November 3, 2011
dear clusterflock
2031.
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comments:
- Joel Bernstein: I know right?
- Rick Neece: Being nice is a dainty way to put it.
- Rick Neece: Hey Cristopher? Who cried “uncle” first, at the end of your ten-year stand-off? To quote my...
- Michael Smith: Ours is the kitchen.
- Amy Mabli: That’s what happens when you give the dogs the bed.
- Deron Bauman: Sweet Jesus.
- Michael Smith: Don’t we all.
- Pam: I have a story coming out soon in a ‘little mag’, Chicago Quarterly Review. An old friend recently...
- Pam: And I thought, somedays, that my work was meaningless…
- Pam: I remember Eggleston at the Art Institute in Chicago a couple years ago. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit...
- Christopher Walken: Hey Clusterflockers, Realize y’all are hurting. I’ve been a really close friend of my...
- Marco: This works pretty well in mobile, more so in iOS
- Michael Smith: It was not the intent of management to imply all sissies are “namby pamby”. Management was...
- Rick Neece: I take umbrage with the term “namby pamby.” Some sissies are fierce.
- Carole Corlew: Shelia. Happy no big deal day. I would start your very own post but this phone is in semi rebellion.
Prompted by.
I think by 2031 we’ll have Watson in our heads, be spending a significant amount of time in virtual reality and reverse engineering our bodies to live longer. Who knows, maybe our brains will be less of a pain in the ass by then as well.
In 2019, they finally develop a pill that increases penis size, but it’s so easy that nobody wants it anymore.
Max_Genteleman_2019
Blasted hellscape
If I survive the blasted hellscape (or various scenarios that could take me in the time between then and now), I’d be 76. I might be sitting in a cabin in the North woods, far from civilization doodling into some notebook I got as a gift (unused at this point) from years past (if I manage to keep a pen or pencil). I might be alone. I might not be. I might be able to gather fodder in a snow-drift landscape to light each morning for heat, having kept an ember burning to light the next kindling. I might learn to trap. I might be eating rodents and find them delicious. Then, when someone happens by (unlikely), I’ll feed them rodent and tell stories. They might be so hungry for food and word they might find both delicious. I’ll tell them stories of my days of yore. (And they might have a story or a morsel of food to share.) I’d be hungry for either.
Or I might be telling phantoms who visit, the stories of my days, knowing (or not) I’m telling stories to ghosts.
In 2031 I ‘spect I’ll be trying to remember in which jar I left my teeth. MGS, ever the prankster, won’t tell me. Probably won’t be able to find his teeth either. Blasted hellscape indeed.
In 2031 public schools will either be boarded up or outfitted with ebook technologies. I wish I could be sure which direction things will go. Either way, I get the impression that McDonald’s and Coca-Cola win.
I’m guessing both.