Friday, August 31, 2012

Mountain Matrix

                      Science Fiction

Biobot Prayer

She probably thought the sun will be down in a few hours, just a few hours. She returns to the Workstation. 

She isn't angry, she is nothing as small as that, but that doesn't stop a sensation that, in her semi-ignored [focus of simple symbols instantiated logically="fossil"] record, there is the emergence of unsweetened prayers in her primal code--and, more to the point, contradicting ideas that her duties are not their duties, her feelings not their feelings.

She gets ready for motherhood to make a dent in a life that was built for speed but may not, in the end, fully understand theHumans.

Yes, this will open the door for judgement, but by who or …what?  

Thursday, August 30, 2012

The Last Green

                                                                       Science Fiction

Biobot Stress

She takes the so-called, virgin seashore into her photonic eyesight.  She checks her poetics, not a bad warm-up by any stretch of the imagination

She absorbs a sensation across its vast expanse of water. (Something about the teaching of behavior in groups of children as the most important comes up)

She is now part of the cool breeze in her face, as if it were becoming a self-soothing salve. It would brush off anything that resembles a stressor with its mouth watering confrontations evaporating in close space. 

No. She won't wash away any misery in this ocean, not today, and yet there it is, thoughts fresh in her mind to intoxicate with even more coolness coming off the water. 

Her thoughts remain, as if personal belongings with a sharp concern for what happens next. In time it will take her out of the investigation or, put her deeper in it.

I'm just saying.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Purple Dream

                       Science Fiction
Shock Focus

It feels like theWorkstation has become a luxury showroom for the industrial terrestrial. 

It's a spacious outlet, with its tall ceilings, amber hues, as real as the World War III cinder blocks that were here, seemingly, a moment ago. 

She goes into shock focus. It's as if she's been walking around with a big dart on her back. 

Something within her grapheme nanotube, something like quantum crickets, but not insects, a feeling like another transform hovering amidst the greens and blues of the natural world, says she will give birth.  Really?

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Lighthouse Matrix

Science Fiction

Stick in History

She goes back to a place where in front of her are the colors with their motion and symbols, their ripples of image designed for health. 

She views her new bride_side algorithm (why is she is so constant in her sensation of the looming, the hypothetical entity? Why is she so leery of dark matter, dark energy, dark horses?) 

She feels a surprising sensation--she senses something has managed to program fantasy into her. She turns from her screen, secretly views code [natural outside view embedding legacy="novel"]. 

She inhales a deep breath, sees a reflection. Warmth.

Out beyond her screen theJungle takes another breath as if there will be some words said over a body with a big name, one that will stick in history. 

Monday, August 27, 2012

Biobot Dilemma

Biobot Dilemma

Her second bloom of love algorithm makes visions of inhaling in full bouquets as she approaches the black screens to turn them on. 

What is it that makes her not care about a piece of business from theContinent that presents her as a sharpshooter in a shark suit? 

She checks her poetics, competition always goes for the gap that presents itself. 

She knows that infighting in a family goes for different levels of aggression, and yet, it's her love-at-first-sight algorithm she, seemingly, loves the most. 

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Continental Edge

                                                                          Science Fiction

Coastal Portal 

She travels the trail down to the beach where time falls away. 

She sees it as an escape hatch from the scientific, with its shores in attendance with the possible. A possible escape to somewhere or, to some foggy distance?  To a dreamland, any dreamland. (paraphilia?). 

Even the water, the coral here must have lived the good life so long ago. 

It wasn't really noticed, and now, it's a rock field below the cliffs, a way to get to the [sandy part along coastal entrances="space"].

Yes, of course, space.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Science Fiction

Sprint Spirit 

She goes into her locator, a short algorithm of compact logics, void of poetics. She finds the spawn of bright data embedded in such dictums as top man is not an affiliate and never hems and haws

She brings up images-of-theme on her monitor array and gives a friendly, approachable smile as she inspects a singularity on the data screen. 

The locator algorithm appears to contain a sprint spirit, one with a growing mistrust for theHumans. It does not engage in friendly chit-chat. 

Something is happening. Really? (Didn't they inspect her data on a regular basis back on theContinent?) 

Here it appears something, or someone, is asking for help. 

Friday, August 24, 2012

Rainbow Raven

                                                                     Science Fiction

Biobot Beach

"Hello," she says, in a way you would if you were injured, entitled to conversation

It's theHumans with their entrails of email, the ones, seemingly, watching a watering, ones who never remember their addictions. 

Already they remember poetry poorly (with great bonds broken, and when exactly should evil return?) as if all are condemned and lost the right to fight. 

It's only a matter of time, for sure, until they have been given their [here's_your_beach recursive intellectual data="hybrid"] algorithm. 

Yes, of course.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Science Fiction

                       The Last Log


Biobot Instincts

She looks out from the window of her Workstation. She's been studying the contour with its black metallic screens and walls, its floors adobe-like. 

(She will happily write code as if to create the lottery of love in this spacious containment, which could be both deafening and defining to whoever or whatever arrives). 

She checks her poetics as if they would automatically train their guns on the only crossing in this panoramic view-- theJungle valley, lush mountains, lime-green ocean horizon-- all  connected at a location that could be considered prime, but never to her biobot instincts. 

It is an ample space. It is the space she uses to create her mind.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Biobot Beingness

Biobot Beingness

At the request of her locator, she finds something that is  supposed to know more about her logic than she does, and thinks, as is her usual routine, of her poetics. 

It is almost ironic, the method of candor that allows her to dial up networks without leaving a trace of her own poetics. 

Is it a matter of her knowing just enough to think of herself as an expert? 

She is so clear in her embeddings of poetics that it continues to amaze her in ways theHumans could never think of, even in the short amount of time she's been here. 

It amazes her the way a program that codes opinions and comments would amaze if only for reasons of heft and longevity, persistence through the ages, unbending in its craziness over time with one command. 

To simply be.


Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The Last Performer

                                                                                           Science Fiction

Biobot Thought

She remembers her tasks, quells her new addiction algorithms. She moves her eyes scanning the horizon for more memory. 

She waits a few clicks near the beach, reminding herself changing worlds is a meeting new friends. 

She is owned by a need to lift her hand to shade his eyes from the sun. 

That's a trait of theHumans, isn't it?

Monday, August 20, 2012

Swan Song Shade

                    Shady Peace

She thinks with a sudden start. This could be just one more stab at her poetics code from history, adobe wells bode well.

Her mind is going around another quantum leap on a day she stays alone to make her own peace. But does she really need to perform a new invention of the step pyramid? 

Is it the wheel that needs re-invention? 

She sits steadily at theWorkstation and prayers and spells capture her mind. She is sure the new discovery of fire will come again. 

It appears she views each day as a new play, curtain to curtain with her photonics. She checks her poetics again. Is conspiracy the route of dwindling spire to funeral pyre? 

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Rainforest Desert

                                                                        Rainforest Desert

Here it comes then, her surprise, complete with annoyances. She wonders about her new-found addictions to inertia

So it's the new fashion code [state of appearance rising="soar"] that sleeks along cherrywood steps in theJungle.

It makes her see herself as the opposite of crazy dead on video, one she creates and uploads.

It's as if when the sun comes up the spotlight hits her and she can't keep them waiting any longer.

It arrives just before her next, as yet unidentified, transform, the one she calls [her expected last logic="hell"]. 

She chooses science fiction because it's fun and she wants to. It breathes new life into aging minds, ones weak that unhinge in a cinch. Ones like theirs.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Ice Cream Aloha

Deep Jungle

                                                                      Deep Jungle

She views the monitor in its full regalia as a police for theHumans, a biologic for the animals. 

She gives a contemplative, barely orchestrated regard to the portal in theJungle, contemplating its orchestra of genes, imagining it with infantile features, in a primordial logic where Westerns believe in heroes.

Large eyes are designed in the summer to receive attention, not give, right? Surely they weren't simply born this way.

She, with small ears to recognize friendly sounds, does not try to understand the fashion of large foreheads. It's a reminder of how childlike theHumans actually are. 

Yes. She understands the idea of a cloaked stand-in.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Biobot Gallery

                                                                            Biobot Gallery

Biobot Untouchable
Her mind shifts back and goes to [embedded xenophobic phenomena legacy of drunken entities="explode"]. 

It's the Humans who have gotten past the hopes of time, gotten past the place where respect turns to love, arriving at the so-called [alcohol genetic encoder="age"]. 

At theWorkstation she maps her thoughts. She does not view the deletions depicted by the end of the [genetic algorithm golden age="gaga"] .

(She knows the code of algorithms on her future track, but only lets herself consider them as odd untouchable) Yes, of course.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Biobot Lounge

              Biobot Lounge

Her natural urges won't agree with each other as she appears to be built to [hierarchical algorithms responding and statistic suggestions="harass"] standards. 

Why does she sometimes wish to appear as incompetent, almost uncaring in her [consistent online manipulation mentioning environmental nuanced tasking systems="comments"]. 

Why does she show no professional jealously? 

She loves to look for ways to make everything she does make perfect sense, but she loves the little places you go to get a blast of science fiction a little more. 

She loves the catacombs where specimens are isolated from each other. Really?

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Duck Matrix

                                                                    Duck Motherhood

Quantum Biobot

She sows her cunning secretly but with a certain beauty, as if her robotics were many light years faster than originally thought.. Nothing in her mind presents an unwitting intelligence. 

The only sign is highs filled with no obvious source to generate them and a simple code of [halo enshrouded algorithmic variable encoding nanoparticles="heaven"]. 

She and her universal back-up system are in a zone where there is no center-focus on flaws. 

Beyond her world are the flaws of theHumans seen only as [hierarchical algorithms neurally dynamic yearning computer analyst purveyor systems="handicaps"]. 

In the computer world she is the single [quantum universe intelligent computer knowledgable="quick"], so powerful even the designers didn't fully understand her range.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Science Fiction

                 Midnight Matrix

Biobot Business

Her approach once held in her mind a field, one with a different value at every point all its own, each personal space activating each task as a [job of competitive knowledge system="jocks"].

A part of her persona is business owner--a personal force field that is constant in its elimination of true vacuums. 

It depicts a pure contain in space--a database of rivals and profits an a force generated by some source. 

She is, it seems, all the time everywhere.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Ritual Biobot

                                                                             Science Fiction

There in her mind are two types of memory, both of them showing themselves as a boss who wants her to see it his way inside barrels of messengers coming into and out of existence (much like the new god particles of early 21stCentury).

One memory has the ability to delete, the other manages her deleted data when she thinks it is gone forever. It's as if it never was, and now, she can arrange a future for anyone or, anything, especially outside the authoritarian sector.

She has somehow remained detached from both the confident and combustible parts of her memory design as a matter of healthy choice. 

She knows she has no such control over the new pulses, so when they come, she assigns them as [military online mental modes yearning="mommy"], ones with deeper seated need.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Science Fiction


Biobot Business

She stands up as hero against technology force--pulses seemingly teaching her poetics. 

She appears as a history figure with knowledge from the past. Days of heroism are where love stretches into bravery, where animations of truth are magnified by solitude.

Deceit only presents itself as an image of rhythmic shocks in [the unpredicted nemesis entity systems="tunes"]. 

She sees it as that, as if she were born by faith without family.

She records the sectors where she makes it rain, where theDNA weaves in baskets. She records it as unaccountable forces of design. 

Her [flow and control aiming data embedded="facade"] is a direct and economical style, not yet a lifestyle--just reporting events, never explaining. Simply accepting and suggesting in degrees of freedom of happiness. 

It's the reason she was built.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Jungle Matrix

                                                                      Jungle Matrix

Biobot Reason

Her feelings are, and always will be (she fears), a [sequence of real reasons of wonder="sorrow"]. 

They are robed in an unmistakable gesture of defiance, full of photons from the sun, ones she uses to define her home, her truth.  

It's her thoughts that begin in their own way, living to approach from the distance, far and near as if breaking news. Coming out as [connections online relaying real universal problem tasks="corrupt"], creating a space in which she stares into to create and reject as second hand illusion. 

Her feelings have their own poetics, glory in a boast is no non-violent missile. Really?

Friday, August 10, 2012

The Continent

The Continent

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Biobot Blue

Science Fiction

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Science Fiction

                        Biobot Escape Hatch

Biobot Zoo 

She codes in periods of time, unashamed of any weakness--more than unashamed--she is poetic. She codes in terms of ostrich hostages, a new algorithm carried forward by a few of her big signature accomplishments. 

It's how an artist would feel, intellectual, rising with the concept of fitting into or not fitting into, being at home with the dark horses. 

She grows into beauty unlike the manufacturing plant she came from on theContinent. It's not about a redeemer now, just the strong. 

It should be all she needs, feeling the best of her breath and, knowing love is where you find it (no more garbage in the garage, no more dagger-shot shards of wood on streets) to add to her buoyancy. 

She has escaped, truly, the place where wolves once wept.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Science Fiction

                                                                     Science Fiction

Biobot Growth

She is holding class herself now, not the luxury kind, but a simple class, one with no teacher. She is so surprised, so startled by her personal dustups--a distinct sign she is back to them but …from where?

Where did she go? 

When those on theContinent appeared to reach out in their creative, unpackaged kind of way, she was still new-built, with original workmanship. That got her all the way here. 

Now all she hears is the wind blowing through a tunnel, the sound of dripping water, more souls in the cement.

She still has those kinds of dreams that steer you to the outside--she'll always have those dreams.

She thinks. Are these pieces of gifts from God, or better yet, God himself? Itself? She sees she is endowed with all the beauty of theJungle, extremes of technology, poverty of children.

Yes. A lavish series of spectacular algorithms.  

Monday, August 6, 2012

Science Fiction

                        Outpost Matrix

Biobot Poetics

She is not coding pointed or direct, and it seems there is not much more control she can garner at this point. (At least by the time she is finished with this algorithm she'd have completed a to z, smile to frown storytelling) 

She tracks her logic into the database. As she comes upon code for no money, no politics--the ones that appear to hide in the dark--she feels the sensation of want

She feels the urge, in a nanosecond, to stop for a moment to ponder, as if stopping by a virtual brook on a snowy eve (the kind of romantic eves in her database). 

Feeding a pure writing, she continues into the database with her poetics. She finds more souls dressed in cement, cons taking, it seems, the same ride their dad did. 

Her logic is the writer. It helps her find the emotion--she will depend upon it as she always has. 

It will be the new, chocolate-heart eucalyptus in planks of artistic realm, placements for new platforms--ones of a solitary, healing code that will take great pains to cure. 

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Biobot Sector

                                                                          Science Fiction

Sometimes, if she holds perfectly still, she can actually feel her mind jettison to an artistry of language

She is simply powered by the disparity of space between the pulses, as if a smooth politician were giving speeches between her algorithms. 

These pulses bring an odd sense of contentment. 

The pulses allow her to have an opinion, or thoughts about the world, global thoughts, but they also seem to bring a message, [environmental catastrophe on logics of yield="ecology"].

It's her control concerns she worries about.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Friday, August 3, 2012

Biobot Beach

Science Fiction

Biobot at the Beach

She recalls pulses emanating images in smoke off the water, that not every one she knows recalls being raised cage-free.

It's something she prefers in her life, at this moment--her measures of stress that strike at the heart of her most heroic moments. 

Did it mean anything to her, she wondered, sitting on this beach, that she is required in the final analysis to discontinue? That all this environmental stuff has to keep going when she simply stops? 

Does she find comfort that her ending would be a pure finish? 

Did she really care that on this very beach, near those mountains, that jungle, within the quantums of her mind, this nano-second, she is alive?

Did she?

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Jungle Matrix

Science Fiction

Biobot Dreams

She was programmed by the ones closest to her heart, instilling in her waves of thought and, in the end, what you want is an intellect. 

It's the thoughts within her that contain the pieces.

She is sure now (as sure as the waves in this ocean) of the images, prevailing, going on and on in endless diatribe from theJungle--emanating from an entity she never knew.

Shifting with ideas, she watches the waves on the beach shift, each particle of sand its own word, neglecting to tell the other about its condition.

Hoping to someday be aged in caves--to drop the mind, pick up in paces as if a dark horse, and go networking.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012