And all these characters.To celebrate them with sporadic scribbled memos into notebook or tapped into smartphone. Impressions grabbed in haste or brooded over, accompanied by beer and whiskey. Back home at night, he resisted the temptation to cram them into some over-arching metaphor and tried to remain true to the scattered ambiguities and improvisations and startling jumpcuts of the glimpsed lives on parade. Follow any one and you would have a deep narrative. A chaotic celebration of individuality.
All the craziness in the world could be found here, looking inside and out. Extend. A networked planet connects all circuits. The new digital powerlines, sanctioned and otherwise, built on top of the old linkages, often and usually hidden deep in the natural world. He tried to visualise an image for Brackhage but was unable to create anything concrete. The A.I. eluded concept. Yet Sergei had seen something that he feared. Genius twisted into senility and paranoia? He tried diagrams, words, shapes connected by lines that grew into a complexity that defied interpretation. So many variables. He saw how someone could go mad contemplating the contemplations. Maybe that’s what had happened. Sergei overloaded his ageing brain. Maybe he had travelled back, to stand with his father and Makhno against the coming tyranny. Visionary or reactionary? But Brackhage, according to Heron, was far from being a murderous machine of enslavement. Sergei had got it wrong. And he had always trusted his former boss and friend.
