dreamdictionary

Cracks in the Pleasuredome

It was a blazing hot day in December and the clocks were striking 19:84. "A dystopian fiction contest?" said Word, alone in his designated 5x5 meter iRoom, which heard him, noting his passing interest in science fiction for advertisers, which was likewise recorded in the NSA case file currently monitoring him for potential Bad Vibes against the United States of Every State. "How passé," he said, which the room also noted sent the necessary commands for several backspaces to the NSA. "Besides, what on earth would I write about?"