11.07.2005

Consciousness.

I've begun my NaNoWriMo novel.

Here's the prologue:

"It was 6:42 am, Eastern Standard Time. New York City. Outside, people were beginning their mad dash to work, running around like ants in some gigantic anthill a sadistic twelve year old kicked apart. The sun was shining, blinding people driving east. People checked their Terminals while they ate, drove, dressed. They wanted the latest news (China develops another biopatent), the results of the elections (Morganson wins Manager again in a landslide), to see how they made out on their last bet (The Colts lost to the Packers).
People communicated over the Collective – stocks were traded, games played, debates lost and won. Wireless data enveloped the Earth like a digital ozone layer, protecting users from information blackout. Everything was translated into pulses of ones and zeroes. The human consciousness had become a river, suspended high above the clouds by a net of satellites and access points."


So there you go.

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