#dystopian utopia

[aesthetic4u]

[greatprinceofabraham]

fee.org (ty to .@DBrozeLiveFree)

"#Scientificmanagement is a historical case study on the failure of #socialplanning. Utopians, though, are so busy with their dreams about the future that they have no time for the facts of #history."

https://fee.org/articles/the-utopian-vision-of-frederick-w-taylor/

[ryantmarx]

My Flickr:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/96967120@N07/with/26160220363/

[artdecoram-blog]

I've been MIA lately, but for good reason. I've been obsessively writing my novel and reading all the time. I can't even gather enjoyment from the computer unless it's research for the novel. The same goes for television shows. I'm just immersed in this thing I've got going on and am in love.

[aheavyweightofhours]

dreamish thing

Lights illuminate the dark. A fog creates layers of coloured mist. Blue tonight, yesterday gold. Everything glows here; even I reflect the luminous city. High up you can see everything, and yet nothing in detail. It creates an illusion of compactness; all the lights surround the tallest buildings, split by fog, only some litter the outskirts, building up to the centre like they are being pulled in by gravity. The tallest building of three, right at the centre of civilization, glows brightest to compensate for the three spiralling highways that hug close to it. The other two buildings stand by it like bodyguards, glowing variations of the centre blue, one highway to each joining onto the others. To me these are ornate pillars surrounded by a thousand, tiny stars, not the smog filled streets operating around the pristine elite. Everything is quiet away from the city and a light breeze plays with flyaway hairs, getting them caught in my gasmask; that is the only reason no one lives this high up anymore, in the abandoned mountain cities. Poison air. Nothing green grows here either, but that doesn’t mean nothing ever did, you hear stories of the wide grass plains that existed before we built here, no one alive remembers it first-hand though. Now the mountains are the walls to civilization, outlined by illuminated fog. The only glowing thing for miles. In the city there are no curious people under ancient, no bright spirits without drugs, no thoughtful minds. And yet everyone glows just the same. But I am the only one who can fly. To get in and out of the city you need a government pass, but I use the fog and air to carry me across the borders. The wing adaptations I attached to my night clothing carry me anywhere there is wind. Flying requires indifference to death; the free-fall experienced before you lift upward is the only pure form of freedom you can have, but only if you do not fear the afterlife. Then comes the tug of air pushing upwards and you’re gliding over everything, faster than anything else, seeing more than you did before. Addictive. When feet touch the polished concrete ground, high spirits are supressed. No one here has a spark, stuck in everyday, wanting to consume everything they can but never wanting more. Its midnight and the inner-city is at its busiest, glowing people shove passed each other, never seeing anything except their deadlines. Payment day: the day where everyone gives equal money to the government to support the city and pay for food rations. No one is homeless but everyone is hungry. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPSFsu9XKoo - M83 outro  imagine running along a steel beam in a dystopian world and jumping off it into the air, free falling then gliding.