Hurry up, slow down.

Utopian societies are immanently conceivable, but fatal for societies to achieve. First, it implies a global agreement concerning an abstract term. The innumerable springs of definition lend themselves to imagination, and even to practice, but not to perfection. It is a haughty expression whose logic works to undermine evolution. A utopian society limits the imagination, dreams, and the future. It is self-sufficient, but like a punch-line repeating in Space. It is senseless without the context of a past-present-future continuum. It is incomprehensible. It is death disguised as immortality, a senseless twilight sleep. A utopian world lacks memory and a sense of what’s possible. It is a congealed world lacking hope. At bottom, there is dystopia. A dystopia is a resignedness. It is a ghost-town, but a freer one than its sister. A ghost-town at least allows for nostalgia that can turn on itself and become hope. Nostalgia is moot within a Utopia, as are all dreams. Inside of a dystopia there is at least the dreams of a past. It doesn’t move forward either, but it stands on everything that came before it. It is, in a sense, suicide. The only real life is in the middle, inside dreams, inside science fiction. Real life is the imagination, and they both lack that. They both lack the omnidirectional mobility of imagination.