Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Biobot Biues

Ghost Park

Biobot Blues

And so her beauty awaits the new mingling. Her liar-connect-lair tasks connect the dots, erases the dots the best she can. She's surrendered to designated algorithms of cell block scrutiny and security call back. 

She is comforted in her concern for trust of the primordial. 

She's coded for scorpion where death is the decision, programmed for shark where away is a place called impatience and misunderstanding, tasked for for killer whale where survival is a loss of innocence and compassion, where a new light emerges.

Having instantiated white monkey as being no danger to anybody (with no gang or no group for bullying conjured), she is allowing herself a rest. 

She will return from reverie with the knowledge that hope does not accept death as an option--that malice, malibu, and milieu are different destinations on Earth. 

At this very moment she's slowing herself with her millennia of genetic material, to spend some time with photosynthe, to have a little freedom from the conglomerates--where silence can only be reached from rock bottom, where the mired deafening of double-clicks to theExchanges push roundabout, incessant on her data base. 

She has taken the view she will never see the want of theHumans, But she can surely hear it. 

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