This thread will only lead to another Sci Fi or Fantasy argument.

i still need to watch black mirror

and read more phillip k dick....i really enjoyed do androids dream of electric sheep (though blade runner was a bit disappointing)...i know they're different, but i genuinely like the movies based on his works

lenny, did you see the director's cut of Blade Runner? The ending is much better and there is no voice over.

This could be good. I just got back from seeing Blade Runner: The Final Cut in the theater as a one off showing.

Awesome, would love to see any cut on a big screen someday.

Should I watch Dune again? I haven't seen it since I was a kid and I think I may love it.

She enters the forum itself now, automatically scanning titles of the posts and names of posters in the newer threads, looking for friends, enemies, news. One thing is clear, though; no new footage has surfaced. Nothing since that beach pan, and she does not subscribe to the theory that it is Cannes in winter. French footageheads have been unable to match it, in spite of countless hours recording pans across approximately similar scenery.

She also sees that her friend Parkaboy is back in Chicago, home from an Amtrak vacation, California, but when she opens his post she sees that he's only saying hello, literally. She clicks Respond, declares herself CayceP. Hi Parkaboy. When she returns to the forum page, her post is there.

It is a way now, approximately, of being at home. The forum has become one of the most consistent places in her life, like a familiar café that exists somehow outside of geography and beyond time zones. There are perhaps twenty regular posters on F:F:F, and some much larger and uncounted number of lurkers.

And right now there are three people in Chat, but there's no way of knowing exactly who until you are in there, and the chat room she finds not so comforting. It's strange even with friends, like sitting in a pitch-dark cellar conversing with people at a distance of about fifteen feet. The hectic speed, and the brevity of the lines in the thread, plus the feeling that everyone is talking at once, at counter-purposes, deter her.

She enters the forum itself now, automatically scanning titles of the posts and names of posters in the newer threads, looking for friends, enemies, news. One thing is clear, though; no new footage has surfaced. Nothing since that beach pan, and she does not subscribe to the theory that it is Cannes in winter. French footageheads have been unable to match it, in spite of countless hours recording pans across approximately similar scenery.

She also sees that her friend Parkaboy is back in Chicago, home from an Amtrak vacation, California, but when she opens his post she sees that he's only saying hello, literally. She clicks Respond, declares herself CayceP. Hi Parkaboy. When she returns to the forum page, her post is there.

It is a way now, approximately, of being at home. The forum has become one of the most consistent places in her life, like a familiar café that exists somehow outside of geography and beyond time zones. There are perhaps twenty regular posters on F:F:F, and some much larger and uncounted number of lurkers.

And right now there are three people in Chat, but there's no way of knowing exactly who until you are in there, and the chat room she finds not so comforting. It's strange even with friends, like sitting in a pitch-dark cellar conversing with people at a distance of about fifteen feet. The hectic speed, and the brevity of the lines in the thread, plus the feeling that everyone is talking at once, at counter-purposes, deter her.