From "Days of Heaven"

From "Picnic at Hanging Rock"

From "Bilitis"

From UK Vogue, 1981

A more modern version

"Stranger Than Kindness"
I love the look of all those lamps juxtaposed with the lasers.
Questions
What do you see?
Have you been here before?
What does the air smell like?
Can you smell anything else?
What does that smell remind you of?
Can you see anything now?
What do you want to do?
Do you want to be somewhere else?
What does this place remind you of?
What does your skin feel like?
Do you like this feeling?
Have you felt like this before?
What do you hear?
Do you like the sound?
Can you see what's making the sound?
Where do you wish you were?
Is it dark outside?
Where are you? What's beneath your feet?
Tell me what you hear.
Can anyone see you?
Can you hear the wind? What's it saying?
Are you happy where you are?
What do you feel against your skin?
What do you see in front of you?
What do you taste inside your mouth?
What do you hear?
What do you smell?
What are you remembering?
What do you see when you close your eyes?
How does the air feel against your nostrils?
Describe the sensation on the back of your hand.
Where does that sound take you?
Why are you afraid to open your eyes?
Can you feel any sounds? Pulsations?
Can you move your body? Your hands? Can you smile?
What tension is it creating?
Can you leave?
Are you alone?
Describe your emotions. Are you frightened? Anxious?
What colors are present? What shapes?
Can you see any symmetries?
What is in the distance?
Can you see the color of the objects around you?
Does your body feel strong?
What can you taste in the air around you?
Are there smells there? Are they familiar?
Can you feel the surface around you?
What is the sound that you are hearing?
Where is it coming from?
Is it triggering a reaction in you?
How do you feel your weight?
Can you breathe deeply?
What does your pulse feel like as it passes through you?
Can you feel what is behind you?
How far can you see through the dark?
“I Remember”
It's cool and the air smells like ocean. The moon is shining and everything is cool and beautiful. I can feel the sand on my feet. I shine a light on the sand and suddenly I can see tiny crabs everywhere- they move out of the way so quickly you almost can't see them. They are surrounding me on the beach.
I'm standing on grass and its nighttime. I can hear the crickets and sounds of dishes softly clinking. People washing up. There's a tiny window of light and everyone looks so calm and happy in there. No one knows I'm standing here. The wind is warm, the air is thick and dark and silent.
I remember the tree outside my house. It was a magnolia. And the blossoms were so fragrant that you could smell them inside the house.
I remember eating push ups from the 7-11. They would melt so fast that I had to lick the ice cream off my arm.
I remember my grandmother's funeral. Mom made me kiss her dead body in the casket. Her skin felt like paper on my lips.
I remember her swimming in the public pool and then getting into the hot car and sweating.
I remember hiding behind the big chair in the living room and eating dog treats. They were crunchy and salty.
I remember biting my arm until I left a mark. It felt good to my jaw.
I remember the plastic animal toys that grandpa would buy me at the zoo. They came out of the machine so hot that you had to hold them with a napkin.
I remember getting sick on the drive to the mountains. I would lay in the back seat and pray for it to be over.
Turning over the pillow to the cold side. It's against August and the air is thick with insects, even in the middle of the night.
Waking up before dawn and walking to the ocean. The sand cold beneath my feet, and the salt of the air stings my eyes and leaves a residue inside my mouth.
Sitting under the honey suckle bush in the front yard. When the flowers were looming I would let the bees crawl over my arms and face. Their tiny legs on my lips.
I remember the sun, shining, striking my face and body. Yellow beams, flowing energy.
I remember the song, the playing. Dancing people singing with me and around me. Everyone together I did not feel alone.
I remember running, playing, teams, a ball. Green grass and mud. Laughter, sweat. I remember the pure joy of fatigue.
I remember the sticker burrs, jammed into the sides of my feet after walking barefoot in the grass.
I remember the sound of the locust during the hottest part of the day. Coming from the trees in the front yard.
I remember chasing lizards into the hillsides where they lived under the green plants. Catching them when they were warming themselves in the sun.
I remember eating home made ice cream just after the lid was taken off. And my teeth aching, rushing to eat it before it melted to slush.
I remember walking in the forest on a cold fall day and a trough of running water. Drinking the cold water with my hands.
I remember falling off a wagon, in the Pioneer Village, I skinned my knee, completely clean. My mother held a wet paper towel to it and I would alternate between cool relief and burning pain.
I remember creosote after the rain. A city of concrete and glass and metal, momentarily transformed back again to the open desert.
I remember waking in the middle of the night. Charging down the long hallway to my mother. An impossible distance to close; with my nightmares streaming along behind me.
"I'm a man eating machine. You won't hear me laughing as I terminate your day. You can't trace my footsteps as I walk the other way. I'm a man eating machine. A man, man eating machine."
I cannot help thinking of the nightmarish way a caterpillar liquefies in its cocoon before emerging as a butterfly.
There just might be one chance! The plains people who hunt the purple buffalo have among them a great warrior, and he alone has a chance to fight The Nothing and save us. He is our only hope. His name is Atreyu.
The Uncanny (Ger. Das Unheimliche -- literally, "un-home-ly") is a Freudian concept of an instance where something can be familiar, yet foreign at the same time, resulting in a feeling of it being uncomfortably strange.
Because the uncanny is familiar, yet strange, it often creates cognitive dissonance within the experiencing subject due to the paradoxical nature of being attracted to, yet repulsed by an object at the same time. This cognitive dissonance often leads to an outright rejection of the object, as one would rather reject than rationalize.
The future archive is a platform that issues divergent responses to the problem of how to think about the future. It tries to investigate how people position themselves vis a vis the future, conceptually and practically - how they try to make change happen.The description is a bit hyper-intellectualized BUT the method could be useful. You can watch videos of the interviews on their website. There's an "Intro" on that shows clips of a variety of interviews.
As such, the future archive engages conversations that are set in possible times and spaces to come, which two or more people performatively inhabit as proposed versions of futurity. From there, contemporary society is remembered. In every conversation, a different future is negotiated - via a discursive methodology complicit with radical pedagogy and action research, as well as techniques of interview and dialogue.
Between Science and Garbage is the title of both an internationally acclaimed performance and an award-winning film made by Bob Ostertag and his partner in Living Cinema, Pierre Hébert. It is also the title of a chapter in Ostertag’s new book, Creative Life: Music, Politics, People, and Machines, a collection of essays that address dilemmas faced by artists whose work is simultaneously engaged with and critical of digital technology. In his lecture, Ostertag will explore the notion that today’s cutting-edge technology is tomorrow’s garbage. Composer, performer, historian, instrument builder, activist, and a blogger for The Huffington Post, Ostertag is currently Professor of Technocultural Studies and Music at the University of California at Davis.
$5 members, $12 non-members unless otherwise noted. Seating is limited. Advance tickets available online and on-site.
We science fiction writers aren't futurists. SF needn't even be set in the future, and even when it is, we're not necessarily trying to create an accurate model of what we believe is the most likely future—
Cautionary tales emphasize the negative consequences of some aspect of present life. These dystopias are often prompted by the words "If this goes on…"
Thought experiments focus on the possible effects of some current or projected event, technology, or trend. These stories ask the question "What if?" They are distinguished from cautionary tales in that they explore both positive and negative impacts of the trend; they are distinguished from predictions in that they do not necessarily focus on the most likely outcome.
Literalized metaphors examine an aspect of our world by taking a metaphor and making it concrete. Examples include using space aliens to address alienation, using clones to discuss conformity, and using a location on a distant planet as a metaphor for personal isolation. Metaphors such as these are used in non-science fiction as well, of course, but in SF the aliens, clones, or distant planets are literally rather than figuratively present in the world of the story.
Explorations of new science and technology simply use some new advance as the basis of a story. "What's in New Scientist today will be in Analog next year." Often in these stories something goes wrong with the new technology, but this is often done simply to create an exciting story rather than to criticize. An example is Arthur C. Clarke's A Fall of Moondust, which is basically a disaster movie based on the latest theories about the composition of the lunar surface (theories that later turned out to be incorrect).