I find the Czech one-man-band Floex, also known as Tomáš Dvorák, some of the most interesting music out there right now. While my favorite out of all of Dvorak’s productions is the hauntingly beautiful soundtrack for the excellent game Machinarium, his latest release, Zorya does not trail far behind.
Dvorak has an amazing scale of expression, ranging from very contemporary electornica gimmickry to traditional jazz to film music mainstays. The closest comparisons that come to mind are, for some weird reason, all Scandinavian: the Danish Trentemøller, the early releases of the Norwegian Röyksopp, and the Finnish (yes, Finnish) Roberto Rodriguez. Throw these three into blender in a perfect mix, and you would probably get something quite close to Floex. There are also flavors that remind me of more eccentric electronica such as Boards of Canada and Mouse on Mars. And, of course, the Mark Bell era of Björk.
All together, the Czech musical genius Dvorák has managed to create another haunting and beautiful masterpiece that will certainly last several listening-throughs. If you are into classy intelligent electronica, be sure to check it out here.
The reason we could not find the AI’s was that the AI’s were not somewhere. They were everywhere.
Like River Tethys, the Grand Concourse flowed between military sized farcaster portals two hundred meters high. With wraparound, the effect was of an infinite main street, a hundred-kilometer torus of material delights. One could stand, as I did that morning, under the brilliant sun of Tau Ceti and look down the Concourse to the nighttime midway of Deneb Drei, alive with neon and holos, and catch a glimpse of the hundred-tiered Main Mall of Lusus, while knowing that beyond it lay the shadow-dappled boutiques of God’s Grove with its brick concourse and elevators to Treetops, the most expensive eatery in the Web. (Dan Simmons 1990.)
You are at the very center of the Universe. And you. And you. And you. And…
“Turtles all the way down,” or “The Infinite Turtle Theory,” refers to the infinite regression problem in cosmology. This problem originates with the unmoved mover paradox. The turtle in the anecdote refers to the notion common in primitive cosmological mythology, that is to say, that the flat Earth was supported on the back of a giant World Turtle.
By morning we are each spectators in our own cinemas.
The reality we wake up to is gradually mixed up with chrome-tinted virtual reality, augmented reality, alternative reality, enhanced reality, unreal reality. Worlds of light where light is more real than the real. Life, game, fiction, film all merge together into a texture of purposes and ideas and hopes and wishes. Enmeshed in the net is the Man as the node in a cyberpunk fantasy become reality. The future is here. It’s just not widely distributed yet.
A space elevator is a proposed structure designed to transport material from a celestial body’s surface into space. Many variants have been proposed, all of which involve traveling along a fixed structure instead of using rocket powered space launch. The concept most often refers to a structure that reaches from the surface of the Earth on or near the Equator to geostationary orbit (GSO) and a counter-mass beyond.
‘Work’ is a term that is gradually losing meaning, all the while that we are in an ever growing need of meaningful work.
While it has to be admitted that Freder was born with the silver spoon, he did eventually grow to show character. Perhaps it is only fitting that the liberation of the workman arises from the very nest of the tyrant. Mediation, at best, combines the best of both worlds.
Maybe we could create a massive enough body to curve space-time. Just not in my backyard.
“He walked along quietly and sedately, without hurry, to avoid awakening suspicion. He scarcely looked at the passers-by, tried to escape looking at their faces at all, and to be as little noticeable as possible. Suddenly he thought of his hat. ‘Good heavens! I had the money the day before yesterday and did not get a cap to wear instead!'”