When William Gibson started blogging a couple of years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find that he’s really good at it: personable, funny, weird, mindblowing. You know, just very William Gibson but without the star trip that a lot of famous writers are on.
If this close presidential race and possibility of a Bush win has done nothing else, it’s pulled Gibson out of retirement, and for that, I say (for perhaps the ONLY time): thank you, Mr. Bush, because Gibson sees and, more importantly, writes it down for the rest of us:
“Anything that might be of interest to Slitscan. Which is to say, Laney, anything that might be of interest to Slitscan’s audience. Which is best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, Laney, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”
— William Gibson, Idoru, 1996