Posthuman Blues

I had one of my Giant Shopping Mall of the Future dreams last night. "Blade Runner" meets "Mad Max" as directed by Romero, with me as the unwitting star. (I was searching for my cats.)

Epic mounds of detritus, cannibalized machinery, meandering hordes of suburban nomads in search of an obscure fix. As always, a feeling of detachment and loss; a whole millennium dashed upon unfriendly concrete shores as the population cowers from a sky it's never seen, oddly content among the crowded memories of a derelict century.

I'm watching from the meticulously stripped-down carriage of an elevator, camera in hand, filming the spectacle floor by floor. Strangers pass like silhouettes consigned to Celluloid purgatory, just out of reach. And I descend into the hive's very guts, enamored of the darkness.