Dear Observation Deck,
Having been sufficiently illuminated this fine evening, the third of august in the year two thousand and thirteen, I profess it is my drunken duty to ask the good people of io9 their opinion on a theory that has been brewing in my brain.
Given that cyberpunk fiction foretold the rise of corporations and private security and intelligence actors, and the gradual decline of national governments; and concomitant with the ever increasing angle of the asymptotic curve of technological progress, that the singularity lies in the inevitable transformation from a world that we thought we understood, to a world that makes very little sense at all...
The genre of cyberpunk, by way of transhumanist fiction, gives way naturally to a meta-punk dictum, whereby reality itself is questioned; paranoia surrounding the state, the corporation, and the individual in turn making room for the contemplation of infinite possibilities of any human consciousness... and thus paving the way for a new take on reality itself. This of course is a naturally spiritual exercise, logic being the beginning of wisdom, but not the end; for there is no logic in creation... it just begins of its own accord.
...and... wait, what the hell was I talking about, again?
Nevermind. It's late, or early, as the case may be. I am not of sound mind, and I have minions and code to execute. Pour me another, barkeep, for I have need of a beverage. 5 am, you say? Last call long past, you say? Pish, posh! Roll me a fat one, fine sir; for I am in need of inebriatory fulfilment. And love, sweet love, what form will you take? No one knows. We create this experience even as we are surprised by it's unfolding beauty. The evening is too damn short. There's miracles taking place right under our noses, if only we had ears to listen.
This randomness brought to you by the letter C and the number 9. Enjoy a fine morning, dear friends. May your long weekend be blessed and filled with joy!
God I love booze.