William Gibson, together along with Bruce Sterling, belongs to those science-fiction authors who have triggered a new movement in literature. Under the collective term of "Cyberpunk", this genre deals with new technological possibilities of virtual reality.
He phases out on a vector of train whistles and the one particular steel-engraved slant of winter sun these manifestations favor, leaving the faintest tang of Players Navy Cut and opening piano bars of East St. Louis, this dangerous old literary gentlemen who sent so man of us out, under sealed orders, years ago ...
Inspector Lee taught a new angle - Frequencies of silence: blank walls at street level. In the flat field. We became field operators. Decoding the lattices. Patrolling the deep faults. Under the lights. Machine dreams. The crowds, swept with con ... Shibuya Times Square Piccadilly. A parked car, an arena of grass, a fountain filled with earth. In the slow fall to dawn. Alongside night. In the Hyatt caves. In the hour of the halogen wolves ... The hour remembered. In radio silence ...
Just a chance operator in the gasoline crack of history, officer ...
Assembled word cyberspace from small and readily available components of
language. Neologic spasm: the primal act of pop poetics. Preceded any concept
whatever. Slick and hollow-awaiting received meaning.
All I did: folded words as taught. Now other words accrete in the interstices.
"Gentlemen, that is not now nor will it ever be my concern..."
Not what I do.
I work the angle of transit. Vectors of neon plaza, licensed consumers, acts
primal and undreamed of ...