From: Bill Goodwin
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Yesterday three things happened in the space of ten minutes. I at last began reading William Hope Hodgeson's The House on the Borderland. A deliveryman arrived with a box of Edison Gold Moulded wax-cylinder recordings I'd ordered off of eBay. And then I learned that Michael Jackson had died.
Jackson's life was literally a science-fiction story, would you agree? It was manifestly a life--a KIND of life--made possible by technology, and showed so plainly (too plainly, sometimes, to look at) both the perils and the astonishing possibilities of self-expression in an information age.
I grew up on Top-40 radio and enjoyed Michael's music immensely, and his passing is too much to absorb at once. My immediate concern is more mundane: must I now hear "Thriller" running through my brain every time I visit Hodgeson's recluse, in that monstrosity-sieged house?
From: Greg Bear
A real tragedy. Jackson was apparently trying to be transhumanist before the tech is available.
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