2026 is the Year of the Robot

Ink & Time has been deep in Metropolis. So have you, but you might not know it.

We’ve been busy working on a new edition, below, hence the radio silence.

In the new year we’ll be migrating to Substack, with a pipeline of books and ideas I’m sure you will enjoy, so stay tuned.

Ever read or watched Metropolis?

It’s a story of techno-fascism.

Machine-gods provide limitless pleasure for elites. And feed on the flesh of workers.

A synthetic humanoid is unleashed to seduce and radicalise the masses.

When riots break out and production is pushed beyond safe levels, the machines break free from the system… and all hell breaks loose.

A biblical scale flood engulfs the city when the central pump systems seize.

The master of Metropolis allows the destruction of the city, realizing it has become corrupted beyond repair.

Inspired by his radical son who has fallen in love with Maria, the spiritual advocate for labor, he seeks redemption and renewal.

Yes, this is the same story as the quirky silent film of 1927, by Fritz Lang.

Yes, before the film, there was a book written in German by the producer’s wife Thea Von Harbou (1925).

No, you’ve probably never read it because previous English translations were terrible.

The original novel is an Expressionist allegory written during the interwar period, infused with anxieties of industrialization, suspicions of “the Orient” and dystopian fears of the dark progression of technology.

You might find references to Babel, Moloch, the Seal of Solomon, the Great Whore of Babylon confusing or dated. But, understanding tradition provides context for understanding our belief systems.

I personally feel the role chosen for Ganesha missed the mark, but you decide for yourself.

Metropolis, the novel, is a science fiction parable told in symbolic language.

It was set in a speculative 2026.

Now as we anticipate the real 2026, robots and AI dominate our attention.

My obsession with Metropolis has been fueled by the uncanny correspondence to life today: hubristic worship of technology, wanton self-interest, blindness to the corrosion of human values and persistent attacks by the owners of technology on the integrity of the social fabric.

It has become fashionable to speak of “Techno Feudalism.”

Is Techno Fascism more accurate?

Deepfakes are the lurid genie we can no longer squeeze back in the bottle. We are overconfident in our discernment and ability to protect ourselves and our loved ones.

An even more seductive simulacrum is on the way. Will we fall for her?

We are too blasé about the risks to our cities being submerged by a great flood due to a warming climate, and a host of human-induced disasters looming on the horizon.

What would true redemption mean, not in a religious sense, but a more practical, compassionate fight for our collective humanity?

Can our Metropolis be saved?

These are no longer questions for speculative science fiction.

They are defining our experience of life in 2026.

Failing to read, we lack broad context and an appreciation of metaphor. Sub-literate, we flail like children who can sense danger, but have no capacity to articulate solutions.

One could say it's merely ironic that Metropolis was set in 2026.

Now we stand face to face with an alien intelligence, chatting with us via GPT, and the perverse pantheon of Claude, Grok and Gemini, etc.

It's like a game, or a twisted psychological and sociological experiment.

Ascribing prescience to Metropolis in 2026 is easily dismissed as coincidence. Conspiratorial musing.

The story and its modernist iconography are relegated to a retro-futurist curiosity.

Here’s an alternative: read the parable for what it is, a symbolic provocation, a clue to the dangers ahead.

Futura is whispering to you, and you find it hard not to listen...

So, at Ink & Time we produced a completely fresh translation, under our imprint Time Warp Editions, with modern illustrations, aided by the same machine technologies that might one day break free from our control, and wreak havoc on society.

For now they have been tamed, and used in service of the renewal and popularization of a literary work deserving of a good scrubbing and contemporary polish.

The original translation was just too painful.

We believe we have tamed the cognitive processing machines. We presume to bend them to our will, if we only learn how to prompt them, and if we retain human judgement in evaluating their outputs. That is already not easy.

Especially for those who have fallen in love with "AI Companions."

It happens. Read Metropolis.

But like the tamed machine-gods in Metropolis, our relationship with the tools we use is often a slippery slope toward something far more sinister and uncontrollable.

We should not assume it will be easy to maintain control.

The owners of technological capital are bound relentlessly to the pursuit of ever greater power. Restraint cannot be expected. Nor should we trust them to address the plight of the masses.

Policy makers should read Metropolis and not dismiss it out of hand.

But sadly, literacy is in decline...

We are working to fix that with Ink & Time. Please keep reading. Please share this with others.

If you’re a thinking person and you care about the intersection of humans and machines... if you're wondering what may become of a hedonistic, technology-first society...

Grab your copy of our new edition of Metropolis 2026 and enjoy the ride!

It's an excellent Christmas gift for the philosophical (and the literate) loved ones in your life. It is currently available on Amazon, and will be more widely distributed soon.

Be sure to click on Metropolis 2026 (the one below with the creepy but strangely magnetic cover art), and avoid the cheap copy-paste editions, whose garbled, archaic language will only give you a headache.

Several chapter trailers follow below.

He felt a chill at his back. A sharp drop in temperature pricked the skin of his neck. Then, a skeleton hand reached past him. Transparent skin stretched over silver bones; fingers long, delicate, and terrifyingly cold.

Geo Forbes spun around. Standing before him was a nightmare. The being was feminine, but not human. Her body was the unforgiving shape of a woman, slender, seductive, seemingly made of crystal, through which the bones shone like dull silver.

A stream of cold air radiated from her glazen skin, which contained not a single drop of blood. The form was beautiful, swaying on feet set fast together, but the head was a blank, featureless mass. No face. Just a smooth, synthetic egg with the suggestion of eyes painted on the surface.

"Be polite, my Parody," Rothman's voice boomed from a hidden speaker. "Greet the Master of Metropolis." The thing bowed. The blank head dipped. A voice came from its throat: a synthesized sound, tuned to a frequency of horrible tenderness.

"Good evening, Geo Forbes." The sound made his skin crawl. It was more alluring than any human voice. Irresistible, even. The moment his hands touched the cold, glass skin, he recoiled. It was like touching a corpse frozen in ice.

"What is it?" Geo Forbes wiped his hands on his coat.

"It’s the future, Forbes! It’s the Machine-Man you ordered. Or... the Machine-Woman. Every creator makes a woman first, don't you think? God certainly did."

***

"My dear sir," September smiled, laying his beautiful, cruel hand on Slim’s arm. "To call Maohee a drug is to call a lion a cat. Maohee is from the other side of the earth. It is the only thing which makes us feel the intoxication of the others.”

The proprietor of Yoshiwara grinned, apocalyptically.

"There is a room built like a winding seashell, where the surf of seven oceans thunders. People crouch in its windings so densely crowded that their faces appear as one face. No one knows the other, yet they are all the closest of friends. They all sweat with fever. They are all pale with expectation. They clasp hands. The trembling of those at the bottom of the shell runs right through the windings of the mammoth shell, right up to those at the gleaming top of the spiral...”

September gulped for breath, a smile of insanity on his mouth. “Suddenly the rim of the shell begins to turn... gently... to music that would bring a serial killer to sobbing and that would make his judges pardon him on the gallows. The people scream like the birds that bathe in the sea. The twisted hands become clenched in fists. The bodies rock in one rhythm, and a flame rests on every head.

"Then comes the first stammer of: Maohee.... They call on him who the finger of the god touches today.... No one knows where he will come from.... Suddenly a man is standing in the center of the gleaming disc. But it is no man. It is the embodiment of the intoxication of them all..."

He gripped Slim’s arm harder. "He stands and lives his intoxication. From the thousands of eyes which have cast anchor into his soul the power of intoxication streams into him. There is no delight in God’s creation which does not reveal itself, enveloped in the medium of these intoxicated souls. What he says becomes visible, what he hears becomes audible to all. What he feels: Power, desire, madness, is felt by them all. On the shimmering area, around which the shell revolves, to music beyond all description, one in ecstasy lives the thousandfold ecstasy which embodies itself in him, for thousands of others....”

September stopped and smiled at Slim. “That, sir, is Maohee....”

***

"Which is sweeter," she asked, pacing the edge of the light, "water or wine?"

"Wine!"

"And who drinks the wine?"

"The Masters!"

"Who drinks the water? Who eats the dry bread? Who wears the rough linen until it rubs their skin raw?"

"We do!"

"And who wears the silk? Who feasts while your children starve? Who plays in the Eternal Gardens while your wives weep in the gray blocks?"

"The Masters! The Masters of the Machines!"

The False Maria stopped. She looked out at them with eyes that burned with green fire. "Throughout your morning, your noon, your evening, your night, the machine howls for food! You are the food! The machine devours you and then spews you up again! Why do you fatten the machines with your bodies? Why do you oil the joints of the machines with your brains?"

The crowd surged forward, mesmerized by her rage. She raised her arms. Her body began to tremble: a high-frequency vibration that seemed to hum in the teeth of every man in the room.

"Turn the world upside down! Murder the living and the dead! Take the inheritance from the living and dead! You have waited long enough! The hour has come!”

The crowd broke. They surged toward her, a wave of violence ready to crash. The blood-red mouth of the girl laughed and flamed. The slim body grew and stretched itself up. Over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, her knees, there ran an incessant, barely perceptible trembling. "I will lead you!" she cried, dancing now, a jagged, mechanical rhythm. "I will dance the Dance of Death for you! Death to the Machines!"

The multitude moaned in ecstasy. They gasped. And then, with a single, collective groan, they fell to their knees. The False Maria smiled and stepped onto the living carpet of their backs.

"Stop!" The scream tore through the cavern. Fraser stepped out of the shadows. He looked like a ghost, pale, shaking, wild-eyed. The crowd turned. Ten thousand eyes locked onto the stranger in the silk.

The False Maria didn't flinch. "Look!" she shrieked, her voice like grinding glass. "Look who's here! The son of the great Master of Metropolis!"

The mood in the cavern shifted instantly. The worship turned to bloodlust. "Kill the dog in the white silk!" They rushed him. A wall of fists and hate.

Ink & Time always brings you intellectual provocation in the form of books you forgot, books that are more relevant to today’s society than most of us realize.

We’re moving to Substack soon. Stay tuned, and stay with us. Share this with others to get some free bonus material, PD lists, ebooks and more…