Is Nick Mansfield a crank who thinks figments, like faith, should be shielded from the fact police? Is Nick a procedure stuck in a loop with no exit condition? Are you and I, much less he, legal persons even?
Does this gallimaufry reek of fin-de siècle spilt seed? Does it smack of bottled-up thunder stolen by a deluge of dystopian fable? Of rage at the encroaching hood ornament of time’s wingèd Cadillac? Of dysmorphic topiary ripped from a Bruce Sterling fever dream? Of a horse-cart precedence conundrum dragging high center?
Never mind all that. ‘Tis a broken wind that blows this barque. Nick’s quest — call it journey — is to launch figments on the WuhWuhWuh that roll out heavy; that can’t be jacked off by algorithms. You, hypothetical reader, mon semblable, mon frère, are Branded Figment meat.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved