[ Real, imagined—after he was unplugged, Stephen didn't spend much time hung up on that distinction. Everything's an act. Experience is real. What bothers him is—
What bothers him is being the severed half of a codependent pair, having a brother he'd die for who isn't his brother at all, out in the fields somewhere.
But what he'll admit bothers him is that he could have done it better. If someone's in the business of scripting worlds and guiding lives, they should have hired him. Just look at the virtual world he came from: great hats, but not nearly enough pirates. ]
You miss it? [ he'll ask anyone with ports who wanders past looking distant or lost. People who want to visit their old haunts can, sure, but it's a risk, a waste of resources. If they don't bump into agents, they might bump into the AIs that are filling the holes they've left in their loved ones' lives. Nothing more awkward than that. So here's Stephen, at a console, writing software instead of cons, tugging up each sleeve on his ratty grey sweater with the same crisp flourish he'd do a suit jacket, putting his hands on keys. He can't recreate worlds, but he can recreate houses. Favorite diners. Parents and ex-boyfriends and beloved old pets. ]
Come on, sit down, tell me about it. I'll write it for you.
Stephen Bloom | The Brothers Bloom
[ Real, imagined—after he was unplugged, Stephen didn't spend much time hung up on that distinction. Everything's an act. Experience is real. What bothers him is—
What bothers him is being the severed half of a codependent pair, having a brother he'd die for who isn't his brother at all, out in the fields somewhere.
But what he'll admit bothers him is that he could have done it better. If someone's in the business of scripting worlds and guiding lives, they should have hired him. Just look at the virtual world he came from: great hats, but not nearly enough pirates. ]
You miss it? [ he'll ask anyone with ports who wanders past looking distant or lost. People who want to visit their old haunts can, sure, but it's a risk, a waste of resources. If they don't bump into agents, they might bump into the AIs that are filling the holes they've left in their loved ones' lives. Nothing more awkward than that. So here's Stephen, at a console, writing software instead of cons, tugging up each sleeve on his ratty grey sweater with the same crisp flourish he'd do a suit jacket, putting his hands on keys. He can't recreate worlds, but he can recreate houses. Favorite diners. Parents and ex-boyfriends and beloved old pets. ]
Come on, sit down, tell me about it. I'll write it for you.