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Just tell me if this is in the wrong section. This is a work in progress, of course.
Chapter One - Norm
You need the noise of your friends, in space.
- Feed, M.T. Anderson
Bright blink-lights, pink and blue and red, illuminating the crowded floor. So crowded, so packed, that we're all grinding whether we like it or not, like those things on the animal feed, those things that are all smashed. There's no such thing as personal space here at E, and no jealousy allowed. Check your relationships at the door. Everyone dances with everyone else. If you can call it dancing. It's more of a clothed (and, for some, unclothed) orgy, hips undulating, hands groping, hot breath on necks. And everyone's hair's glowing, and that, plus the gleam everyone's wearing clipped to their hair or wrapped around their necks, it attacks your eyes, like I don't know what. I've got some gleam on, a little pink plastic bat to keep my matching bangs - I spent hours perfecting the leftward sweep of them - out of my eyes, like I can see anyway. Jeff says it looks faggy, but everyone knows pink's not a girly color anymore. Jeff's one to talk, anyway, sandwiched right now between these two kinda meg guys, and he looks pretty happy.
I pretty much live for places like E, dancing and grinding and groping to the steady beat, maybe taking home some girl with hair too big and clothes too small. Tonight, though, I haven't found anyone, mainly because the crowd is even more packed than usual. Packed like hard to breathe, like the smell of a million people's sweat, like hard to hear from the muffling of all these bodies. Packed like I've gotta get out of here and get a drink.
It takes a while to get myself out of the crowd, and reminds me of that thing I saw on my feed once, this old thing about a guy and a ball of string and this giant room with all these walls. Walls of people and the string is the neon liquid flowing out from my gleam bat that someone ******** broke just now with a flailing arm and there's this pink stuff oozing out like its blood. It's gonna ruin my hair, I just know it. But screw it, gleam breaking isn't the sun novaing or anything. So I stumble up to the bar, panting and sweating like I've been megging up or something. I sit down and my feed's showing me the drink list, like I haven't memorized it already. A thought of what I want and the drink's coming up through the hole in the bar. I don't know how the old-timers survived without feeds. Whatever.
There's this kinda weird guy sitting on the stool next to me. He's got this green knit hat thing shoved over his hair, which is thin and red-blonde and doesn't have any colors or anything. The feed aux on his ear is big and chunky like the ones you see from a couple decades ago in old feed shows. And he's got glasses, like people had to wear in the old times, with those thick black frames you see in old time pictures and stuff, and beneath them his eyes are this kinda boring green, not the bright emerald you could get with lenses or something, but I guess they're kind of nice in the way antiques are nice just because they're different and old-fashioned. And so the weird guy, he says, "How's the party?" like he's never been to one before. I sip at my drink, which is cool and sweet and pretty much just what I need right now, and I tell him it's okay.
That's when one of the big news things comes on the feed, and all around everyone's eyes are going glassy, everyone except him, and I think it's a little odd before my brain slips into the broadcast, and instead of the boy in the hat I'm seeing that newscaster guy. He makes some announcements about rebels who have been arrested and people the government is looking for, then signs off with the usual anti-rebellion thing, and I'm seeing the boy again, and he looks a little bit like he's gonna laugh, but like he thinks I'm stupid or something.
"You know you don't have to watch those," he says and the corner of his mouth twitches up. "What did he talk about?"
"Stuff. Rebels," I mutter, and take another swig of my whatever it is.
"You can tune them out, if you want. You can tune out all of your feed, tune out those advertisements they're always showing in your brain, tune out the news feeds. You can let yourself think." He looks serious now, staring into my eyes while he continues his rant, like he's saying the most important thing ever. "They're controlling you, you know. Numbing your mind. Keeping your emotions back. Keeping your thoughts back."
"What are you, a rebel or something?" He doesn't look like what you see on the news feeds. Not dangerous or anything, not meg. More like one of those things you see on the animal feed that are all fuzzy and stuff. "Or are you just buzzing?"
He glances at this round thing on his wrist and gets up. "I have to leave now, but remember what I said, Pete. You don't have to give in." And then he's gone, out the door, and I still don't know if he's a real rebel or some freaky kid who's buzzing too hard, or a stalker, cause how did he know my name? What he said, though, that's kind of digging in now. It's crazy, like who would want to not have a feed? But sort of interesting, like what if you could just ignore it? More of my drink. Whatever.
Chapter One - Norm
You need the noise of your friends, in space.
- Feed, M.T. Anderson
Bright blink-lights, pink and blue and red, illuminating the crowded floor. So crowded, so packed, that we're all grinding whether we like it or not, like those things on the animal feed, those things that are all smashed. There's no such thing as personal space here at E, and no jealousy allowed. Check your relationships at the door. Everyone dances with everyone else. If you can call it dancing. It's more of a clothed (and, for some, unclothed) orgy, hips undulating, hands groping, hot breath on necks. And everyone's hair's glowing, and that, plus the gleam everyone's wearing clipped to their hair or wrapped around their necks, it attacks your eyes, like I don't know what. I've got some gleam on, a little pink plastic bat to keep my matching bangs - I spent hours perfecting the leftward sweep of them - out of my eyes, like I can see anyway. Jeff says it looks faggy, but everyone knows pink's not a girly color anymore. Jeff's one to talk, anyway, sandwiched right now between these two kinda meg guys, and he looks pretty happy.
I pretty much live for places like E, dancing and grinding and groping to the steady beat, maybe taking home some girl with hair too big and clothes too small. Tonight, though, I haven't found anyone, mainly because the crowd is even more packed than usual. Packed like hard to breathe, like the smell of a million people's sweat, like hard to hear from the muffling of all these bodies. Packed like I've gotta get out of here and get a drink.
It takes a while to get myself out of the crowd, and reminds me of that thing I saw on my feed once, this old thing about a guy and a ball of string and this giant room with all these walls. Walls of people and the string is the neon liquid flowing out from my gleam bat that someone ******** broke just now with a flailing arm and there's this pink stuff oozing out like its blood. It's gonna ruin my hair, I just know it. But screw it, gleam breaking isn't the sun novaing or anything. So I stumble up to the bar, panting and sweating like I've been megging up or something. I sit down and my feed's showing me the drink list, like I haven't memorized it already. A thought of what I want and the drink's coming up through the hole in the bar. I don't know how the old-timers survived without feeds. Whatever.
There's this kinda weird guy sitting on the stool next to me. He's got this green knit hat thing shoved over his hair, which is thin and red-blonde and doesn't have any colors or anything. The feed aux on his ear is big and chunky like the ones you see from a couple decades ago in old feed shows. And he's got glasses, like people had to wear in the old times, with those thick black frames you see in old time pictures and stuff, and beneath them his eyes are this kinda boring green, not the bright emerald you could get with lenses or something, but I guess they're kind of nice in the way antiques are nice just because they're different and old-fashioned. And so the weird guy, he says, "How's the party?" like he's never been to one before. I sip at my drink, which is cool and sweet and pretty much just what I need right now, and I tell him it's okay.
That's when one of the big news things comes on the feed, and all around everyone's eyes are going glassy, everyone except him, and I think it's a little odd before my brain slips into the broadcast, and instead of the boy in the hat I'm seeing that newscaster guy. He makes some announcements about rebels who have been arrested and people the government is looking for, then signs off with the usual anti-rebellion thing, and I'm seeing the boy again, and he looks a little bit like he's gonna laugh, but like he thinks I'm stupid or something.
"You know you don't have to watch those," he says and the corner of his mouth twitches up. "What did he talk about?"
"Stuff. Rebels," I mutter, and take another swig of my whatever it is.
"You can tune them out, if you want. You can tune out all of your feed, tune out those advertisements they're always showing in your brain, tune out the news feeds. You can let yourself think." He looks serious now, staring into my eyes while he continues his rant, like he's saying the most important thing ever. "They're controlling you, you know. Numbing your mind. Keeping your emotions back. Keeping your thoughts back."
"What are you, a rebel or something?" He doesn't look like what you see on the news feeds. Not dangerous or anything, not meg. More like one of those things you see on the animal feed that are all fuzzy and stuff. "Or are you just buzzing?"
He glances at this round thing on his wrist and gets up. "I have to leave now, but remember what I said, Pete. You don't have to give in." And then he's gone, out the door, and I still don't know if he's a real rebel or some freaky kid who's buzzing too hard, or a stalker, cause how did he know my name? What he said, though, that's kind of digging in now. It's crazy, like who would want to not have a feed? But sort of interesting, like what if you could just ignore it? More of my drink. Whatever.
