We move backwards from our quandry about reality; Badiou and Meades were wrestling with it, but Hickey and Davis knew where they stood writing these pieces.
Hickey writes lyrically about Las Vegas, using everyday observation and personal history to establish his positive view. Davis doesn't like Las Vegas, but he dislikes Dubai even more. He's an orthodox Marxist if there can be such a thing. I wonder what Hickey is other than a great writer? It is for you to decide whether the small time victories Hickey cherishes are worth what he invests in them. Similarly it is for you to decide whether you can enjoy Davis' geopolitical critique, obviously forgiving his initial prologue of SF, which only shows he can't write that sort of stuff very happily.
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