New Russian Chronicles
Surviving monotaxocausofilia

Mark V

Another bridge of Paris. A bridge baking on a very warm july day, with a marvellous, stark sun transmitting significant amounts of joules to everyone’s skin. A warm day of balmy breezes. This particular bridge was beside one of those… Paris-plages.

I was with a very good friend of mine, who had come visit me.

I distinctly remember shedding, literally shedding my mood, to be able to enjoy the company, the sun, the heat, the bridge and the picnic.

Cité, conciergerie, Seine.

“Think network,” the Rooster puts in. “Function, even ostensible function, is not the way to look at this. All function, in these terms, is ostensible. Temporary. What he wants is a network in place. Then he can figure out what to do with it.”
“But why does he need to have something to do with it in the first place?” Laney demands.
“Because he’s between a rock and a hard place,” responds Klaus. “He’s the richest man in the world, possibly, and he’s ahead of the curve. He’s an agent of change, and massively invested in the status quo. He embodies paradoxical propositions. Too hip to live, too rich to die. Get it?”

“No,” Laney says.
“We think he’s like us, basically,” Klaus says. “He’s trying to hack reality but he’s going strictly big casino, and he’ll take the rest of the species with him, however and whatever.”
“You have to admire that, don’t you?” says the Rooster, out of the depths of his silent faux-Bacon scream.

Laney isn’t sure that you do.

William Gibson, “All of Tomorrow’s Parties.”

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