/cyb/ - There are days I wish for cyberpunk dystopia. Eternal cloudy days. Perhaps because of an irreparably damaged climate system, where life still makes way. Where I can transport my consciousness to a symbolic system based on silicon and can invade the min

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Unnamed 2019/07/17 (Wed) 14:49:34 No.4054

There are days I wish for cyberpunk dystopia.

Eternal cloudy days. Perhaps because of an irreparably damaged climate system, where life still makes way. Where I can transport my consciousness to a symbolic system based on silicon and can invade the minds of others like a parasite. Where I earn the minimum wage and can still survive on the minimum in the chamber of a hotel capsule. Where the only existing colors are black and white because any camouflage system is useless.

Sometimes I hallucinate with easily accessible, low-cost and highly effective synthetic drugs even in exchange for destroying the liver or the neurological system, which matters whether with one blow or two I can install a new one.

Why not become a god made of heavy metals? Change my phallus and face for a Royal Ordnance L7 cannon and an a M60 with armor piercing bullets.

My tongue can be that of a snake too, which releases all kinds of hallucinogens and aphrodisiacs just for you.

Ishikawa 2019/08/30 (Fri) 14:43:42 No.4187

File: 1567176222156.png (415.22 KB, 371x809, 1566961414205.png)

Continue the war. It makes no sense.
K codes for cybernetics.
Dark-side K - microcultures use the annihilation of the future as a directly contactable stimulation space, zero- K sliding on-line during virtual nuclear winter, everything frozen in place, except along faultlines of ragged nova jungle Pacific fringe, simmered in continual war.

Nick Land, Cyberspace Anarchitecture as Jungle-War (1995)

This is what I imagine

I imagine the future of the moist, green and fertile battlefield, where hackers take the form of predators. Their humanity rejected and living like beasts that exist only as a wave set in the electron field. They walk the walk and talk the talk inside and out.

Each culture serves as the foundational infrastructure of a new hyperspace were hearts and minds are one. The commercium mesh is protected by new densities, flowers and cartoonish bear traps, seasoned with child night terrors, while a war and game unfolds.

Lolita assassins clip the leaders of the enemy network, using the forbidden techniques, disabling orgasms and explosive diarrhea. They recover the heads for later to eat them in the secret sacred rituals, entering in communion with the martyrs. That is what I dream of in the future. New gods. A revolution. A final solution.