.

The spirits of Ja are rattling out their Voodo incantations,
Of the fragmented archetypes of the Voidspace archipeligoes.
While her eyes shine on the catfish farm,
And her father’s polycarbon nightwing,
Crashes during a Yakuza hit.

Turner sets tensor rigs in her hotel,
To take out the flak Mercs,
And ushers her into infamy,
In the Davinci contraption Fokker.

III.

That’s about the time I met Andy,
The Star Wars role-player.
And the walnut hit the car,
And we scattered into the woods,
The party was broken.

One night we spent time in Andy’s garage,
Fanning out the drums on a single snare,
From the Violent Femmes,
After I bought his 800k Floppy Drive,

“Let me get out, Like I Blister in the Sun.”

Sally Shears is shopping with an Origami princess,
While Angie Mitchell makes her Debut,
Everything is Stim now,
The world wrapped out in goggles.

A Chrome face hangs in the void cover,
A ghetto cruiser has a skull headpiece,
The judge is resting in the garage,
This is Gentry’s turf and Bobby’s on a slab.

The Voodo priestess is with her,
And a miniature flying thing attempts murder,
She is vanished into the night,
Our Mona Lisa of the cybersphere.

IV.

Its’ my senior year of high school,
I am working as a board operator,
At Niagara’s Energy 1440,
Passing out in the booth from Tequila,
Waking up with a Depeche Mode shirt full of Fire Extinguisher Foam.

Scott is around,
We play chess and order pizzas,
While he learns to operate the boards,
And we listen to CFNY,
And punk and industrial CD’s in the studio,

He and Brian write Travel Nebraska,
A deck of cards brings us a game of Scat (31).

I’ve been coding on IBM’s at my day co-op with EDS.
Writing in Quickbasic,
Documenting in Wordperfect 5.1,
I own an XT clone,
And Sensenet is colored World War IV.

I read into the goggles,
The world starts translating,
Through the eyes of a bicycle courier,
In all of the vistas of nightclub holograms,

Barry Rydell is a Knoxville Skip Trace,
In pursuit of the Quicksilver Teen.
The elevator’s open and close,
As the packages are delivered to the unwititng parties,
In the urban jungle of the San Fransisco night.

V.

I am visiting Scott at Jamie’s in a Shortsville bar,
This is shotgun wedding town,
And she is legally blind and Albino,
They buy onion rings and beers,
In the only bar in town.

Where a Harley Davidson,
Is up for auction in a sweepstakes,
They slept together noisily long into the darkness of the night.
And I finished Virtual Light in one seamless sitting.

I have already worked concert security,
For Fishbone, The Barenaked Ladies, and The Femmes,
I have already heard 2 unlimited at Nitrous 013.
I have lost my fiance’ and been blown away by a blond Shelby,

I have been through my first voyages,
Into lysurgic delerium and met the Brits,
And reached the pinnacle,
And tried to write is all down as Wizz.

I have sat steeped in the Jackal Café’,
And combatted the Red Headed Stepchild,
The world is a blaze of chess,
And bagels, and coffee, and beer.

I have sat cross legged on the floor in Allentown,
And beat the Bongo in the smoky opium den,
And had my fortune told by the gypsies,
And experienced the wonders of Chinese noodles and Hot and Sour.

Virtual Venice rises up around Chia Pet McKenzie,
And the music of Lo-Rez Skyline pulsates,
Daisy makes her a mule as she is entering Tokyo,
The land of Idoru, the idol singer.

The land is laid out before my ocular traces,
The toe-cutter meets Colin Laney in the Metamorphosis theme bar,
Everything has been re-built in nanotech,
The unbrellas just “go away.”

Rez is trying to make the hologram AI whole,
The Gomi-Otaku are within the Fortress Gates working furiously,
For a solution that their dream of marriage might be realized.

VI.

The scene : Bankrupt and mentally disturbed,
I walk the streets trying to sell credit bought swatches,
Searching for the impossible dream,
I am housed in a hospital for 3 months,
Fighting a legal battle to prove my sanity,
My parents testify against me.

When I recover I work as a cashier,
In a computer retailer,
Stocking shelves, performing inventories, greeting customers with a
smile,
I wear the mask and earn,
Enough money to cancel the hospital debt legally.

I leave work and go back to school,
In addition to my programming classes,
I take creative writing and literature,
In 1997 I am invited to Florida and Disney World with friends.

I ride the neck breaking Tower of Terror,
I see the miracles of Kodak 3-D photography,
I learn how behind the times the exhibits really are,
In the relaxation and shade of the condo in Daytona I re-read Idoru.

Silencio’s hands move like lightening,
In the shadow of the Golden Gate bridge,
People are living up there now,
And an assassin is moving among them in Grey,

Laney is living in a cardboard box,
Jacked in in a terminal,
The Dukes of Nuke’em are playing,
While Boomzilla takes watch on a mini-mart,

The Idoru’s dream is realized but limited,
Barry Rydell is in the mix ordering wings,
The nano-confectioners are coming in Big Dragon,
And the surveillance is everywhere.

VII.

Thanks to the inspiration of Bartleby the Scrivener and Moby,
I am studying Pre-law, Latin, and Ethics at the University,
I earned my Computer Science Degree in 1998,
I find a girlfriend for the first time since 1993.

We spend time around Buffalo and the Casino,
And take a walk up Yonge in Toronto,
We order bad Chinese takeout in Scarborough from our hotel,
I previously saw the musical RENT.

Alone on a bus tour,
We go to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding,
I meet her sister,
Who has also dated him.

At her prompting I take a full time job,
I work as a telecommunications billing specialist,
My car’s engine died,
I am locked into 60 payments of 385.21.
It’s a new Blackberry Saturn with Air Conditioning.

I lose her to the internet,
In my commitment to work,
All of the places we enjoyed,
Become my haunts.

The Saturn takes me to New York,
On a mindbender of a journey,
The battery dies in Pennsylvania,
While I am communing with the spirit world.

The police look up my record,
And I am locked up in a hospital in Harrisburg,
Somehow they let me keep my job,
Must have been my record on the Quality scorecard.

My friends at work barely notice I’ve been gone,
I tell them that I suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

While I am out of work on a leave,
Due to an auto injury to my spinal column,
The Verizon layoffs come,
My entire team is dismantled.

I go back to school with my friend Mike,
Business and Personal Finance.

The job fare is loud and noisy,
I am hired to provide internet technical support,
For broadband powerlink service,
I trade the scratched Saturn in for a new Red Mustang.

It is 2002, the Y2K Bug had no impact.

America is planning to go to war with IRAQ,
I quit my job,
Daniel Pearl is found dead,
With no income I register for school.

I plan to study Digital Media,
The Atmosphere is no better,
I don’t enjoy the simplistic subject matter,
I write four articles for the student newspaper,

A review of Pattern Recognition,
Rap Meets Anime,
Vote With Your Voice,
Tampa Bay Hammers Oakland.

My friend Scott returns from North Carolina,
I begin writing again,
And reading American Literature,
And composing from it.

The Blue Ant Cell rings in my pocket,
Cayce is being tormented by the Michellin Man,
Asian Sluts are finding their way into her locked flat,
She has a footage fetish.

The Kiss is on Bigends mind,
The guerilla market is a global theater,
Russian war movies are shot in the Ukraine,
Jappanese wiccans decipher stego,
A claymore mine is displayed in a shrapnel diagram.

Custom made porn is delivered,
Keystrokes are sniffed,
A developer is identified,
Oil production is in the Texas Mechanism,
Russian Hallucinogenics Spike hard water.

Another helicopter rescues the heroine,
A car collides with a taxi,
The occupants remain unnaccounted for,
On Christopher St.

There’s got to be a sequel.

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

Murmurs about movies?

justjill — Tue, 30 Dec 2003 17:11:03 GMT

I heard a while back that Idoru was being made into a screenplay... anyone know about this?

posted in William Gibson fans - 25 replies

Wizz by Christopher J. Bradley (c)1995

Chris — Tue, 22 Jun 2004 10:02:19 GMT

They look more like dead things now than humans. Long drawn white faces, dripping cold sweat, attatched to thin bony structures in the windy edge of violet morning. I step down Mercer toward John, my backward blue craftzman hat, red fishnet vest, skyblu phats - visually screaming raver - back to the ramp, and my vehicle. I'm feeling a bit fried.
A bunch of them are throwing a bright pink superball against the building across from The Oz waiting to be told that money is a valuable thing at the door. I've already been there. It wasn't worth the wait. After-parties used to excite me, so I don't blame them, I pray for them.

Image :

Attache' case demon, razorback blond, vibes vest, eyes that tear through the rims of graphite ray-bans, people are meant to be like him, and people are meant to die.

Mother is at home, shuffling baby and other family units to church. The mortgage is up. Father is working late-night shift at the bridge commission, drinking free coffee, reading porno in the booth, waiting for the next of five cars he will see tonight. His shift is about to end. Seven A.M.

She attatches wasted blackened eyesockets to me, and I feel the chill of the wind. Her hair wisps, thin figure on concrete, white denim jacket over nylon long-johns, white jeans, white cheeks. Step toward John. She moves. Step left, on John, toward Queen. "Hey!"
Turn right, look. Hands turned down, wrists out, extended, an unnoticed tear on the cheek, "Were you at the party?"
"Yes." Step closer.
"Do you know how to get to Underground Parking?", shivering.
"Which one?" skeptecism, there are billions of ramps in the city. I know the streets, Christ... She's fucked!
"What?" fear shaking the weak frame.
"Which Underground Parking Do You Mean?", trying not to smile, the spine tingler of purple window sky making the ground sizzle. Smiling makes them freak sometimes, you look like, to them, I could tell she was one, even more evil than they will ever look to you. I have been there.
"The green one," she said, "No....Yes," to a lost expression. Still trying not to smile. "The one with the green sign." She stands, stares at me, expecting something. The lamp-posts are so much different here than back home. They have long extended arms, to bring the light into the street, away from the center of the street. The lights just went out. Still at the corner of John and Mercer, that's right.
"Forget it. You're too fucked to help me." She was freaking.

Image :

Grey overalls on a heavy guy. Two-thousand seething ravers freaking in the light of hydraulic girders. Grey overalls unzipped. Returning from the bathroom with a jug of water. Grey overalls off. He dances naked, at the edge. No-one notices. If they did, they'd put him on stage. Maybe. It's New Year's eve, time to celebrate.

Forty billion electrons in my brain murdering themselves. I feel happy. I like feeling happy. And she is walking South on John, stomping away, afraid.
"Wait, I'll help you..." I must have been high...
"Forget it...Don't..." like I was going to rape her or something. "I can't handle this..." turns reverse to forward.
I run up to her, she's standing still, "You really should start staying away from the streets now, especially the yellow lines. People don't realize we are who we are, they'll just drive through us." She starts walking. South again. A parking ramp hides the position of the tower. In front of us, neon window sign, Italo-American. Funny because I am in Canada. Trying not to laugh. "I'll stick around and help you find it, it's rough coming down sometimes."
"I can't come down," afraid... "I don't want to anyway. I need to find Underground Parking." Freaking, upper lip twitching, anger and raw fear. Left on Front. There are people ahead of us. A street vendor from another planet, setting up shop for...wait...
"Where is it in relation to the tower?" I ask, clever, we might find it by tracking it.
"What...Oh...The tower...where the rave was?" Lost.
"Yeah, that Tower." I smile, unable to control it. Good thing she's walking ahead of me.
"Hey, maybe you should slow down...so we can..."
"I can't." harsh. Tooth grinding.
"...someone where to find this place. Is your car there?"
"No. My friend's car." Almost to the vendor, SkyDome steps are to the right. The tower looms above us, the laser still crawling up and down it's three way spine. Tingles at the back of my head, in the back of my head, inside the back of my head.

Image :
Tattered Elmo doll sagging from low slung knapsack. Backward FUCT cap, twists to me, eyebrows thick, wide iris' clicking on me. "You wanted hits?"
"Two." Blue ten trades for two bits of blotter, perforated.
"Tell me how they are." Clicks on me, twists. Gone. Elmo bounces.

"So where did you come from?" Smiling? ...Yes.
"Port Hope" back still to me. Up the steps, Up the steps, platform, guard-rail, Up the steps, platform.
"Can you call someone?" genuine attempt at turning no-hope into hope, but then again...
"I have no money...I know, I know..."
"Calling card?" Up steps, massive platform, Gate 23.
"It's in the car, all in the car."
"Hmmm..How far is Port Hope?" lead in to stupidity, but habit brings it to me.
"4 Hours."
"Which Way"
"Away From Hamilton"
East, great, what a trip that could be, forget it, find the ramp.
"Don't worry, I won't desert you, I've done this before." And spent three quarters of everything on it, but habit brings it. "Maybe it's on the other side of this dome, it's a long way but..."
"No, I know where it is. You're no help." Her feet go left, mine, toward gate 11, suddenly she's 40 feet away. Down the steps, and I turn and try to follow, toward the tower again, but now we're high, and to the right, and haven't gotten there yet, to the lot.
"You have no I.D., or money, or Calling Card?"
"No. I left them in the car."
"Why?" evil glare from tight pupils.
"They left me. They were supposed to come out of the bathroom, I went in, and they were gone." Tower doors, no one's here. The vest shows in the glass of the doors. A sign in the doorway :

"Persons Participating In Actions Not Ordained By The
Establishment Hosting This Event Will Not Be Tolerated.
Violators Will Be Removed And Charged. Rave On!!!"

Yeah. Albert got nailed to the cross last night with 150 E's. Albert wasn't with the Force.

Image :

The Rise. Three-Eighteen Richmond St. West. Salvador Dali' leers off black and white concrete bricks, clockwork flower tipped mustache floating in space. The line is down the steps of Action Print, out the door, onto the pavement. They can't wait to get in, to escape. Long haired Mike at the door, XL Jacket, grey and white emblem meaning something to some, nothing to a no-one. He takes the eight dollars from each of them. Down the hall to the right, get some water. Drink some juice, it'll make your trip kick into high gear. Jason lives here.

The sign pouts Q-Zar and Tour Of The Universe in hot-pink and purple on backlit black. It's triangular and we step down past it to a hot-dog vendor. Speaking english is a paid chore that he will suffer with, once he gets his umbrella up and starts cooking rolled pork on the blackened grill, framed by stainless steel.
"Where can I find a parking lot with a green sign?" I ask, smiling.
"What?" she keeps walking, while he tries to translate into whatever language it is he speaks.
"Where can I find a parking lot with a green sign?" I ask again, smiling, a tear welling at the crack of my eye.
"No, Know." Thanks pal. You have a good day now.
"Bye."
I follow her past the Baja Beach Club on pavement. Suits are exiting from glass doors two businesses down. I didn't get their names, I'll never need their names, who the fuck do they think they are anyway? They are starting work. Don't stare at me man, or I'll smile at you.

"So what's up, where are you going? Are you sure it's out here, we're away from the tower now, you said it was near the tower."
"I think I remember now, it was off the street, it's right down... I remember this corner, but I don't see it." She turns to look at me, and smiles while turning, it's off of York, she sees the green sign over a hole in the building behind her. "Underground Parking, I told you it was green."
"Well, there it is then, do you think I could get a lift back to my car?" Cold fingernails bite my arm, then the vest, come on. Left across Front, past the cars, they are very close, but we are walking quickly. Into the hole, it feels like a funhouse on slanted concrete, we're digging in. "Shouldn't we take the stairs?" A car might hit us if we walk the ramp, but why worry, they didn't catch us on Front.
"It's right over here, see it?"
"No, what color is it?"
"Red"
As if I'd need her to tell me that once we'd found it. I really hope this is the right lot, or we're here for a long time.
Step between two rows of Beamers, Nissans, and Saturns. She still has the vest. The back wall, the red car, two figures in it, I hear breakbeat bouncing off the walls, echoing into the fringes of my vision, not loud though, we're coming down, all 2,000 of us. They see us, the passenger door opens.
"Where did you go?"
"I was looking for you, you left me in, outside, near the batroom, why didn't you wait for me?!" tears start again. Where's John? He went back to look for you. The driver's seat dude leans to show me his face. They bitch.

"Hey what's up? You were groovin' up there." Yeah, and you were puking up there. What a burnout, he's finished man. I kept smiling. "So what are you on man?"
"One really hard hit."
"Acid?"
"Yeah, how 'bout you? Purple window sky or some weird thing."
"4 Hits, 2 E's and a little crystal. Hey, you look soaked, where are you going?"
"Hardcore man." It takes a genius. Keep smiling!
"I was just helping her find the lot, I could use a lift back to my Shadow."
"Your car?"
"Yeah."
"Sure man, we just hafta wait for John, he went to look for her."
"Cool."
"Turn the tunes up man, I need to get warmed up, I'll sit out here, so I don't soak your car." The feeling of granular cement paste pushes through my phats and my legs bend at the knee pushing them up beyond the tops of beaten purple and green Converse All-Stars. She has a seat next to me, no one talks, we just relax to the beat. The concrete is getting colder. I think I'm about to crash, I can feel it, an hour is passing. The tape clicks off.
Check the watch. 9:30 A.M. The bronze gears twist for me if I keep them electrically fed. Feeding time is once every half year.
"I think I better get going."
"Don't you need a ride?"
"I'll be O.K. I'm used to walking, it's a long way, but it could take longer if I wait, and I'm paranoid about the towtrucks."
"You parked on the street?"
"Past Pizza Pizza off Queen by the Rise."
"I'm sorry. Hang on. I'll walk you out."
"O.k. See ya later man, make sure you chill a bit before you drive O.k.?"
"Don't worry, I'm already down. Have a good trip back." I'm having a good trip here, yeah, he puked it all up, what happens next time when his heart flips?
Up the stairs, out the door, on Front, large pavement curve on the corner of the building.
"You know what happened tonight, John deals right?" her mouth curves down, hands behind her back, leaning over. "You know the scene, you're in it, but I know it better, I've been here since the first Nitrous. You know Nitrous. Be Careful. Don't come back here, and if you do, make sure you know your way home."
"I will."
"I don't have your name, I don't need it, if we meet again, buy a drink from me, if not, be careful, be nice to them until they get you home, and watch that dude's driving." She wants to follow me home. I know it, she stands there waiting for me to ask, but I can't help her. She has to just, not do this. I look her in the eye, smile and turn, toward John. Then I turn back, she steps down the stairs, looks up at me from the door to the dungeon, I turn on John.

Cross the street halfway up, the sleet piling down on polyester red and cotton blue and silver. The craftzman is going to rust, I just know it. Blond hair. Could have had it, maybe. Which is nicer? To smile and help and then use, or to just use, and cast away? Why waste the time and help? The Shadow is waiting for me. Hopefully.

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

No Maps

Fri, 21 May 2004 18:58:25 GMT

Anyone seen No Maps for these territories? what did you think? I ordered my copy quite a while ago from some weird online site that also sold robot parts(!) but I don't know if it's been given full release as of yet. I enjoyed it as a view into Gibson's head, altho it is clear that he is a much better author than an orator (but I can't say that I am much different, the exception being that he is a much better writer than I am)

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

footage

JK — Sat, 28 Feb 2004 14:31:44 GMT

Does anyone know of anything equivalent to the footage ever occurring on the web? The closest that I can think of are viral clips (comical or stunts) that get sent around, but they are usually a complete story in of themselves. I don't know of any video on the web that was brief, compelling and viral.

posted in William Gibson fans - 3 replies

PR & Ringu/the ring(spoilers)...

Lowell — Sun, 18 Jan 2004 03:15:59 GMT

come on y'all, tell me PR didn't reek of Ringu-esque feelings.
mysterious filmclips and a search for their maker (i'm sure it doesn't end there)...i'm not at all saying its a bad thing...but what do you think?

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies

Matrix-Style Brain Interface Closer To Reality

Dan — Thu, 15 Jan 2004 14:16:46 GMT

I think they meant matrix as in the suck-tastic film, but applies equally to gibson's matrix and trodes.

http://science.slashdot.org/article.pl?sid=04/01/14/193259&mode=thread&tid=126

posted in William Gibson fans - 1 reply

Gibson On Tour

justjill — Tue, 30 Dec 2003 17:10:22 GMT

February 3rd / SEATTLE,WA
University Book Store
February 4th / SAN FRANCISCO, CA
Barnes & Noble [Emeryville, CA}
February 5th / SAN FRANCISCO, CA
A Clean Well Lighted Place
February 6th / LOS ANGELES,CA
Barnes & Noble [Westwood]
Febraury 7th / LOS ANGELES, CA
Vroman's [Pasadena]
February 9th / PHOENIX, AZ
Barnes & Noble
February 10th / MILWAUKEE
Harry Schwartz [Downer Ave]
February 11th / MADISON, WI
Barnes & Noble
February 12th/ CHICAGO
Borders Bookstore [Lincoln Park]
February 13th / ATLANTA
Georgia Tech Bookstore
February 16th / WASHINGTON DC
Borders Bookstore [Bailey's Crossroads, VA]
February 17th / PHILADELPHIA
Philadelphia Free Library
February 19th / NEW YORK
Barnes & Noble [Union Square]
February 21st / NEW YORK
Columbia University Bookstore

posted in William Gibson fans - 2 replies

To start things off...

ZombieDuck — Mon, 13 Oct 2003 02:44:49 GMT

I just got Pattern Recognition and started reading it. What are people's feeling on this book?

posted in William Gibson fans - 7 replies

gibson blog

tribal_rustle — Wed, 17 Dec 2003 04:34:50 GMT

http://www.williamgibsonbooks.com/blog/blog.asp

i just finished virtual light .

in spite of the fact the first part of the book was hard to get into , the end was worth the wait.

cheers.
.russ

posted in William Gibson fans - 0 replies