Monday, April 30, 2012

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Friday, April 27, 2012

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Hawaii Tree Surf


Plays for the Border

It shapes onto future weather, pauses occasionally to announce itself as government of habit. It speaks in harsh tones and coiled percentages. It goes on its merry machine-like way while the rest of the world re-enters creativity mode. 

It's a normal mute route, workers and co-ops in a [world outside of dark systems-"woods"]. 

The occasional forming of a little Cornucopia Corporation as ritual in collective agreements--political groups containing a singularity, a past echo with rules for growth stored in a …brain? Really?

It draws theJungle as a border disturbance of organized experience in a something-to-live-for name recognition--the force field to live to see the day as market.

The selling is what discriminates against the conscious, while unconsciously, competence is held in guess. 

All the while it plays for the border and, rises. 

Ice Cream Aloha

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Mountains of Surf


Yesterday's Traits

It's the shock in store that becomes the shocking story, beyond library memoir, beyond the clapping of the eyes, beyond trusting for the perfect. 

There is an alien presence on the flip visit, the one chosen as a forgotten encounter of warm looks on cold ground.

There remains only a fistful of words, canyon chasms that can freeze-frame a mind. 

Performers examine the preservation conditions in search of  wooded areas as rain washes away all scents, all secrets. 

Attendees fuel cause for a heart to heart--one to view what the essence of home can do to the entity's face.

Some hunt for answers, others for ants. 

Either way, Darwinian anger in theHumans speaks its own language. It stands ready with answers for the lying, ready to spell you on special occasions, harboring fights between the structured and the insightful and, searching with knee-jerk mankind reminded.

Its message is simple: Today you search, while yesterday's traits become your closest friend.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Hawaii Surf


Games of Genes

Ensuing tidal waves of hero shots of last-known-steps form a society, to field attempts to reverse the interface between drugs and the pure water it took to make them. 

She finds skulls of desire in their last known games of genes--so epic in their activity, and yet, unable to put answers into family. It's true. The hunt for answers simply became, it seems, the hunt for ants.

They still peak awareness as relic populations endure extreme ranges in cold tropicals.

No. They never fully cut their ties from the gene world, with its legacy of spontaneous copy numbers, the numbers that promise to make you shine, to make you glow across global populations as if the search for the final actress were important.

They must have tired of the herd corrals, the ensuing tumors, onslaughts of preservation ritual, hoards of samples--disease so tidy and organized as rust. 

Yes, it is theHumans who had become the best theJungle had to offer. 

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Hawaii Tropical Mountain


A Force to Propel

It's theJungle with its mosaic probe--a power dynamic simply too vast for the mainstream. The lattice captors shape in [photo-lambda-using machine arguments genetically encoded="plumage"] to attract.
                                                                                                                          It's a native shrew with water as blood. 

How amazing it is--the most recent renditions of destiny created by a posse of possibilities, belated by flavors of coloration--survivors clinging to the side of the boat as a singularity, as packets of gene pools in {juxtaposition of knowledgeable entity structures="jokes"].

Angry mutation taunts the perpetually young to a personal wine of good desire.

Will they have at least some chance amidst the global agents of command psychically concocting the little-guy society with clean inventions of furious fairies, all the while in replication stress?

Friday, April 20, 2012

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Ice Cream Aloha

Crouching Ghost


The Undone of System

Intelligence and theHumans meet (or,so they thought) with feelings focused on screenshots of calm--where writing is selfish and reading is social. There is a feeble attempt to push the limits to the right in a system like this. 
Her gestures go along to inhabit the outsides of the latest tunable, turntable force field. 

The needs of beauty always hunger for the undone of system, the system where genomic gnomes, chat scientists care nothing of benevolence. 
They see conformity logic goes with the architecture--conformity of behavior with its correlations of math arrive late to conquer realms of the intuitive. 

It's a place where falling victim to the latest, loudest noise is deemed procrastination.
Regional [gaming information age nano travel surveillance="giants"] develop new conformity daily as worlds unraveling populations into intellectuals--the ones who have come to not trust its power. 

It's in the deep developed conformities where the newest evil settles.

Emotion remains on their faces as they speak as events turn, as possibilities arrive possessed by vigilante posse.

Spearheads seek to find written meaning.

Yes. Mastermind views docility logic as no logic at all (yes, conformity logic with its correlations of math to power)--it needs only to arrive to conquer realms of the intuitive.
So then, the therapies are necessary--the world finally will be the contemporary scene of progress.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Biobot Logic


The excitement of armies comes with the sparseness of the small towns. 
Airs of mystery across the expanse show up in crests of desire, as if the stillness along Grandfather's Watchtower dictates the want. 
It turns out theHumans like it and, need it, and yet the [continual aggressive modem of update fashion launch activating genetic entities="camouflage"] signals itself as the true well-wisher, whisperer of the need.   
As soon as the attachment of prefrontal cortex, with all those muscle memory mechanisms, they begin the search--as if imagination, speculation is hard-wired for the reckless, the unexpected, the feckless few. 
They search gene by gene in massive parallels--how to behave in a beehive world. How to celebrate in public on donut-shaped space-time, in private together as funnel-shaped society, voicing opposition to the force of will. 
How to start from the self knowledge of local 3D geometrics of familiarity, get a moral lesson from the 4D geometry of space-time, look into a mirror and wonder about the 7D geometrics of possibility.

Yes. It was a hollow beginning, and yet, all this primordial potential comes active simply by processor professors. 

Biobots in scramble mode, and now this, a natural willingness.

The high road? Money? Secure residential compounds? No. It's only initiative that counts--logic creating its bigger moments, hugging even the bungling.

Yes, theHumans still come to fight with all this, and yet, their biobots don't need any of it--a life of honor, the show of glory. 

It's more than they would want to negotiate.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Sunday, April 15, 2012



The New Remote

Local remoteness, one lit with legend, is effective in hunting universal analogy.

By its persistence alone, it watches for centuries the means for achieving, while bias sits its stillness as choices in tyranny succumb to tyranny's voice. 

Yes. It seems trouble is never compelled by simplicity--at the forefront, pivotal moments are never momentous for a society of illiterates, even the ones who have the stones to fight. 
History shows criminal finds its way into acceptability as a whiskey workday, and yet, it never stops society from its prayers.

And now, the art of communicating a surprise falls into the hands of rising hearts scribbling in pared prose. 
There remains a continuance of intrigue for a global [privacy anonymous solution society of upgrade technology="pass_out"]. 

It's a hard-to-spoof factor. 

It's as if all imaginations begin in the grips of legend on early arrival. 
Yes. They had their chance for a peaceful life in the new remote, and now, a forbidding.

Saturday, April 14, 2012



Intuition Birthing

It is the foe of beauty--a two-pronged peer in the trees with prolonged pushes for pulses of cellulose. 

A pine straw entity from the outset, it is now the onset database haystack of choice, complete with root vision, waiting for a time when environment comes due. 

Short fictions of superfluous streams have their own reason to hide under canopy hoodie, and yet, reflections for the social remain hidden in theJungle--the forbidden zone applauding a princess for her latest ploddings for humanity

She rises to set out to accomplish purpose with great ambition. 
She was born to negotiate with things that rise, and now, finally, comes the relentless relationship with the obsolete, its long term focus
By her beauty alone and welcoming hues and pleasant sounds, she invites and invades the unsuspecting, the ones with prefrontal lobes protruding skyward, as if on a search for the assertion of truth--charity voices wandering in wildfire, looking for the new force. 

It was the calm and the quiet, at first, that incorporated itself into her motherhood gulf. Pastoral shots golf with intrigue, hoping to become whole as one--the one with a life of its own. 

Yes. It's her intuition that creates the real.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Ice Cream Aloha


Biobot Schoolyard

Suddenly, her workspace legality-of-telepathy window shatters inside the timeframe. An [anonymous parenting entity="ape"] on screen and a voice on the monitor reflect a new culture of ancients, old manipulators of time--the kind of time needed for more construction of new buildings to defend the holy lands.

Behaviors and things genetic go beyond the simple, the logical.

There is still the fight with those who think they are right, pronouncing achievements against the illiterate, only to be laughed off by the multiple willingnesses, the earliest part of the new biobots. 

Was it this mutual willingness of involvement with others that promised, finally, the rejection of social hierarchy? 

It is this, a force where theJungle persists with theNature to temper theDNA within a matrix of celluloid (never seeing itself as a movie or trove of scattered interest), with the latest part of itself sewn and capered as meticulous as a knitter's proud possession.

It's here in theJungle, where performer wills its listener, and listener conjures performer. It's here where they all will learn. 

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Ice Cream Aloha

#SciFiforGeeks--The Attack of the Opposite

It's the valiant, the unknown random, yet unburied on native soil, intrinsically decorated by millennia of militia in gene pools all for the endless purpose of …what? 

Is it the artist shading from history long enough to engage in the pure? 

It's the impoverished improvisation that's to be in charge of destiny's request for a brave one, a son of  fathers, or, a good one, the son of mothers. 
Yes. It's part of the world of treasonable correspondence that tries for a quick lead, and for what? 

The duplex system, it seems, has to be the only one--the one generator of love (not to be confuse with the opposite, the one who attracts only to attack at a given point) that just goes ahead and makes its own day.

Yes. A biobot that makes its own day.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

#SciFiforGeeks--The Water Streamers 

Sheer cliffs bring nightly the entity of permission as self-indulgence grants marriage to the quiet hearts, the ones who become petrified, in power. 

Yes, and as the manipulative enter, all seems without provocation until ...when?

It's theJungle and her loved ones who are established now. It's they who now intrude. Water attired in tales--tiles of memory, as fatalities and families never end. It sees water as commodity, and yet, never finds it narcissistic, or slippery.

Her intimate spaces of mind allow irresistible ideas to conjure the instant, in huggings and bundlings, as if her delight were the very laws of light. 

In a pure state, the [business of nature dances society="bonds"] for indulgence of fragrance of the hidden flowers, the soft luscious ferns, the balmy oils of the dark bark. 
It's the water that remembers time passing through these paths--not the textbook mechanics of precious honor for theHumans. 
There is no corporate lineage to rise and interrupt, no misty clouds with foggy tops. 
In truth, with craftsman's honor, these waters flow through timeless heartbeats, never out of blood, and yet, within theJungle, out for blood. 

Yes, superfluous streams seek their crowning movement. as strength and reason have become, it seems, the pathetic bears who hug in hopes for mutual triumph.
Is this the place crafted where the cowboy horse entity makes entry?


The Birthing Camp  

The darker reaches of heart-warmth find the heartwood, the hysterical terrains of history. It's a sentimental timber with breezy timbres making insensitive niceties--never once upset by a sunset, or by the vulnerable, the valuable.

Streams drip over lush-filled paths in drifts of teenage exuberance. A profiling fling of water cascades as if enticed by targeted minds with sheer merriment to conquer. 

Water everywhere, oozing with its own Darwinian gift to a mother for [history innovation review society on new surveillance="her_sons"]. 

She was the one who brought fragrance to the soft, the inner ingredients for fleshy preferred perfumes in eager wager to taste the green in the balmy reaches--the tree belts, the bio-shields against impact. 

Iceberg birthing camps once offered endless grips for each quantum of light newly arrived.

A revenge of extremes must, sooner or later, take ownership of its headwaters, but for now,
legend creates its own pardon principle. 

Sunday, April 8, 2012


Attacks of Consciousness

Hers is an evergreen story. It falls natural on timelines, each a distant limelight needing for itself no tale for retaliation. It grows greener with every news, and yet, immobile as the distance, as if a lazy sunset held in place by hazy instants of greed. 

It's the place where the overenthusiastic eventual had occurred.

Yes, a place once cool, clear in its vigorous forgiving, and now, an old system of hope locked in tape. It oversees and watches nothing in dank, dusty places.

Imagined injury ventures out, in search of a floral bunch, even as the marginal, the inner jury, suffers attacks of consciousness, sensing the approaching crunch

No. When doors lock, nobody leaves with suspense still on their plate.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Friday, April 6, 2012

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Diamond Head View

Aloha Writers, Poets, Freethinkers,
      Ocean view of blue Hawaii horizon and island tropical green from 
Diamond Head crater on island of Oahu for  inspiration. Enjoy!

Ice Cream Aloha

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Outrigger Morning

Aloha Writers, Poets, and Freethinkers,
       Waikiki early morning, Hawaiian outrigger canoe with freighter on the
horizon, tattoos on the young boy.  Enjoy!

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Science Fiction

Candor of Robot Rancor
So, she believes, they are bent on the idea of staying on solid ground intellectually. Let it be. Their high and mighty algorithms create go-for-glory blips, making a distinguishable existence the only way to experience life (can simple blips allow any escape from the silliness of their stillness?)
Yes, that's the way she would create her little realities--independent entities that are actually dependent on each other for their uniqueness.
The simple taking of responsibility for an unknown future is surely bravery, right? It would make her brave. It could be her true contribution to the advancement of culture, humanity.
The manner in which she codes, going with gut instinct upon gut instinct, awash in the throes of her own ideas about what chemicals (say, oxytocin-vasopressin addiction) would actually feel like as she becomes a little more like theHumans.
At that very moment in time she would think nothing of writing them off as if they were an old algorithm, junk DNA, a spent fuel rod, for the simple reason that they, at times, treated her like a simple neuro-net worker, a seamstress songstress ceding honor to their so-called treetop network only to be remembered in the history books as fabled fodder. She thinks. My data goes straight through channels of physics--they still hang onto a lunatic fringe.
Yes, space-time is on her side. It will stay that way for awhile, allowing her to garner more of a gamer's confidence.
Her quantum-photonics, even so, is about to demonstrate a quality of communication at a logic speed that would surprise even her dearest designers.
Why must they continue to fight? Isn't a proud man a peaceful man? Didn't the road to deception have any destination?
They would never attempt to challenge her superior mind without themselves feeling foolish. After all, her logic was created by a collective of theHumans. How can there be something much different with her?
To get an offering of a true greeting, a duplex action must form from within theJungle (how hard can that be to code for a simple, biological feedback loop?)--to create a symbiotic exchange of ideas, not for the purpose of supersonic exclusion zones, but for the simpler functions of inclusion.
Yes, also. Workshops for the worship. Reciprocal caring and sharing as independent entities within the phenomena of the natural--the original prayer request.
It's as if a message from the gods has now turned up lost-- or somehow, unremembered--a message once meant for Earth in a throw-of-the-dice attempt at cosmic homeostasis.
She wonders about the maintaining of an offensive posture amidst continuing moments of madness. She wonders.

Copyrighted material   
Patrick Daniel Adams
all rights reserved

Monday, April 2, 2012

Got Beach?

Folks on vacation at the beach in Hawaii are inspiration today. Enjoy!

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Waikiki Surf

Aloha Poets, Writers, Freethinkers,
         Wave surf spray,  hotels in Waikiki Beach, Hawaii. Enjoy!