All words: Alan Pyke ’s a destabilizing time to be alive, so much so that even the bedrock of one’s own tastes and cravings are like to go all tectonic on you at odd, fraying moments. “They’re making a new Blade Runner!!!” you might’ve thought a couple years back, six near-identical tweets on the news sliding down your magic pocket rectangle. Only for the vertigo to come clopping up at you, hard to heels of the rushing elation. “tHeY’rE mAkInG a NeW bLaDe RuNnEr!?!?!?!” How to explain that yaw? Do I want more of that thing I love, or do I dread ? Am I they shall finally expand the cathedral my mind, or am I panicked they’ll crack the stained glass, loot the wine, scamper off to barbarian camp with a squealing nun saddlebagged shoulder? Why. Why would they? How could they? (Unless!) What folly man, to stones at giants, or some shit? What the fuck, Ridley? Leave it alone! (Unless!) And then years of mounting dread — at least for the right-thinking obsessive fans of the original (or its proper version, sans spoon-feeding voiceover, sans saccharine bow-tied ending). There […]

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