"I'm in charge of the entertainment." --Ted Bundy
"I guess we're all victims of society's brainwashing." --Sy Sperling, Hair Club For Men
There's an apocalyptic mood out here in Late-Century America, and frankly we kind of enjoy it. It's been a while since we had a Major Television Event, with the accompanying flash of instant karma that passes through the nation and seems to cheer everyone up. No nose-cone video from air wars, no major product recalls recently: nothing to fix the time in memory. But in a very '90s way, the pace is quickening on the road to nowhere. The present is accelerating past America's side-view mirrors, where objects are closer than they appear, in a rush of InfoBahn mergers, grunge martyrs, virus controversies, New Age yuppie lifestyle technologies, hot wars in continents we thought we had forgotten. The time delay for retro-fashion trends and instant-celebrity docudramas is shrinking towards zero. It's an exciting time to be alive.
April found everyone at KGB striding around the office, slapping the Macs and using up free MCI Long Distance minutes on the phones all day, and going over the blueprints for the Media Compound late into the night. The first pages of the magazine have just gone out to the printer and the zeitgeist is blowing in on the spring breeze. Soon it will be summer, in the shimmering sprawl of the cities, traffic suffocating under low dense clouds of sweat and carbon monoxide. Enginedripping jets will sleaze lousily across a sky like shaving scum. The birds will cruise around, looking crazed, sloppy and suicidal. Certain crimes will go up. The micro-mini dress will make a comeback for the second year in row; parties will move outdoors, people will have Safer Sex.
And from their air-conditioned penthouse office suites, white-shirted media executives will continue marketing their version of reality, in which 1994 comes out looking like a garishly colorized episode of "Leave It To Beaver." On the streets of our big cities, things look relatively normal. The weather, which has been breaking it's own records for weirdness faster and faster since we were kids, is believably springlike for now. But, it must be said, life at the close of the Millennium has it's drawbacks. For one thing, everyone's attention span is getting really short: just the other day we realized that after saving our Marlboro Miles--and approaching people in bars for theirs for at least six months--we had completely missed the deadline. 2100 Marlboro Miles would have been enough for the inflatable kayak.
Time flies when you're having fun. The fact is, even with all systems go and American culture slouching towards Bethlehem at hyperkinetic speed, hardly anyone is paying attention to the byproducts of chaos culture. In the supercollider of the '90s, consciousness is mutating rapidly. Our living environment is forcing us to evolve synthetic souls, open heads and third eyes for irony. Attitude equals survival. From between the cracks of the First World's crumbling monuments, the rich, strange weeds and flowers of our post-nuclear urban garden are poking their heads out, seeking the sun. Time to put out the magazine, time to move some product. KGB is a conspiracy theory anyone can believe in for the price of a double espresso; reality based countermedia, turbo-powered by the clean, safe energy source of the end of history. And this is just the beginning.