Head Asplode

So while living on the bleeding edge (Bhutan sits right on the ringed edge of the blackened caldera sucking the electricity out of that lower image there) of the modern world (the story of how, 100 meters up from our apartment, there's a power plant and then, literally, nothing - no lights, no stores, no houses, nothing but valley and mist and shadow and mysterious Buddhist shrines hiding in the darkness up there and how Jon and I discovered this last night, later), I happened to be connected to the most modern of all items, concepts, experiences, the internet, partaking in all of the hideous exclusivity and technocratic in-ness, and ran into this. Yes, this. The words on the pages of a William Gibson (and not only are there links to it, but to his glimpse upon it) novel turned corporal, explorable, and gone.

The future is gone.

(Cyber)Punk is dead.

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