Drunken Fist: A Bit Of My Newsletter

December 10th, 2012 | daybook

This is a reprint of the missive I sent to my newsletter audience on Saturday night, which I post here because 1) maybe somebody wanted to see what the newsletter was like 2) it was a slightly non-standard newsletter post anyway 3) I am tired and a bit swamped pre-Xmas and this is easier than writing a whole thing this morning.  You can subscribe to the newsletter over here.

 

MACHINE VISION 028: Drunken Fist

These arrived on Friday. The first box of GUN MACHINE hardbacks.  I just got back from London, where I gave the first copy off the top to urbanist and information architect Adam Greenfield.  The first time I met Adam was at Cognitive Cities in Berlin, where I gave the talk that is the basis of the non-fiction book I’m writing after I finish the novel I’m currently on.

Also I am quite full of whisky and wine and beer and I don’t know I think there was something else.

The first time I ate here was with Joss Whedon.  We’d been recommended the place by his hotel’s concierge.  The walls are covered in cow hide.  In those days, the lighting in the lobby was red.  So it was a little bit like entering a haute abattoir, or perhaps some insane architectural conceit wherein a steak restaurant was staged inside a large cow that some bastard had helpfully turned inside out first so you didn’t your feet wet.

Joss was a little nervous.  And may have said "Good god."

When you get the copies of your book, the first, horrible thought you have — or, at least, I do — is, "well, shit, it’s a fixed thing now.  God only knows what mistakes I missed."

Adam took a photo, laughed at it and said, "We’ll fix it in post."

G’night.

– W


Things I Did At VICE This Week

December 7th, 2012 | Work

How To Shut Down Internets:

…we’re dealing with what, in science-fiction novels, might be some strange future iteration of the military-industrial complex, where regime and commerce are bound by blood…

In The Year 2022:

Today, ten years later, I can’t hear the birds. There’s just that constant low-level hiss of dronerotors, which always seems to blanket over the sound of birdsong. You have to go deep into the countryside now to hear birds. Out to one of the coverage holes, like the drowned towns in the West Country. Stand at the western end of the M4 motorway that the locals call Bristol Pier. And, perhaps, the distant and distorted tone of church bells softly striking under ten metres of rainwater…


NIGHT MUSIC: Former Selves

December 7th, 2012 | music

Turns out I haven’t posted anything by them since March.  Have some gentle synth washes to tide you to bed.


The Little Printer Packaging Is Very Cute

December 6th, 2012 | mobilesignals

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Good job, BERG. (Yes, I’m randomly posting while wandering around the house.)