OTHER CONTENT:
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Articles:
In advertising we trust
Boom and bust
Westheimer

Poetry:
Soft Artificial Curves
Hope

Soft artificial curves.
Warm machined plastic.
Polished chrome reflecting,
Escher-like, the architecture.
High atop the city
halfway to heaven
I am swallowed.

Stark, premeditated
you orchestrate the encounter.
Neon electric pulses
conducting the white hot
urge of my animal body
as you sing your beautiful datasong.

My mind
flies at light speed
I am at once everywhere
except my body left
behind recalling familiar
biological reflex.

Trip complete, descent again
into the prison of my body
I struggle to remember
overarching answers,
great problems solved
like equations laid out
on some divine chalk board,
answers melting away
with the heat of my desire to retain them.

alone again
no further comfort
but smooth industrial design
residual warmth of the console.

In the film 'The Matrix', Morpheus asks Neo: "What is real? How do you define real? If you’re talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain."

Today, computer porn is still just pixels on a monitor. What happens when you can plug your mind into a Matrix-style construct and interface with the infamous Woman in the Red Dress?

Does visiting a virtual mistress mean you're cheating on your human wife? Could you fall in love with an AI? Can romance be broken into packets? These questions are getting closer and closer to being answered.

Buckle up.