It was the first Sci-fi novel I ever read, well, not unless you count Jules Verne, I’d read all of Jules Verne as a kid, but I’d not done Heinlein or The Hitchhiker or George Orwell, not beyond Animal Farm. That one was social fiction. I’d not yet learned about the Brave New World, although my Doorways to Perception had already been opened, just not by the book.
But Time Pressure was one I picked up in the Grocery Store, and I’m thinking Vero Beach, I can see it there on the rack, but the cover intrigued me, the nude woman in the bubble, hovering over the ground, the title, even the author’s name.
And I loved the book, loved it. It was about hippies, and a lonely guy, and Nova Scotia and the Bay of Fundy, and a mysterious and beautiful woman from the future who was visiting, her mission to get humanity to join The Mind before it was too late. She joined in the commune and nobody but a very few of them (or so our protagonist thought) knew she was from other realms, but as it turned out, he was the only one she hadn’t, well, assimilated.
The ending was epic and beautiful and I loved, it.
I ended up reading everything Spider wrote, loved all of it, totally, got turned on to Heinlein and Sci-fi in general, so dug the antigravity Star Dancing his wife did, they were totally in love, but his stories all just touched me in all kinds of ways. He’s a total punster, kind of a goof, I just love his stuff.
But today that original story is kind of bothering the crap out of me, and I’m not telling why, but it only bothers the crap out of me because I had this odd synchronicity with Spider not all that long ago.
I’d written him an email, saying pretty much everything I said up there. A couple of years later, he responded, right after I’d been talking about him, and right before doing a little time traveling exercise. It was really, really odd that he chose that day to respond.
Well, maybe I will tell why. I find myself kicking and screaming and fighting against a kid (young man) who really is into the idea of AI and the singularity, which just f*ck well freaks me so far out that, well, no, and I’ll be damned if the protagonist in that story wasn’t kicking and screaming and fighting against something similar.
But different. I like Spider’s version a whole lot more than Ray Kurzweil’s. Spider is an artist.