Future Tense Conditional

The year is 2013, I am lying on my ergonomic, orthopaedic body-moulding sofa. I am staring at the
ceiling watching cetacean philosophical discussion. I speak dolphin now, along with many other humans.
John C Lilly's pioneering research was embraced by both the Soviets and the Americans during the cold war. Dolphin along with the other cetacean dialects, whale and porpoise were cracked during the mid 80's and we've been directly interacting with the aforementioned species ever since." I live where I die, no breath in the ocean. Swim, eat, excrete, when still I'm in motion" continued
 Dr. Akaka Click one the most interesting philosophers of our time. Unable to concentrate, I simply issue a clear, precise instruction, first to 'Pause' and then to 'archive' the debate for later.
 I rise from my sofa and step over my sanitation bot, vacuuming away some dropped kale chips, for deposit in the recycling chute. I seek the recipe for the latest mind enhancing drug
on my computer and once I've found it, instruct a fully equipped 3-D printer to print out a dose.
 I swallow the resulting pill and don my Virtual Reality body suit for an interface conference
 with a set of like-minded strangers. We discuss the futures market for high efficiency atmosphere
purifying plants. That's plants as in greenery not plants as in factories. We all now live in eco-cities
since we recognised this was essential to both our continued survival and well-being. Flush toilets
are an ancient curiosity. All urine is drained away to have the nutrients refined out of it for use
in agriculture. All shit is instantly vapourised in order to charge one of the large batteries which powers all my appliances. I take several special tablets every morning to protect the ends of my
telomeres. I hope to attain a state of negligible senescence. If my efforts prove successful I will be  physically the same in 30yrs as I am now. I am psychologically geared to activating any one of the eight circuits of human consciousness at will. The drug I have ingested will activate the 8th circuit and generate a peak experience.

So much for that shit....

I'm sitting on my beaten up old sofa with terrible posture. Eating over-cooked microwave popcorn
while watching The Jeremy Kyle Show. A gathering of some the least evolved people in Britain.
I have lost the remote and so rise from my torpor in order to change channel. I trip over the cat, who,
although disinclined to eat popcorn, is more than happy to play with it. I would endeavour to clean the living room if only the Dyson wasn't fucked. My head hurts from the excesses of the previous evening. Far from desiring to be more 'turned on' to my current reality state, I seem intent upon blotting it out. I take a swig from an ancient, crusted bottle of Calpol in the absence of any proper analgesics and head out into the world. The planet as it exists now is not peopled by sophisticated transhumans, deeply engaged with their task of  'building the earth'. Half of these fuckers can't even be bothered to brush their teeth or indeed instruct their children to do so. The lingua franca is a peculiar, hybrid, argot a product of various cultural influences. Peppered heavily with Anglo-Saxon terms for various parts and functions of the human body. A body which, despite various personal efforts to slow the clock, is for the moment still subject to time's cruel onslaught. I reach into my pocket and breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the contour of my mobile phone. A multi-tasking appendage, part communications device, part prosthetic brain. If you can get 3g reception, 4g at present being a pipe dream for most. As I walk, globules of sweat pour down my back, adhering my fashionable yet impractical trousers to my flanks. As I appraise all that is the case, I am struck by the image of a precocious child, sat next to her Edwardian born Grandmother watching the TV. The year 1989, the programme Tomorrow's World. Tomorrow's Fucking World !!! Along with almost every late 19th-early 20th century sci-fi novel I ever read, served to further warp my already ill-balanced mind. I've always been a living anachronism, born in 1984, raised with Victorian/Edwardian values and conditioned to anticipate a brave new world. There is only one course of action left open to me: STEAMPUNK SUPER VILLAIN!!! It's the only logical solution, Floating through the sky in my aptly named airship: The Earl Of Beaconsfield, the interior furnished like a 19th century ship's cabin. Complete with wooden wheel and brass keys. I would be attired in tight, black, moleskin trousers, a white, Byronic shirt, blue velvet frock coat and steel-plated fetish boots. My half-shaved head and prescription flight goggles completing the ensemble. I would wreak havoc upon the shrink-wrapped, shrink-medicated, plastic worshipping hordes, forcing them to make more things out of cast iron and glass. Making it imperative to learn basic etiquette, rudimentary grammar and revere great historical figures along with their achievements. That way we could construct a future geared towards.....More people like me. A whole generation out of time. OUT OF TIME??? See you at the Omega point bitches.....!!!