Cold. Metal. Plastic.
Ray Bradbury, in an interview many years ago, said he was out to "prevent the future." Near the end of his life, when asked about that, he said, "they didn't listen to me."
It feels to me like we are distilling everything; attempting to move toward a perfection of social interaction that we can never achieve and that we are attempting this by sterilizing every dynamic of human intercourse.
I am empathetic to the idea of trying to create Utopia. Really. But, if Utopia means the total absence of varied viewpoints; of natural sexual dynamics; or, if it means that the average (groupthink-oriented) mind is going to continue to try to "interpret" the statements of others and find within those interpretations evil thoughts, I don't want to live in it.
We really have not listened to any of the sci-fi writers the way we should have.
Well, I'm not putting on the silver suit.
And when the flags are flying over the Utopian, clean-white and problem-free city of impossible, forced harmony, there will always be a horrified child in the basement crouching in a puddle of its own excrement. Because that's what pretending does, in the end.
We need to talk and feel and discuss and argue and fight. The rest is just building facades.