At Foresight Institute's Existential Hope program, we're running a $10k prize for the best meme or short-form media that shows a realistic future worth building toward: abundant clean energy, disease beaten, aging solved, cooperation that actually works, you name it. I thought you guys might enjoy the opportunity :)
We're doing this because we believe our cultural image of the future skews overwhelmingly dystopian: P(doom), 1984, Black Mirror, etc. The optimistic visions are much rarer, and we want to get more positive, plausible futures out into the world.
It's open worldwide, submissions close November 1st. I hope to see your submission!
(For transparency, I work at Existential Hope; we're a nonprofit, the contest is free to enter and we don't make any money from submissions. Thanks to the mods for allowing me to post this!)
I’ve been building a LunarPunk cinematic universe: a future shaped by living architecture, bioluminescent technology, glowing waterways, and cities designed around the absence of sunlight.
I’ve made two short films so far, but they’ve received little attention. I still want to keep developing this idea because I think hopeful futures should also be beautiful, strange, and mysterious. Other subs didn't like it very much but maybe this one is more welcoming.
Hello fellow solarpunks, this is a teaser from the material i filmed for this ecovillage in Portugal.
Day One in the "Water Retention Course" wich is part of their permaculture program.
Had so much fun filming/editing because the facilitator seems to be some kind of tai chi master of the landscape arts - and his teachings were contagious, at the end of the segment, the participants were talking this very special water/snake/chi language aswell.hahaa
Good stuff, real stuff
More info about the community and their water/landscape permaculture practice in pt1 and pt2
There is a solarkitchen, where they cook with biogas and solar radiation. That is something i want to capture next.
I was researching/worldbuilding a solarpunk utopia with Gemini, and it came up with the idea of a resistance group to my utopian vision. It called them the Frost Keepers, and here they try to destroy my humanitarian mission of creating year-long summers in Scandinavia by building greenhouses, atriums, and spa facilities everywhere.
The Frost Keepers really don't like people being happy and healthy. They are addicted to pain and depression. I feel really sorry for them, actually. 😭
(I don't know why the woman wears a spacesuit; maybe she need to protect herself from the intruders?)
It was a perfect day for flying, for running as fast and as far as I could. The early morning sunlight diffracted rainbow gleams through the translucent deck. I shifted position to correct a subtle roll and pitch, feeling the steady hum of the thrusters underfoot. The white noise of airflow was barely a whisper. The light breeze ruffled my hair and fluttered the tattletales spaced around the deck's perimeter. The horizon was cloudless in all directions but directly astern where a weather front massed in the distance. The treacherously clear air revealed my aircraft to anyone in line of sight.
I could have wished for a persistent fog or a low cloud deck. Flying would have been uncomfortably chilly and damp, but I would have worried less about observers. Robot trucks on a highway and slowly rotating wind turbines on a distant ridgeline were the only visible movements in this open countryside, but I was not reassured.
Of course, I would not actually wish for bad weather on a test flight; that would be insane. It might also interfere with my measurements and observations, and I do like my science clean whenever possible.
This maiden flight of my skyboard should have been a triumphal occasion, a prolonged 'Eureka!' Instead, my thoughts were coerced, divided between piloting, observing the test flight, and attempting to analyze the multiple threats that had pressed me into this hurried course of action. I had over eight hundred kilometers to cover before nightfall in an untested experimental aircraft while remaining unobserved. This was not the way things were supposed to go.
My flight suit was warm enough, and the pressure of my goggles was not uncomfortable. My stomach growled and I realized that I had not eaten anything since before midnight. I ate a pocket snack, a bar rich in fat and salt and sugar, and sipped from a water bladder. I barely noted the taste of cashews and dark chocolate.
The aircraft's remote control weighed down my dominant hand. My off hand counted off one two three four, thumb to tip of each finger in rapid succession, four three two one and back again.
My heart rate should have been steady, close to resting. Instead, my pulse randomly shot up as if I were facing a fight, and only fell off slowly. My adrenaline had also spiked repeatedly, from no apparent cause. I was on the edge of a panic attack.
Why did I have to be on the run from a demonstrably unstable federal agent? Why had another stranger tried first to damage then to destroy my invention, nearly immolating a dozen people in the process?
My skyboard was unique, a prototype and proof of several concepts, evidence of a series of achievements, and a valuable fraction of my assets. I could not afford to lose it or my own freedom and agency.
I should not have had to be worried about either. I had been transparent, civil, friendly, sharing news of my experiences with like-minded colleagues. I had been making an effort to be social, and the social conventions did not imply that anything like this would happen.
Until I had answers for this betrayal, I needed to hide my skyboard and myself.
"Dude, that's not possible. How many beers have you had?"
Al Nadeau and I had maintained our friendship and working relationship for nearly three decades since we met in grad school. As he built a successful business and I moved from one project to the next, industry to startup to solo, we made an effort to meet in person now and then, usually over dinner and drinks. We shared a number of interests and our conversations ranged widely.
The meeting that eventually resulted in my skyboard was no different. This time we were discussing the difference in the qualities of surfing off the California coast and various Pacific islands. He made some off-hand remark about wishing to grab more air, and I replied, "Why not grab nothing but air?"
Al's two-line exclamation was reasonable—for anyone else. I smiled indulgently. "You only say that because it hasn't been done before. There's a range of opportunities in the current state of materials science. I believe I can exploit that to create a flying surfboard."
Al squinted one eye. "Explain."
I shifted to serious lecture mode. "There is a class of materials that are extremely light for their strength. Aerogels and such. They are mostly empty space. That space naturally fills with air. I propose to replace the air in that space with a lifting gas and constrain it with a very thin and light envelope. Think of it as a lighter-than-air brick."
Al considered for a moment. "Robin, I still don't see how that would be possible. Even assuming you can make this super-light material, you'd still have a huge number of separate problems to solve to make it work as an aircraft." He frowned and shook his head slowly.
I moved in for the kill. "Al, I will make a bet with you. I will build a working prototype of a lighter-than-air surfboard, a skyboard let's call it. When I have proved to you that it’s possible, you will devote your company's resources to patenting and exploiting the technologies, with our usual split of the proceeds."
Al shook his head. "I can't justify pouring money into a project I don't believe in."
I waved one hand reassuringly. "No need. I have all the resources I need for the research and development. What I don't have is the people and organization to exploit all that new technology. That's where you come in. Just like the first time." I grinned like a shark.
Al squinted one eye and cocked his head. "I have learned that it is not smart to bet against you."
I spread my hands palm up on the table. "But this is a win-win. If I'm wrong, you get to say you told me so. If I'm right, we both make a lot of money. And we change the world, again. And we'll have a new kind of fun, something no one else has done."
Al was still not completely convinced. "So you say. I'll believe it when I see it." He stuck out his right hand, and we shook on the bet.
I was between projects at the time. I had a modest income from licenses and royalties, and a nest egg that I could tap if I cared to risk my capital. I was confident enough that I didn’t think of it as gambling. I didn't anticipate someone jogging my elbow.
Looks pretty cool, and an important thing for any game makers or those of us creating digital experiences. Notable because there's a billion cyberpunk assets out there, but not too many solarpunk.
