Monday, 20 April 2015

Cyberpunk dreams

I thought this blog would be irrevocably dead, but it turns out my last post was in February of this year, so I guess it's not that bad....

Last night, I was flicking through cyberpunk Tumblrs.
I'm the sort of person who cries when I look at pictures of space. I'm the sort of person who will zoom in on futuristic city landscapes to scour out the beautiful, minute details of the artwork, and then breathe in and out really slowly, imagining that my pupils were dilating to enormous black holes, like I'm on some amazing drug... I will carefully read the Japanese/Chinese neon store signs, my eyes hovering over each character even if I don't recognise it, and count the number of mini people I see roaming the alleyways.

I just fucking love it. I love imagining that I'm there - really there - looking up at these big blue skyscrapers, floating cars and Budweiser blimp ads zooming by. I feel so small, and yet so amazed to be a part of a world so vast, wonderful and ever-changing.

I can't really describe it - it's a sense of excitement, of liberation, of unknowing and adventure. At ground level, there are people of all cultures, complexions and languages, worming their way through the 3am night markets, and hawker food stalls. Ahhh the food stalls, a steamy cornucopia of delicious ethnic foods, another staple of the my cyberpunk fantasies - being able to buy yummy foods at all times of the day.



Usually, I will imagine myself wearing a long camel trench coat and smoking a cigarette, with short hair that just reaches the base of my neck. It has just rained and my hair is wet. Black strands stick to the sides of my face. I'm wearing dark red lipstick, and I have a gun under my trench. I figure I'm probably some sort of stoic, bad-ass hacker ala a William Gibson protagonist. I go to a little Japanese food stall at a busy strip of the market, sit at the small bench they have for patrons, and order an Asahi and a bowl of noodles with fish balls. The stereotypical old Japanese guy with a head band immediately gets to work, while I sit back on the stool, take the cig out of my mouth and watch perfunctorily as a string of smoke escapes my lips and slowly swirls into the steamy night.

The dream cuts to a camera's perspective. It focuses on the back of me, with my trench coat hung over the stool. For a while, it lingers on my unmoving profile. Then it zooms out slowly, and you see just how many other people are out at this time of the night, walking with umbrellas and chattering animatedly in their native language, under a slew of flashing neon lights above.








My most favourite blog of all time: http://metropolisoftomorrow.tumblr.com/