Lots of things sorta have (like TV/movies) heroes with superhuman abilities, whatever, Doctor Who, The Matrix, the list is fucken endless, even Hitler seems to have been inspired by notions/idealizations of superhuman abilities.

Are people past being motivated by this sorta rasberry cordial ideological thing, or what.

motivated to do what?

>motivated to do what?

the force that drives you, you know, desires tweaked by culture.

transition said:

>motivated to do what?

the force that drives you, you know, desires tweaked by culture.

OK.. in that case I don’t understand the question…

Superhuman ability would be appealing as you rise above mediocrity and depending on your mindset can change the world for the better or worse without wealth or power.

>Superhuman ability would be appealing as you rise above mediocrity

bit of a swearword and put down that word mediocrity, probably has a mental state and a few feelings to go with it

In the darkeness of the basement Kermutledge paced around like a man on fire, the “super” blood helped him climb the lofty peaks of the far unchartered landscapes known to the masters of the universe and he writhed in orgiastic ecstasy. Eons ago after the injection came the pain the all absorbing pain , metallic ions seeping into the fabric of his mind like tendrils. Hand and mind once super-conducted with ionic energy became the evil frenetic chemical cocktail of a ticking time bomb thanks to the rutherfordium isotope that had replaced his humanity mixed up with gatorade. Lo! the call of the horizon beckoned, supersonic hearing knocked at the doors of his mind, the ebb of time and tide – he was invincible!!!!!!!! Finished…… sweating…….. he sat down wrapping a cardigan around his gaunt and naked frame; that stupid bitch would get hers one day; “Did you hear that mother?!”, he bellowed at the ceiling shaking his fist just wishing he could stuff his oily wipe rag into her mouth.

The few windows of his living space were spread with Chinese newspapers discouraging visitors and onlookers save the odd cat that defecated next to a crack that allowed just enough air in. There……. in the newly formed calm ,bathed in a blue starlight sat the centrepiece, lodestone of his prayers – a curious heath robinson device , winking, spaghetti wiring, huffing tubes, a casing of sweating explosive that housed the plutonium. It was his masterpiece – he called it “The Beast” after a particularly angry short lived ex girlfriend who would periodically visit. The beast would bring a new order to the world, a new age in which he would be god; from the survivors he would take the women to nourish and suckle his super-spawn, vast warehouses like a sultan’s harem wriggling with shapely busty women – he would become the beautiful monster that only few would dare to dream.