Posthuman Blues

I'm not claiming to have any weird psychic powers, but it seems to me the zeitgeist has turned downright menacing. People seem robotic, the mass media appalling in its absurdity. The suburbs sulk under a marinating haze of spite; the sky is the color of fading newsprint.





Religious cults are prone to bouts of incipience in which they know that "something" -- usually catastrophic, at least for unbelievers -- is going to happen. I'm getting that same sort of vibe now, broadcast from the depths of a thousand anonymous skulls. The dead reptilian scent of imminent disaster.

On the stereo: Bowie's "We Are the Dead." A furtive waitress with teeth ground to points. Canned personalities gesticulating in electronic silence. Malignant headlights swelling in my rear-view mirror.

Untranslatable premonitions pressed against the inside of my head like electrodes fashioned from rusted corkscrews.