BC PROSPECT

1 4 5 R B C P R O S P E C T B R E T T F O S T E R I fully expect one day we will be all latex and circuitry, pointillisms of data so miniscule as to make a microchip seem like a beer coaster or koozie, or other gadgetry I fondly associate with the Eighties. Sometimes you can catch a glimpse of a possible dark future that sleek intelligence will inhabit, and whatever dominates there, possessing a deftly fabricated sentience as in any admirable masterwork, may already be looking backward toward us, hell-bent operational, so optimistic in our supposedly enlightened cultural moment. It may be better later, but will That lateness be invitational? I beg of you, answer me that, you harbormaster of pebbled shores. Somewhere between Surrey and the Vancouver airport, I discovered at slightly varying heights the gira√e-necked arms 1 4 6 Y and shiny, metal-meshed baskets of several extended cherry-pickers occupying a hardware-store parking lot, looking scary, like an army of robots. Collectively they looked like a nest for a thing uncaring of what we’ve made. ...