My Problem Is That All Things Are

All The Speed He Took, All The Turns He'd Taken And The Corners He'd Cut In Night City, And Still He'd See The Matrix In His Sleep, Bright Lattices Of Logic Unfolding Across That Colorless Void.

The Past Is Past, The Future Unformed. There Is Only The Moment, And That Is Where He Prefers To Be.

Novels Set In Imaginary Futures Are Necessarily About The Moment In Which They Are Written.

Some People Dote On Contemplating Disasters.

I Think Science Fiction Gives Us A Wonderful Toolkit To Disassemble And Reexamine This Kind Of Incomprehensible, Constantly Changing Present That We Live In, That We Often Live In Quite Uncomfortably.