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annathescavver · 4 years

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What Remains Of Us Ch. 2

The Institute was an incredible place. The walls soared high, lit by bright, clean light. Fountains bubbled merrily, the water running clearer than Rebecca had ever seen. And grass - a rich, healthy green - grew alongside flowers and small trees, each nourished by the light and specially designed fertilizers. The temperature was just right, neither too hot nor too cold. It was a utopia, a future like those advertised in magazines before the war. A place for mankind to be safe and happy.

And yet, she wasn’t happy.

The hallways Rebecca walked in echoed with her footsteps and those of the synth beside her. She scrubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to drive away her nerves. Sneaking a glance to her side, she took in the synth’s uniform and their upright, unbreakable posture. She’d offered them a smile before, one that she hoped wasn’t too awkward, but she’d received no response. They weren’t terribly talkative, and she chose to respect that.

Darker thoughts entered her mind as they neared their destination. She knew very well that the synth - and others like them - were guards, and as such, probably had strict programming that allowed no personality. While it was nice, her smiling probably did little.

No, not little. She refused to think that way. “Thank you for your help,” she said to them when they arrived at the door she needed. They left without a word, hands tight around their rifle. She squared her shoulders, summoning her best courtroom face, and opened the door.

“Ah, Mother.” A man greeted her, long white coat pristine and carefully ironed. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Shaun,” Rebecca said and her voice cracked only slightly. She shook his hand, feeling the years in the creases of his hands. “You said you wanted to see me?”

"Of course, yes. Our tour of the other division the other day was incomplete. I wanted to give you plenty of time to recuperate. I understand your journey was a long one.” Shaun smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Today I plan to show you the robotics division. Dr. Binet and his team are eager to meet you. If you would, come with me.”

He led the way out of the room. Rebecca followed even though her stomach was suddenly seized with queasiness. Robotics. Where the synths were made.

They wound their way through the corridors, traveling down one spiral staircase and then past a door locked by a keycode. Shaun typed in the code easily, his back subtly turned to block the keypad from Rebecca’s sight.

She had little freedom. She was a welcome guest at the moment, an honored one even, but she was not yet trusted. That was understandable, sure, but the secrecy - most of it not as subtle as the scientists thought - was already beginning to irritate her.

“Through here, please.” Shaun waved a hand before folding them behind his back and leading her down a long, narrow corridor. “Ah. Here’s Dr. Binet now. Doctor, good morning. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” Dr. Binet replied easily, as if he was used to interruptions or knew better than to make a scene. “What do you need, Director?”

Shaun gestured for Rebecca to step forward. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. This is Rebecca, my mother. She’s just recently joined us and I thought I’d show her around. Perhaps you could give us a tour?”

“Oh, yes of course. My team should be about to start with a new group of synths. If you’d like to see that?”

“That will do, doctor.”

Dr. Binet nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led the way through the laboratory, nodding to the people at work.

Rebecca looked around. There were terminals stationed all around the room, but she was unable to read what was on any of their screens. There were other machines, too, great alien ones that no doubt made parts or stored lines of complicated code. And above, the ceiling was high above them, lit sufficiently but sending down drafts of cold air.

She followed the others through another series of doors. Each were keycoded.

“Here we are,” Dr. Binet said, gesturing as they entered the last room. It was a small office, sparsely furnished and with large glass window. A pair of seats sat under the window while a desk - like the rest of the room, it was barely decorated - took up most of the rest of the space. “This is one of the offices where we work on our synth’s programming,” he said to Rebecca. “There are others, of course. You can see them there and there. Now, down there is our laboratory. Have a seat. It looks like my team has already started.”

Rebecca claimed one of the seats. It was an uncomfortable thing, with little padding. Beside her, Shaun claimed the opposite one while Dr. Binet leaned against the desk.

With carefully concealed discomfort, Rebecca looked down into the laboratory.

A large red circle dominated the space and it took a moment for her to realize it was a vat. Built into the floor, it was full of some kind of red material. Bubbles rippled along the edges. Surrounding it were more terminals and several scientists, each person outfitted with full lab attire and two carrying clipboards.

There were large circular contraptions, each flickering with light. A human frame was positioned in one of them, looking like some kind of famous painting. As Rebecca watched from the window, a large mechanical arm began forming a skeleton within the frame. Bone by bone. The arm moved so quickly it was nearly a blur. “It starts there,” Rebecca said quietly, noting it for her report to the Railroad.

Next the arm carefully grabbed the skeleton and moved it on to the next machine. Lines, thin ones, were woven over and around the skeleton. The nervous system, perhaps.

Dr. Binet cleared his throat. “The basic human programming already in place by this point. When they’re done there, they are brought up here, to one of our senior roboticists.”

With a shallow nod, Rebecca tuned back into the lab. The frame had been moved again, and now muscle was being formed around it. The body took form quickly, sinew and fiber built rapidly, before it was finally placed into the vat of red liquid.

“This is the animation process,” Dr. Binet explained from behind her shoulder. “The rest of the body is formed, as well. Skin, hair, nails.”

“Right,” Rebecca said. “Looks like a fine-tuned process. Quick, too. You said they come up here when they’re ready. How do you decide where to send them?”

“It depends on a lot of factors,” Dr. Binet said vaguely. “Where we want to investigate an area, where we want to form an alliance with the residents.”

Rebecca could tell she wasn’t going to get more information out of him. And from the tightening of Shaun’s jaw, she knew she shouldn’t ask more questions. So instead she played innocent. “I see. That makes sense.”

Below, the surface of the vat rippled and she watched it closely. A figure - the synth, fully formed - emerged, their movements slow. The liquid ran in blood-colored rivulets down their body and dripped from their hair. The synth fell to their knees, the liquid splashing around them. They made a face of undeniable frustration and picked themselves back up, hands desperately trying to wipe the liquid off of their skin.

Rebecca wanted to turn away, to evade her eyes from the synth’s nakedness and vulnerability, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

One of the scientists stepped forward. She held out a towel, a smile easy on her lips and her eyes trained on their face. She said something, but Rebecca couldn’t hear her.

The synth looked at the towel for a few moments in sheer confusion before stepping forward and taking it. They wrapped it around their shoulders. The scientist led them away and they followed, footsteps unsteady and slow.

"We’re making incredible progress. As you can see, the synths emerge complete and with little mishap. After this they are taken aside and assigned, and then programmed. Doctor Navarette has been working on the programming for their components, and she and I are very pleased with the results.” Dr Binet glanced over to Shaun and added, “The advancements in artificial emotions are coming along well, as is our work in simulating humanoid...extremes.” There was a faint cough, one Rebecca and Shaun both noticed. “As you ordered, Director.”

Rebecca wondered what he meant by that. Obviously, the Institute would continuously be working to improve emotions and intelligence in their synths. Humans had a wide range of emotions, and if synths were meant to replace, or infiltrate, humans on the surface, synths had to have the same range. What he meant by extremes, Rebecca had her suspicions.

The surface wasn’t an easy place to live. Disease, radiation, conflit. All of it left harsh scars on the mind, and the Institute would need to simulate that as well.

The thought made Rebecca feel sick. She swallowed back her nausea and looked back at the floor. A second synth was being placed into the vat. This time, when they emerged, none of the scientists offered them assistance. The woman who had offered the towel was still gone, and no one thought to follow her lead.

Rebecca finally turned her head away. This had to stop. Somehow, she had to find a way to stop all of this.

“Excellent work, doctor. Do continue to send me reports of your team’s progress. Now, I do not wish to keep you any longer.” Shaun nodded to Dr. Binet before folding his hands behind his back and turning to leave. “Mother, there is something else I would like to discuss with you. Please come with me.”

Rebecca glanced down at the laboratory floor again and saw yet another synth emerge from the vat. She wanted to know more, as grisly as the process was. She needed to know more, and so did the Railroad. They had sent her here - risked agent’s lives to do so - in return for information.

“Sure, of course,” she said and followed him out of the laboratory.

----

They settled back in his rooms. Dinner was brought to them and Rebecca couldn’t deny her eagerness to eat. It had been months since she’d eaten well, and the Institute - or at least, those in charge - had access to great food. The aroma of roasted vegetables, some kind of soup, fresh bread, and more caused her stomach to growl in an embarrassingly loud way.

Shaun looked over at her with an indulgent smile. “Please,” he said. “I believe the prewar saying is dig in.”

Rebecca did. Whatever her opinions about what’d she seen, she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment. Acting now, or speaking of it even, was dangerous. She had to get more information. Find out if there was anyone in the Institute she could trust.

“Someday I hope the Institute can grow our food on the surface,” Shaun began, sitting opposite her. “With our advances in agriculture, and the room up there, I’m sure we could grow enough to feed hundreds of people. Only, we’re still working on a way to neutralize the radioactivity. Even short trips to the surface can be dangerous. Such trips have damaged the DNA of our scientists.”

“Surely the Institute has ways to handle that?”

“Not completely. Our environment suits, while a thousand times better than they were prewar, can only protect from so much, and for so long. And radiation can last for centuries. Some isotopes, millennia.” Shaun finally began to serve himself. He seemed to eye the bottle of wine on the table for several moments before pouring himself a glass. “There is a team in the Bioscience division dedicated to this subject and their reports are fascinating. I recommend you pay them a visit.”

Perhaps she would. Though it had little to do with synths, learning other ways of handling radiation would prove extremely useful. “Well it is true that the food on the surface is sometimes radioactive,” she said, thinking of both the prewar variety and that grown on farms. “There was always medicine to deal with it.”

“A weak effort, I’m afraid. I applaud those living on the surface for trying to minimize the dangers, but a bottle of rad-x cannot stop the rads completely.”

“What else do you think they should do? It’s not like there are labs like this out there.”

Shaun eyed her. “No,” he agreed. “That is another reason we work so hard down here. I dream of a day when we fix the surface world. Do you know what we say down here? Mankind, redefined. The war may have changed humanity, but we can improve ourselves and be better than ever.”

It was a nice idea, at first. Rebecca nodded in agreement, though in her heart she had her doubts. She didn’t think the Institute meant to help the surface world in any way. The Institute wanted to replace the surface world.

Silence settled between them. Rebecca finished her dinner and considered a glass of wine herself. “Shaun,” she said as she poured a small amount. “I’m glad to have found you. I admit, things didn't turn out the way I had planned. I thought I would get to watch you grow up, and I missed that. That the Institute did this to us...it will take some time for me to come to terms with.”

She was choosing her words carefully and they both knew it.

“I understand, mother. It is regrettable that this is how we meet. It is even more regrettable that my father was killed. I would have liked to meet him as well.”

At the thought of Warren, Rebecca’s eyes welled with tears. She thought she’d cried enough. Waking from cryosleep in the vault, escaping and finding their world destroyed, hunting down and killing the man who murdered him, and finally burying him. She had cried so many tears and lost a lot of herself. She wondered who she’d become, and at times she wondered how she could go on.

She’d accepted her new place. She’d made friends. She’d grown, and healed as best as she was able. The scars were still there, the pain cutting so deep, but she’d come so far and she refused to stop moving.

“Maybe we can make up for the time,” Shaun said slowly. “I look forward to showing you the work the Institute does, and the good we can do for the rest of the world. I hope you can be happy here, mother. There’s a place for you in the Institute, should you take it.”

“Yes, maybe. And maybe we can truly help the surface world. Share our advancements with them. Help them rebuild.” Rebecca finished her wine and offered him a smile. She wasn’t sure how much of a choice she had and that frightened her. If she tried to leave, or if she refused to stay in the Institute, would he try to stop her? “Maybe we can reach out soon. Show them that we want to help.”

Shaun looked unconvinced. “Mother, I’m sure you’re aware of how the surface world thinks of us. I do assure you that we are not the monsters others are convinced we are.”

“I’m sure,” Rebecca said. His tone had been even but she caught the slight warning in his words. “I really would like to get to know everyone here. I agree, there is such good the Institute can do for the world. The Institute just has to find common ground with the surface world.”

“Common ground?”

“It won’t be easy, I know,” Rebecca continued lightly. “I want to help, Shaun. Besides finding you, my dream since leaving the vault was to rebuild the world. Dig through the ashes and find the good parts of civilization, and help it grow. Please, we can do so much good.”

Shaun frowned, eyes narrowing. “I still don’t see how we can find common ground with the chaos of the surface world. Don’t you think we’ve tried, Mother? We are stopped at every turn. Every time we try to intervene, to help them, they attack us.”

Perhaps, Rebecca thought, if you wouldn’t try to kill people. Or replace loved ones. Or kidnap children. Perhaps they wouldn’t attack you.

“Then let me help you find it. I lived up there for weeks. I have friends up there. Allies.”

"Yes, I’m sure you have your connections.”

“Then you agree? I can help the Institute connect with the people up there. I know things have been rocky at best, and it will take time and a lot of effort to make things right. But it can still be done.”

With a sigh, Shaun nodded. “I can see where you’re going with this. I’m not sure I agree, but I respect your dedication. You have experience up there and we can use that. In the meantime, make yourself known around here. Just as we should learn from you, you need to learn from us.”

There was a considerable amount of condescension in his voice. Rebecca decided that she didn’t care for it. The conversation had not gone as well as she’d hoped, and she mentally kicked herself for being so pushy. She wondered if she’d shown her cards too early.

“Alright,” Rebecca said, instead of voicing any other of her opinions. She straightened her back and put her neutral mask back on. “Thank you for hearing me out. I look forward to working with you, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish settling in.”

Shaun stood and walked her to the door, an easy smile on his face. “Yes, of course. I have a meeting with the directorate tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps after that we can discuss these plans you have. But for now, just make yourself comfortable around here. Good day, Mother.”

They shook hands again and Rebecca left the room. The door slid closed behind her with a soft hiss. She let out a sigh of relief, allowing her shoulders to droop and her eyes to close. Speaking with him was going to be exhausting, she could already tell. She couldn’t truly say what she wanted, and she had to be mindful of who he was and the power he had.

“You must be tired from your trip.”

Rebecca straightened, recognizing that voice. Before, it had been scathing and impatient, telling her that by no means did he trust her. She might be the director’s mother, but he would be watching her.

Justin Ayo stood in the hallway. He was the head of the Synth Retention Bureau, the part of the Institute dedicated to finding runaway synths and bringing them back. “I would have thought you’d have settled in by now. It’s been several days, hasn’t it? And yet you still chose to wear those rags. Perhaps you’re not planning on staying long.”

Rebecca almost hoped there would come a day where she could tell him exactly what she thought of him. Now was not that day. “It’s quite an adjustment, I’ll admit,” she said calmly. “I’m only human. These things take time.”

“What an odd phrase,” Ayo said. “Only human. As if to be human is to be just...mediocre.”

“It’s an old prewar saying.” Rebecca waved it off, hoping to appear indifferent. Only human? Why did those words come out of her mouth? “Excuse me. I’m sure you need to speak with the director.”

She sidestepped Ayo and left him standing before Shaun’s door. She could feel his eyes on her, weighing, judging. Waiting for her to slip.

#fanficiton #fallout 4 fanfiction #fallout 4 #writing #the institute

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sting-the-scribe · 5 years

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A Miser’s Paradise

Lantau.

The southern winds have no power here.

Small island utopia, home to magnificent water buffaloes and blue skies. Built on vast swathes of tussocks, it is home for the old man across the street, the dog that begs for scraps every evening. It’s home for all of us.

We grew among the trees, free from the smoke machinations of surrounding lands.

Slumbering volcanoes lie in repose along the coast, a cradle for the woodland creatures that now roam through the bushes and shrubs. Hundreds of millions of years ago, they battered and shaped the land into the near paradise it is today – an oasis in an urban world. The small scatterings of modernity have managed to peacefully coexist with its rural counterpart so far. Complacent and warm; the quintessential sun-warmed incubation of childhood.

Underneath the iridescent surface, there lies the sinister encroachment of greying skies, ones that carry both the stench of pollution and corruption. For all the time that our kind have lived in this world, species have been born and died, both noticeably and silently. Sailors could once, on any given day, glimpse white dolphins leaping through the skies. Pods that engaged in play with tourists, careening and pirouetting for joy.

But humans have not been kind.

We’ve destroyed their habitats. Denied our faults. And still claim they live, despite none being seen since. Soon, perhaps, it may be our turn. Karma does have its repercussions. In our time, the hourglass drains faster.

Gone by the multitudes, dying by the millions. We do not notice it until too late, until our ignorance has paid the price. We are but an island in a sea of skyscrapers, Atlantis against the world. A paradise soon to be lost.

I see skies choked with dark smoke one day, then fleetingly pale and devoid of anything the next. Even the acrid smell is better than staring at the emptiness of the purely colourless dome overhead.

The water buffaloes are gone, sunken into the deep bogs and fields that once grew wild until now. Presently, they lie trapped with every leaf and every blade of grass beneath a cobblestone surface.

Big Buddha is gone, razed, and in its place, corporate beasts, a thousand feet tall and twice as wide.

We question if we have the power to stop what is coming for us. Of an age dark and terrible, when all that we’ve known will be forgotten from history – as easily as slipping into quicksand.

It may be an inevitability, but we have the choice to delay it. We play deities both cruel and benevolent, after all; to the animals below us, it seems almost as if we have all the power in the world.

The lilies in the next-door garden and the coalescence of stars in the night sky that I weave my irises through at night tell me otherwise. We are merely human; susceptible to beauty and alone in the universe. It’s not too much to ask; the simple act of joining our hands to protect a single island.

I am a jaded person, but a starling on my window sill never fails to let a smile play on my lips, if only for a few moments.

I may be tired, but not enough to forget that I am angry. It is our fault, our inability to prevent the oil-slicked tide that allowed this to happen. We have caused the Sixth Extinction, a mass extermination of all we once took for granted. The next Ice Age will come, felling us by the dozens. We will retire into a cold slumber, all we’ve made taken back by the tides, until we’re as lost as the volcanoes of old. The starlings will no longer sing in their high sweet tongue- all thanks to being afraid of making a bit of noise.

We may be one island amongst millions, but this is our home- the home of your neighbours, your friends, and your families. If not for you, then raise your voice for them.

#around db #contest entry #prose #contest winner #stingthescribe #sting-the-scribe #ywc #young writers' competition #ywc 2018

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thefaeriereview · 3 years

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1969: A Brief and Beautiful Trip Back by Sea Gudinski

Historical Fiction

Take a trip down the rabbit hole without ever leaving the comfort of your living room… This is a novel in which history meets science fiction and psychedelics meet spirituality through a seamless blend of fact and fantasy. 1969: A Brief and Beautiful Trip Back is one girl’s account of her fantastic and unique experience of the hippie counterculture and how it changed her and those around her for the rest of their lives. From a run-of-the-mill existence in the ultra-conservative town of Fresno, California, formerly naïve teenager and rock devotee Rhiannon Karlson takes the trip of a lifetime after a drug dealer sells her a particularly potent and mysterious substance, sparking her unparalleled journey of soul-searching, consciousness-expansion, and unyielding search for the Truth. The rest, you may say, is history.

4 out of 5 fairies

1969: A Brief and Beautiful Trip Back is a great book, (don't be intimidated by its length). You get drawn into Rhiannon's world, no matter the era it currently resides in. Rhiannon is a relatable teenager, at odds with her mother, and trying to find her place in the world while following her dream. If you've never really been into the drug scene you may find parts of this a bit unrelatable. The overall story easily smooths over these parts however, so don't let that stop you from diving into this awesome story!

Excerpt

From Woodstock:

For the first few days after we arrived, there was no music. We passed the time by smoking grass, strumming guitar, roaming all around that wide open space, and greeting the newcomers as they came up the hill. From the time we awoke to the time we returned to our slumbers, we watched them flock to the fields.

They came in droves; by the bus-load and car-load they rode in, seated atop vans and hanging out of RV windows in a ceaseless flow of traffic. Even by helicopter they arrived and in every other possible fashion—all kinds of people from everywhere, with license plates ranging from California to Maine. The cumulative total swelled by the thousands each hour, and by mid-afternoon of that very same day, the influx was restricted to foot traffic alone, for there was no more space to park. The two-lane dirt road that stretched in from the highway had become a one-way street, and people just started leaving their cars and walking.

Hundreds at a time they descended upon that half-finished stage, some of them with big huge rucksacks upon their backs, others with nothing at all. They came and spread blankets at the top of the hill, pitched tents in the woods, built stands, and carried in wares and artwork of all kinds to be set up, shown, and sold. That tiny little town had become a city, and just like any other city, it was alive all of the time. It was like being in San Francisco without the buildings or the fog; the air was fresh and clean, and there were no hassles of any kind. It was a beautiful exhibition, and nobody was prepared for what they were seeing. In fact, it was almost surreal to believe that it was actually happening. It was a coalition; a revival of everything we'd ever wanted or worked for or tried to achieve politically, socially, or otherwise. There were no fights, no violence— not even a frown, for when you walked up that hill and saw the bowl and all those thousands, you couldn't help but smile because you were within the growing borders of utopia, and you knew you had just entered into Eden.

Where to buy: Amazon | Barnes & Noble

* * * * *

Add to your TBR list

Other Reviews

“Trust us, you're going to want to read this one.”—The Journal NJ

"[Rhiannon] is one of the best developed and created female protagonists that I have ever read and this is one of the best novels I have read so far this year.”—Rabia Tanveer, Readers’ Favorite (Starred Review)

“Sea Gudinski’s new book takes a fantastic journey back to the era that defined a generation.”—Joanne Colella, Colella Communications

“1969 is one of the most well-written, intelligent, and well-researched books that I have ever read. If you lived through the sixties or you just want to know what it was like, you will absolutely love this book.”— Paul Dittmer, Independent Researcher of 1969 Woodstock Festival

“Looking up at the stars, limits simply do not exist for the creative mind of Sea Gudinski.”—Chuck Defilippo, NYS Music Magazine

“Plenty to groove on…”—Kirkus Reviews

“Adventurous, soul-searching, and transcending the borders of time and reality, 1969: A Brief & Beautiful Trip Back is a thought-provoking saga that will keep the reader enraptured from cover to cover. Highly recommended!”—Midwest Book Review

About the Author: Sea Gudinski was born and raised in the small town of Holmdel, New Jersey. She has written prolifically since the age of ten, producing six novels and one collection of poetry. 1969: A Brief and Beautiful Trip Back is her first published work. She is an avid reader and a lover of all things historical. With a wide breadth of knowledge and an unquenchable desire to learn, she has delved into several eras in recent history with the hope of shedding some light on the issues faced in today’s world. Her works are a delightful marriage of fact and fiction, peopled with vibrant characters, each with a unique and meaningful story to tell. She writes with depth and passion in the hope that her work will inspire others the way other literary works have inspired her. Her essay, The Aquarian Age was recently published in Elliot Landy’s 50th Anniversary brochure, Woodstock.

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verian · 6 years

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Skylarking 1986

I know only three tracks well from Skylarking which were all, at some point, singles and appeared on the Fossil Fuel compilation I had, half of which now belongs to Dave and the other half will as well, next time I see him as it wasn’t in the case but I found it the other day.

To be fair I need to give this album way more listening time than I have been able to, actually, I’ve been writing these posts for about a month as I listen to everything, repeatedly.

The album was released on 27 October 1986 and was produced by American musician Todd Rundgren. It is loosely a concept album centred around various cycles in life, such as the seasons, days, and years. The title is a bit of a double entendre, referring to a type of bird (skylark), as well as the Royal Navy term “skylarking”, which means “fooling around”.

Most of the album was recorded at Rundgren’s Utopia Sound Studio in Woodstock, New York where the sessions were fraught with tension, particularly between Rundgren and Andy Partridge, and numerous disagreements arose over drum patterns, song selections, and other minutia. Rundgren was blamed with accidentally mastering the album with a reversed sound polarity, resulting in a thin mix. The problem was was addressed when, in 2010, Partridge independently issued a remastered version of the album with corrected polarity.

The album was pretty much ignored on release, reaching only 90 in the UK album charts but it did a bit better in the US having been popular on college radio, pushing it up to 70. For some reason the track Dear God was omitted from the original release and appeared only on later pressings, but its existence as the B-Side of the first single Grass, resulted in hate mail and death threats in the US, which is a shame as it is an amazing track.

There were 4 singles taken from the album, although one was only released in Canada (Earn enough for us).

All three of the singles were on Fossil Fuel so I’m pretty familiar with them, and rather liked a version of Dear God by Tricky that I also have. It is a lovely pastoral album that has elements of the side project released before it, called The Dukes of Stratosphear, XTC released a sort of psychedelic album under this pseudonym that was half joke half serious and it drips into the songs on Skylarking.

The Tube, which was an exceptional UK music show on British TV, produced two videos at Port Meirion, where The Prisoner was filmed, These are included in the little collection below.

Q & A From Uncut magazine, which is pretty interesting:

  Q&A

ANDY PARTRIDGE

How did you link up with Todd Rundgren for Skylarking? 

Virgin were desperate for something to happen in the States so they gave me a list of American producers and asked me to pick someone on that list. And I hadn’t heard of any of them – it was all like Randy Dinkleferber III: the sort of names that Groucho Marx would have made up. They sent me another list and Todd Rundgren was at the bottom of it. I mentioned it to Dave Gregory and he was an ultra-fan so he said: ‘We should do this, it’ll be great.’ Ironically, he made us sound more English than we ever sounded.

You really didn’t get on well? 

No we didn’t. It was very difficult for me because Virgin basically told me to shut up and be produced, “because you’ll only ruin it and make it weird”. Todd wanted to process us through as quickly as possible, and we’d be fighting about the quality of takes. I hate sarcasm and he’s extremely sarcastic. He produced the New York Dolls – I think they were the only people who have ever worked with him twice. His ego matches the size of the man. It was like one Brian Clough stood on the shoulder s of another – with a wig. It obviously got everyone down cause we were fighting and we never usually did, and then we got barred from mixing so it took quite a few years to realise he did a fantastic job. His people skills are like Hermann Goering’s.

Was the morning until night concept his idea?

Me and Colin sent him the demos and he called me one night just to introduce himself and he said: “I’ve got the running order.” I was a bit surprised because you don’t usually have that until you’ve recorded everything. He had this idea that it was all happening morning to night, like a summer’s day, or like the order of someone’s life. At one point during the recording, he leaned over the mixing desk and said: “I’ve drawn your cover for you,” and I thought “God, this man’s arrogance has no end”. He’d drawn two railway tickets, and he said these are two railway tickets and the album should be called Day Passes.

  You have reverted to the rejected ‘cock and fanny’ cover.

I thought the record had a kind of pagan outdoorsiness, and I wanted a Lady Chatterley’s Lover thing of like meadow flowers woven through male and female pubic hair. Virgin had a mock-up sleeve made and all the big chains and they all said they wouldn’t stock it. As a last minute panic I did a parody of a poster by a fellow called Hans Erni – it was something to do with the Swiss tourist board. The original title was Down and Butter Sun Field Magic ‘cause that was all the things I thought it sounded like. Plateful of Paradise was another title it had for a while. Skylarking was a phrase my father used all the time – he was a navy man and it literally meant messing around in the rigging.

You and Colin Moulding are on a par for who has the best songs on Skylarking. 

This is the most songs that Colin ever had on an album, and the reason is that it’s probably his best batch of songs. He doesn’t write that many. The two singles [“Grass” and “The Meeting Place”] were his but Virgin were still in the ìeverything that Colin does is magic cause of the hitsî mindset. I was the weird one with the glasses who just made weird music. I thought Colin had a great sense of melody – a little more refined than mine – but his lyrics weren’t as good.

“Dear God” has been incorporated into the record; is that still a song you are uncomfortable with? 

It’s a great subject and I really wanted to write a song about it, and I thought to myself I might have failed; you could do a boxed set of it and not scratch the surface. Our A&R man at Virgin, Jeremy Lascelles asked for it to be taken off the album ìbecause it’ll upset the Americansî. It was a B-side then an American DJ started playing it and the switchboard lit up like a Christmas tree. It pleased and upset equal amounts of people. I got hate mail for it – a lot of hate mail and a couple of nice books trying to save my soul.

The albums XTC made before and after you quit touring are completely different. Why was that? 

We never intended to be like that – we just kind of became like that. When we started it was all very noisy and futuristic, but that soon wears off and you start to sing with your voice, and you stop worrying about whether things have been done before. It doesn’t matter. Human beings have been done before in every possible way – I don’t feel like I was copying anyone, I was just being me, finally. There’s huge dollops of psychedelia in my make-up cause of the things I listened to when I was growing up.

How do you feel about it the new mix of Skylarking? 

It’s like 40% or more better. I got it to a masterer called John Dent – his ears are fantastic – and he said the polarity is wrong on this record. It’s a very common problem. He said at some point in the mix – probably from the multitrack down to the stereo – there’s been some mis-wiring in the studio, and we were like ‘whoah – that would explain it’, because when the album first came over to us in the 80s we all said ‘oh no this is horrible – mix it again’. So Todd Rundgren did it again and then refused to do it a third time. We thought it sounds thin with no bass and it’s distant. Now it sounds like it did in Todd’s studio. At the time I said it was like one bunker with two Hitlers – we were like rams butting our heads together. It was unpleasant but the bastard did a great job. Except he should have done his soldering properly.

Tracklist

A1. Summer’s Cauldron 3:19 A2. Grass 3:05 A3. The Meeting Place 3:14 A4. That’s Really Super, Supergirl 3:21 A5. Ballet for a Rainy Day 2:50 A6. 1000 Umbrellas 3:44 A7. Season Cycle 3:21

B1. Earn Enough for Us 2:54 B2. Big Day 3:32 B3. Another Satellite 4:15 B4. Mermaid Smiled (removed after the album was reissued with “Dear God”; restored on post-2001 reissues) 2:26 B5. The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul 3:24 B6. Dear God” (not included on initial pressings) 3:34 B7. Dying 2:31 B8. Sacrificial Bonfire 3:49

Rating: 9.3

XTC-Well I Never (Part 8) Skylarking 1986 I know only three tracks well from Skylarking which were all, at some point, singles and appeared on the…

#Dear God #Grass #Meeting Place #Skylarking #xtc

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amaizemag · 7 years

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Running Away Will Never Make You Free

By Dina Chehrazi.

When I was 14, I came across a “life in Hawaii” vlog on YouTube, the first thing that gave me a glimpse of the kind of future I wanted to create for myself. A future where I could wake up to the sound of birds, the smell of grass and a breakfast of fresh tropical fruits every morning to spend the rest of my days creating and doing what I love, helping and loving others.

The thought of the future I was striving to create made me happy and it gave me hope, but as time went by, my tropical dream became too perfect. I guess it turned into some type of utopia, where nothing bad really seemed that bad and all anything sad could be cured with a dose of sunshine and coconuts. And for me the physical opposite of this place was London, the grey concrete jungle it is with its cold weather and colder people. So, often times when I was upset I blamed it on London, for my subconscious was convinced that I could never be this upset in a tropical paradise, which just became more and more perfect as my life in England didn’t. This contrast reached its peak in the December holidays last year. The people who I thought were my friends were completely different from the kind of people I wanted or needed in my life and the only time I really connected to anyone other than my mum or my dog was through a screen on YouTube or Instagram. I felt alone. Usually when I felt like this I would think of my little tropical island and it would give me enough hope to push through. But this time I needed something more, and so I booked a 5 week volunteer expedition to Costa Rica for this summer and the thought of it gave me so much happiness that I could gladly accept feeling lonely untill the summertime, when I could live the dream I’ve been waiting to live for 3 years.

Then spring came around and life got pretty nice. I found a best friend that I had only ever dreamed of having, the weather got warmer, I started writing for this lovely magazine and things started falling into place. Suddenly London didn’t seem so bad anymore and I wasn’t thinking of my summer away all the time. In the Easter break I went on a one-week holiday to Cancun for a week with my mum and her partner, I was so excited to get to go the tropics and see what Costa Rica might be like and live the coconut dream for a week. On coach to the hotel there was an American guy who was telling us about his experience in Scotland and it suddenly hit me, I live in the UK and I haven’t even been to Scotland, I’ve barely been to more than 5 places in the whole country. What was I doing on the other side of the world, in Mexico? Why do we so often want to be in any place except the one we are actually in?

Later that week, in Mexico, something happened that made me sad, so naturally I went to the beach and sat there in my swimming costume for 30 minutes on the white sands, under a coconut tree, looking out to a sparkling blue ocean. I was expecting to feel better; I was in the utopia I had dreamed of where no sadness really feels like sadness. But I was still sad. That’s when I realised, no amount of sunshine and mangoes can take away the sinking feeling of a sad heart. Just like no amount of grey buildings and cold winds can take away the lightness of happy heart. To my surprise, all I wanted in that moment on the most beautiful beach was to be in a rainy London, inside a warm house, talking to my best friend. I was so surprised I was almost trying to force the desire out of my head, it was against anything I thought I wanted. Now I know why I desired that, I wanted to feel better and talking to my best friend and hearing her wise words is exactly what would make me feel better. This whole time I thought I was chasing a tropical country but what I was really chasing was the connection, love and happiness I thought I would find there, but that is all internal and it can be found anywhere in the world.

When I got back to London, it didn’t look so bad to me anymore, I started noticing the beauty in it, the native Forrest fruits, the cute cottages, the diversity of the people and so much more. Then I thought about the American guy in the coach and I felt this desire to explore the UK and really see where I’ve been living and the experiences and places I’ve been neglecting for the past 17 years. So I’ve decided that this summer I won’t go to Costa Rica, instead I want to be a tourist in my own country, I want to see it with a fresh perspective.

Now don’t get me wrong, my tropical island dream is still very much alive and well, I know the tropics is where I belong. However, this is my last year before becoming an adult and I have my whole life to explore the rest of the world and follow my dreams. But when I do, I don’t want to be running away from anything, I want to walk away from a place I know and have seen the beauty in.

Abundant love,

Dina xxxx

#life #writing #home #journals #blogger #travel #finding yourself #amaize mag #dina chehrazi

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doctornolonger · 7 years

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Before Obverse Books started graciously collecting Faction Paradox short stories into anthologies, Mad Norwegian and Random Static scattered them about, here and there, online or in other books, without any particular attempt at organization. This is a short list of those short stories and where they can be read.

This Town Will Never Let Us Go prologue, by Lawrence Miles

“Toy Story”, by Lawrence Miles (in Perfect Timing 2 and Dead Romance)

“The Cosmology of the Spiral Politic”, by Lawrence Miles (in Dead Romance)

“Grass”, by Lawrence Miles (in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science-Fiction, Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, and Dead Romance)

Of the City of the Saved... prologue, by Philip Purser-Hallard (in Of the City of the Saved ebook)

“Unification Theory”, by Philip Purser-Hallard (in Of the City of the Saved ebook)

Warlords of Utopia prologue, by Lance Parkin (in Of the City of the Saved...)

Warring States prologue, by Mags L Halliday (in Warlords of Utopia and Warring States ebook)

“The Night is Long, and Dreams Are Legion”, by Mags L Halliday (in Myth Makers and Warring States ebook)

Erasing Sherlock prologue, by Kelly Hale (in Warring States)

Newtons Sleep prologue “The Return of the King”, by Daniel O’Mahony

Against Nature prelude, by Lawrence Burton (on his blog)

Weapons Grade Snake Oil prologue “Sojourner and Ellie”, by Blair Bidmead (on his blog)

And all the stuff that was posted on the old Faction Paradox website:

“The Story So Far”, by Lawrence Miles(?)

“Blood Ties”, by Lawrence Miles (from The Book of the War)

“Faction Armour Design Notes”, by Lawrence Miles(?)

“Crimes Against History”, by Lawrence Miles(?)

“A Tour of the Capitol”, by Mags L Halliday

There are also few unlicensed short stories by Faction Paradox authors, as helpfully collected on this helpful index.

“She Doesn't Exist”, by Jonathan Dennis (in Myth Makers)

“By Their Deeds”, by Lawrence Burton

“Hanging Chads”, by Lawrence Burton (in Walking in Eternity)

“This Thing of Ours”, by Lawrence Burton

“Unlimited”, by Ian McIntire (in Perfect Timing 2)

See also the rejected submissions to The Book of the War!

#if anyone wants any of the nonlinked ones hmu #mad norwegian #faction paradox #random static #toy story #the cosmology of the spiral politic #grass #unification theory #the night is long and dreams are legion #hanging chads #the return of the king

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biofunmy · 5 years

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Black Beauty: Photography Between Art and Fashion

Antwaun Sargent adapted this essay from his new book, “The New Black Vanguard: Photography Between Art and Fashion,” to be published next month by Aperture.

In 2018, American Vogue published two covers featuring the global icon Beyoncé on its esteemed September issue. Though it was her fourth time fronting the venerable monthly, this was the shoot heard around the world: For the first time in the magazine’s century-long history a black photographer, Tyler Mitchell, had been commissioned to create its covers.

On one cover the musician is conveying a temporal softness and an air of modern domesticity in a white ruffled Gucci dress and Rebel Rebel floral headdress; on the other cover she is standing amid nature, wearing a tiered Alexander McQueen dress with Pan-African colors, her hair braided into cornrows. Her gaze is confident, a symbol of black motherhood, beauty and pride.

“To convey black beauty is an act of justice,” says Mr. Mitchell, who was just 23 years old when the photographs were published.

For Mr. Mitchell, the Beyoncé portraits, one of which was recently acquired by the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, are suggestive of his broader concern to create photography that contains “a certain autobiographical element.” Mr. Mitchell, now 25, grew up in Atlanta and was fascinated by art and fashion images he saw on Tumblr. “Fashion was always something distant for me,” he says.

His own images evoke what he calls a “black utopia” — a telegraphing of black humanity long unseen in the public imagination. In “Untitled (Twins II)” from 2017, he features the brothers (and fashion models) Torey and Khorey McDonald of Brooklyn, seen draped in pearls and resting against a pink and cream backdrop. The photographs document the style, identity and beauty of black youth — “what I see to be a full range of expression possible for a black man in the future,” he explains. His subjects are often at play in grass, smiling in repose and occasionally peer with an honest gaze at the camera.

Mr. Mitchell is a part of a burgeoning new vanguard of young black photographers, including Daniel Obasi, Adrienne Raquel, Micaiah Carter, Nadine Ijewere, Renell Medrano and Dana Scruggs, who are working to widen the representation of black lives around the world — indeed, to expand the view of blackness in all its diversity. In the process, they are challenging a contemporary culture that still relies on insidious stereotypes in its depictions of black life.

These artists’ vibrant portraits and conceptual images fuse the genres of art and fashion photography in ways that break down their long established boundaries. They are widely consumed in traditional lifestyle magazines, ad campaigns, museums. But because of the history of exclusion of black works from mainstream fashion pages and the walls of galleries, these artists are also curating their own exhibitions, conceptualizing their own zines and internet sites, and using their social media platforms to engage directly with their growing audiences, who often comment on how their photographs powerfully mirror their own lives.

In 2015, the South African photographer Jamal Nxedlana, 34, co-founded Bubblegum Club, a publishing platform with a mission to bring together marginalized and disparate voices in South Africa, and to “help build the self-belief of talented minds out there in music, art, and fashion.” Mr. Nxedlana’s Afrosurrealist images illustrate the stories of young artists from across the African diaspora. He sees his work as a form of visual activism seeking to challenge the “idea that blackness is homogeneous.”

It’s a perspective often seen in the work of this loose movement of emerging talents who are creating photography in vastly different contexts — New York and Johannesburg, Lagos and London. The results — often in collaboration with black stylists and fashion designers — present new perspectives on the medium of photography and notions of race and beauty, gender and power.

Their activity builds on the long history of black photographic portraiture that dates to the advent of the medium in the mid-1800s. More immediately, their images allude to the ideas of self-presentation captured by predecessors like Kwame Brathwaite, Carrie Mae Weems and Mickalene Thomas. What is unfolding is a contemporary rethinking of the possibilities of black representation by artists who illustrate their own desires and control their own images. In the space of both fashion and art, they are fighting photography with photography.

“The fashion image is vital in visualizing minorities in different scenarios than those seen before in history,” notes Campbell Addy, 26, a British-Ghanian photographer. Mr. Addy’s emerging archive gives pride of place to more fluid expressions of sexuality and masculinity in stylized images — like his untitled portrait of a shirtless black man whose face is covered in a makeshift red-and-white mask and his neck adorned with pearls and a rosary. “To play with fashion is to play with one’s representation in the world,” adds Mr. Addy, who also founded a modeling agency and the Niijournal, which documents religion, poetry, fashion and trends in photojournalism. “There’s a sense of educating the viewer,” he says.

Inspiration for Arielle Bobb-Willis’s pictures of black figures, whose faces are generally obscured from the camera’s gaze and whose bodies are captured in unnatural poses, can be found in the vivid canvases of modernist African-American painters such as Jacob Lawrence and Benny Andrews.

MS. Bobb-Willis is interested in how these artists applied a sly sense of abstraction in their portraiture, pushing representation beyond realism and stereotype. In her works, such as “New Orleans” (2018), a picture of a female figure wearing candy-colored garments as her body bends every which way before an abandoned storefront, Ms. Bobb-Willis, 24, showcases what she calls the personal “tension” of wanting to be visible in a culture that has long misrepresented the realities of black people.

For Quil Lemons, notions of family are a central concern. Mr. Lemons, 22, says his “Purple” (2018) series, striking portraits of his grandmother, mother, and sisters in his hometown Philadelphia, draw on a black-and-white photograph of his grandmother in a frontier-style dress. The four generations of women in his photos wear Batsheva floral print dresses that he selected to express a sense of home and intimacy. “The images are advocating, illuminating and cementing others’ existence,” says Mr. Lemons. “Overall, I’m offering insight or a glimpse into a world or life that could be overlooked.”

The British-Nigerian photographer Ruth Ossai, 28, also incorporates her own Ibo family in eastern Nigeria and relatives in Yorkshire, England. “I try to show texture, depth and love — the strength, tenacity and ingenuity of my subjects,” she explains. In Ms. Ossai’s elaborate, playful and fashionable portraits, they are dressed in a mix of traditional garments and western wear. She says of her photographs, “Young or old, my aunties and uncles flaunt our culture and sense of identity unapologetically, with a sense of pride and confidence.”

Her 2017 series, “fine boy no pimple” features her younger cousin, Kingsley Ossai, reclining in an oversized red suit and yellow durag while holding an umbrella, against a printed backdrop depicting a pastoral landscape. Much of her work, which sometimes incorporates collage and has been published in fashion campaigns for Nike and Kenzo, is inspired by contemporary West African pop music, Nollywood films and the pomp of Nigerian funerals. It is evocative of the African mise-en-scène studio portraiture of the 1960s, created by such artists as Sanlé Sory in Burkina Faso and Malick Sidibé in Mali.

The documentary nature of Stephen Tayo’s street snapshots of stylish shopkeepers, elders and youth in Lagos speak to this generation’s interest in recording contemporary black identity and its use of photographs as a space for fresh invention. His untitled 2019 group shot of modish young men huddled together on a street in colorful suiting showcases traditional Nigerian weaving techniques while alluding to the “youthquake” movement taking hold in his city. The image also conjures the post-independence street photography of the Ghanaian artist James Barnor.

“The current generation is keen on just believing in their crafts” says Mr. Tayo, 25, whose work is currently on view in “City Prince/sses” at Palais de Tokyo in Paris. “It’s also very to be part of a generation that is doing so much to regain what could be termed ‘freedom.’”

Images of the black body are not the only way these photographers consider notions of identity and heritage. The Swiss-Guinean photographer Namsa Leuba focuses on specific objects used in tribal rituals across the African diaspora to probe, conceptually, the way blackness has been defined in the western imagination. Ms. Leuba, 36, creates what she calls “documentary fictions” that possess an anthropological quality. In series like “The African Queens” (2012) and “Cocktail” (2011), her figures are draped in ceremonial costume and surrounded by statues imbued with nobility.

Awol Erizku, in addition to his celebrity portraits of black actors and musicians such as Michael B. Jordan and Viola Davis, creates powerful still life imagery filled with found objects set against monochromatic backdrops. They reference art history, black music, culture and nature. The works also highlight Mr. Erizku’s interest in interrogating the history of photography while disrupting existing hierarchies.

In “Asiatic Lilies” (2017), a black hand with a gold bangle holds a broken Kodak Shirley Card, named for the white model whose skin tone was used to calibrate the standard for color film. The hand is comparing the card to objects that have been whitewashed, including a bust of Nefertiti, painted black. Mr. Erizku, 31, also includes in his photograph a small gold sculpture of King Tut, and fresh lilies, the flower of good fortune.

The message for his generation of image makers is clear: “I am trying to create a new vernacular — black art as universal.”

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

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omginstantpaperbouquetblr · 7 years

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By Michael Albert and Justin Podur / Z Communications.

Justin Podur: You recently completed an unusual book RPS/2044. Can you first tell us what it is?

Michael Albert: I think the publishing industry would call it an alternative history novel. In it, Miguel Guevara from a time-shifted version of the U.S., interviews 18 participants in Revolutionary Participatory Society, or RPS, the organization and movement successfully transforming his society. Guevara merges his interviewees’ answers into thirty chapters recounting and assessing their experiences. In Guevara’s time his work constitute an oral history. Conveyed to our time, it presents a possible future for us to consider.

You have written many books, but never fiction. Kathy Kelly called RPS/2044 “a fictional leap into a future where survival is enabled and sanity prevails,” and a “gamble on literature, in the form of meaningful fiction, to help readers puzzle through crucial ethical questions.” Why did you make this “gamble on literature”?

I think “literature” is overly kind, but, as you say, I have written often, though never fiction. I even have another book just out called Practical Utopia, from PM Press, which also highlights concepts, vision, and strategy, though in a non fiction mode. So why fiction?

I have long thought a novel could better convey the personal dimensions of social change, and better aid it, than the writing I was doing. But I knew a novel required skill at developing plot and characters. I thought Arundhati Roy, Barbara Ehrenreich, or even more obviously, Kim Stanley Robinson could write that, but not me. So my writing an oral history is a compromise. It reads like fact. I know interviews. The protagonist is a movement, not an individual. The writing less daunting. I could just channel the views of the many folks involved. And indeed, I would type, yes, but it felt like I was transcribing Miguel and his interviewees.

John Pilger says of RPS/2044, “Mike Albert is attempting here something I wouldn’t dare – a description of a revolution in the future based on the mayhem of today. Aldous Huxley and George Orwell did something similar and provided us with ways of measuring our regression. In an era when the dominant propaganda attempts to convince us we are living in an ‘eternal present’ (Time magazine), this original and wonderfully ambitious project feels like a welcome antidote.” If Pilger wouldn’t dare attempt it, did you feel any trepidation before attempting it?

For years I had wanted a novel to exist but never even tried. That was more than trepidation…I knew I would bollix it. But having Miguel ask questions, and having the interviewees answer from their diverse backgrounds and situations seemed a much simpler literary task so I decided to try. Still, I was and I remain nervous.

I think Pilger may have also meant that he wouldn’t try to describe possible future events at all. And I wouldn’t either, as prediction or as blueprint. But as one path that might broadly occur for us, and that did occur for others, why not? If we can’t envision that, albeit roughly and flexibly, however risky it may seem, how do we intelligently fight to win fundamental change? But the interviewees are very careful and very forthright about their history being their’s, and our future being up to us.

Florian Zollmann comments that “much progressive writing aims to expose the machinations and effects of power politics. Far too few books reveal realistic alternatives to the societal status quo. Even fewer works highlight sensible political strategies to reach a better world. Michael Albert’s new book RPS/2044 perfectly fuses visionary and strategic thinking for political activism. Guided by a sophisticated vision for a participatory society, RPS/2044 provides a multitude of personal and collective practical examples that can be emulated by people and movements during their day-to-day struggles for a better world. RPS/2044 is a must-read for anyone concerned with the current trajectory of society and how to change it.” Does Zollman capture what you were trying to do?

He certainly captures my intentions. I can only hope his kind assessment is warranted. Zollman is right there are way too few books – articles, talks, or films – about realistic positive alternatives. And like him, I can imagine folks emulating elements of the interviewees’ future, but I can also see people adapting, refining, or transcending elements of it, of course.

So is the book a “must read” for anyone concerned to change society, as Zollman says? We’ll see. But I think we can confidently say addressing positive possibilities to better win them is a “must do.”

RPS/2044 is pretty long at a time when articles are getting tweet-like and books are getting article-like. Stephen Shalom says its interviewees “tell their personal stories, advocate their favored positions, respond to their critics, and describe their fears and feelings. They discuss income in a just society, relating to lesser evil candidates, the pros and cons of markets, the role of violence in social change, connecting race, gender, and class agendas, overcoming sectarianism, generating mutual aid, building lasting organization, conducting effective boycotts, strikes, and occupations, planting seeds of the future, and much more, always via an engaging fictional emotive format.” How did you choose what to include? Are there elements in the book that could happen or not happen, as opposed to everything in the book being central to a good future?

Shalom’s list is representative. And it will sound strange, I know, but I didn’t choose what to include. I decided who would ask the questions and who would answer them, and their background. But once that was done, Guevara and the interviewees were in charge. The twenty of them didn’t collude with each other about topics, and I didn’t look over their output and decide we need more of this or less of that. Asked a question, each interviewee answered unaware of the answers others gave, as would be true for any real oral history. So the book includes what they said to Guevara, given their backgrounds and priorities. For myself, reading it, I think the key point for all the interviewees wasn’t covering some comprehensive list of issues, but covering particular issues that allowed them to tease out the lessons they wanted to convey.

Since I can imagine doubts, to further make the point about “channeling,” suppose you were to read Silence of the Lambs. Hannibal Lector’s words and deeds are his, not Thomas Harris’, in all ways that matter. The same goes in this case, albeit I overwhelmingly like and respect the characters rather than seeing them as pathologically deviant. Still, their words are their’s.

On the other part of your question, the interviewees indicate what they deem central to winning a good future. For example, prioritizing all sides of social life and winning various pivotal economic, political, cultural, and kinship changes. Overcoming sectarianism, attaining mutual aid, and fulfilling key organizational aims. Avoiding electoral cul-de-sacs while using and winning elections. Overcoming reformism while winning reforms. Avoiding violence while mastering militant multi-tactical approaches. But the detailed events, campaigns, struggles, discussions, and debates, and they recount many, are of course contingent. They appear because they occurred in the interviewees’ experiences, but they certainly aren’t mandatory even for winning the same goals the interviewees won.

Also commenting on the book, Noam Chomsky said, “More than anyone I know, Mike Albert has emphasized the need to relate long-term vision to devising practical strategies for today. This imaginative oral history from the future is a provocative and most welcome contribution to this urgent and ever-present task.” Bill Fletcher in turn called the book “the most unusual and intriguing combination of prophecy, manifesto and movement-building manual that I have ever encountered.” I have to ask again, are you in fact predicting the future, pleading for a particular future, or just trying to write an engaging novel with some political impact?

RPS/2044 is not predicting but it certainly wants to engage. Its interviewees present key aspects of a better future and lessons about winning, but their aim is to inspire folks to take seriously future possibilities and develop their own priorities.

Cynthia Peters says your characters “share the strategies that brought about victories, the breakthroughs in healing the divides that kept people apart, and the discipline and commitment that was necessary to survive tumultuous but exciting times.” She adds that “in current times, we know a lot about what’s wrong, and we have access to reasonably effective short-term tactics. But long-term strategy and vision are largely missing from our movements. With RPS/2044, we get a taste of what it could look like – a large-scale, radical overturning of current systems, which then puts in place new systems based on solidarity, diversity, and equity. This work fills a huge gap in our social movement literature.” Milan Rai adds that RPS/2044 “is a generous offering of well-grounded hope for desperate times. I can’t imagine any point on the political spectrum that won’t benefit from engaging with and arguing over RPS/2044.” So who do you hope will read it, and who do you think will read it?

I think Peters identifies my priority reason for trying fiction: to better convey the feelings, sympathies, and personal attitudes that can form and sustain winning movements. Her comment highlights an effect I hoped for. I also hope that a wide range of people will read RPS/2044. For example, people who supported Sanders but also anarchist revolutionaries who were critical of him. Feminists, gay activists, and also BLM advocates and activists. Local grass roots organizers and also trade unionists. Green Party members, environmental justice organizers, and climate activists and supporters. DSA members and also left liberals seeking more than their Party offers. Those frightened of Trump, and, yes, also those who voted for Trump because their communities are collapsing, their health is suffering, and their incomes are plummeting.

So, like Rai urged, I of course hope people all across the spectrum will read the book. I can even think of specific individuals outside the usual vocal readership of radical books it would be great to hear from about it, and listing some of those will reveal just how wide my hope spreads.

For example, the book talks a lot about electoral politics and related campaigns, so how about Sanders, Warren, and Stein reading it? Their reactions would certainly be instructive. It includes a Hollywood star in a pivotal role, and has much discussion of related Hollywood activism , so how about Danny Glover, Susan Sarandon, Matt Damon and Ben Affleck reading it? Sports-related activism plays a big role too – so how about Colin Kaepernick reading it, LeBron James, Serena Williams, or even Tom Brady? I’ll read Brady’s “get fit” book if he’ll read this “win a better world” book. Dylan and Springsteen are in the playlist, how about them?

I suspect the above will sound outrageously unrealistic, but why? If I or anyone really thinks RPS/2044 is a must read for anyone concerned about society, why doesn’t that imply wanting lots of diverse readers? Why couldn’t “anyone concerned about society” include the people mentioned, as well as the constituencies mentioned?

We who devote ourselves to social change often presuppose our own failure. We set our sights not on the prize, but on not being embarrassed. We set our bar of accomplishment so low it is barely off the ground. A great hockey player, Wayne Gretzky, said, “You miss 100% of the shots you never take.” I make plenty of mistakes, we all do – but I avoid trying for so little that I can’t possibly fall short. Saying what is wrong with Trump, racism, sexism, or capitalism is important – but how often should we do that to the same people who already agree, and in the same ways? Saying what can come next and how to get it, is harder, sure, but isn’t that also important, and isn’t it a task far less undertaken and therefore needing far more attention?

But you also asked who I actually think will read the book, not just who I hope will read it, and I think that depends. If RPS/2044 is a crummy read, then hopefully very few will read it at all, much less finish it. But if the various activist/scholars you have so supportively quoted in your questions are right about the book’s merits, then who reads it will depend on many variables outside[ the book’s own merits.

First and foremost, will people even hear about it to know it exists to be read? Second, will people write reviews and other commentary that indicates reading RPS/2044 won’t be a lone endeavor with no follow-up, but that others will read too, and exchanges will occur? With none of that, I think RPS/2044 will have at most a few thousand readers. On the other hand, with lots of reviews and with reader discussion and postings establishing momentum, there could be ten thousand, and perhaps even a few tens of thousands, or more. For a book as for organizing, momentum matters. And not taking shots guarantees you don’t score.

If RPS/2044 attracts only a few thousand readers, they will likely all be folks who anticipate agreeing. If it has ten or even tens of thousands of readers, they will include many from among the broader constituencies I mentioned earlier, like say, Sanders supporters. But suppose some of the better known individuals I mentioned relate to the book. Then, how many?

The above answer applies to all books and even all media. I remember back when John Landau saw a very early Bruce Springsteen concert and wrote in a review, “I have seen the future of Rock and Roll and his name is Bruce Springsteen.” Without that gigantic push motivating other reviewers to also review him, maybe Bruce would have remained a small audience act. With the boost, Springsteen’s visibility was huge and his songs still shine on. So, who knows, maybe Sanders or Kaepernick or someone will write, “I have seen the future of the U.S., and it’s name is RPS.” Is my hoping for that, or that Danny Glover or Susan Sarandon will produce a film, or that Damon and Affleck will write a new screenplay called “Good Will Winning,” over the top? Maybe, but maybe not. They all could, couldn’t they?

If people agree with those who have commented on the book and want to help promote it, what can they do?

They can get it, read it, and if they then think it warranted, they can tell family or friends about it. They can use social media to increase the book’s visibility. They can write a reader’s review on Amazon, I am told those matter a lot. If so moved, they can write a review for the Nation, Truthout, ITT, Jacobin, Counterpunch, Common Dreams, Telesur, Red Pepper, ROAR, New Internationalist, or anywhere else, and send to Z too, in case “anywhere” isn’t receptive. They can also urge periodicals or sites to address it.

How should people use the web site that accompanies the book? How would people use the video music playlist? And can people really question the book’s interviewees, receiving answers from the future, as it were?

The site, at rps2044.org, is set up precisely to promote discussion, exploration, refinement, and improvement. It has forums and people can post blogs too. It posts reviews, essays, and testimonials we hear about, and there is already quite a lot of that.

The playlist? I guess people should just enjoy it and if so moved, suggest refinements, too. And yes, there is a section of the site that not only has very brief biographies of the interviewees, but also means to send any interviewee questions, which he or she will answer on the site…and I think there are about 20 questions and answers already there.

What would you consider a successful outcome, a failed outcome? What do you think will determine which it turns out to be?

Imagine you give a talk and ten people attend, or 500. In the first case, suppose your words and ideas so inspire and enlighten one of the ten that she goes on to have incredible impact on hundreds, thousands, or even millions of other people. As you leave the talk, it could feel like it was a compete failure – the nine others may even have hated your talk, and the one who benefitted might have left without saying a word. So you exit wondering if you should ever speak in public again.

In the second case, suppose the audience of 500 loves what you say – not least because they already agree with it. In that case, suppose no one is changed by the experience, but afterwards they line up and praise and celebrate you. You may leave feeling elated and accomplished. Of course, in truth, unbeknownst to you, your seemingly failed talk was incredibly successful and your seemingly successful talk accomplished nothing.

If RPS/2044 inspires and edifies, if it provokes others to do better than I have done, if it contributes to building organization, campaigns, and movements that contribute to eventually winning a new society, then it is a success. If it does none of that, then it fails.

Since having more readers doesn’t guarantee but certainly enhances prospects of success, I think reviews and other efforts to reach audience and pursue discussion and related activism will decide the outcome, unless, of course, the various early testimonials are wrong and the book is boring drivel. In that case, folks should ignore the book, but try to find ways to help inject steadily more visionary and strategic insight, long-term orientation, and ambitious, winning attitude into current anti Trump and other activism. But if the testimonials are right and the book has merit, we should try to get it out and around, and I thank you for helping with that by your questions!

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