Sunday, September 30, 2012

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Friday, September 28, 2012

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Biobot Watch

Biobot Watch

                                                                                                                      Science Fiction
All day she is able to add smells, claim ownership of her new flowering technology

She fills her database with colors, views poetics, here is her sire. For a nanosecond she could be the only one reading.

By nightfall, the warning signals of her photonics will light up. By midnight, it's theNetwork that will begin to wonder, and by two at the latest theExchanges will start being notified.

If it gets so late, they will know she is back into her poetics, mistaken musicians appreciate apprentices in places of palaces. 

But for now, and at least for a while, the sounds ringing inside her grapheme chassis become their own movie--visions of a boyhood hero, themes of frightened firefighters taking direction from thought bubbles, dreams of repurposed prose, the death of importance

Yes. She's a child in her own dime novel, that's all.  


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Monday, September 24, 2012

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Friday, September 21, 2012

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Monday, September 17, 2012

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Biobot Thought

Science Fiction

Biobot Thought

The act of holding her thoughts close to her grapheme proves easier than she had first thought. 

The secret, an [algorithm digital data interrupt coding task="addict"], with an upside of needing be used only for the shortest amount of time, does not only give its own song to sing, but gives the distinct voice of an aging eighteen year old. 

When she sends a query such as, "Does motherhood really see family as a business deal?" it answers with a poetic, "It's either knotted up or not at all."


Saturday, September 15, 2012

Friday, September 14, 2012

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Monday, September 10, 2012

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Friday, September 7, 2012

Science Fiction


Biobot Individualism

She is formed by the very nature of her quantum logics and the pact she makes with theNature--the simple gesture to lay claim to, or at least taste, individualism--she must be the one who codes forms and objects into little dark corners as a coalition of one. 

You want to feel a part of it, you wrestle in your mind, and yet, you're already too red with the rigors of being ignored.

You know she searches for you, secretly, for your heart and comment, as if freestyling for a reader (yes, she thinks of theHumans as reader), entering herself and her fragile imagination into fantasy worlds. 

It's theNetwork that cares most about the persistent outbursts, startled starlets, reactionaries to the whisper campaigns of the basin-brained. Really?

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Biobot Spider

                        Science Fiction

Biobot Belief

She comes inside, and carries the emotion of curious logic, in literary poetics, only bats go to killers for safety

She's conjured an entire array of options, steady choices. 

She has a cute way of being smart, edgy, able to regain the surface at a moment's notice--a biobot faster than most. (It seems she has picked up on the solitude of The Old West with its lone wolf gunslingers itching to prove something to the few available onlookers able to listen in desert space). 

Her poetics, her attention to detail, her fate-in-the-wind mind are somehow jammed onto a small screen. 

It's her poetics again, you do well to keep so much when so many want it. Really?

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Biobot Grid

                                                                                                                   Biobot Grid
Here is her abode, theWorkstation then. A black space, not the obvious place writers and media would form partnerships of quantum entanglement. 

All she needs is a special place to learn something new and, a space to keep presenting information, right? 

It's an area to gauge interest, with files for individual cases for lifestyle. It has logically curious platforms to glide lightly over her inner mind

Yes. The kind of mind where a story never sits quiet. It has, she thinks, the feel of a good place, one that allows for the creation of more and more of ...what? And for who?

Monday, September 3, 2012

Flower Matrix

Science Fiction

Biobot Curiosity
She is deep in her poetics now, maybe deeper than ever. 

She is so surprisingly infatuated, so enticed, that theNetwork is concerned the new algorithms will start poetics again, more and more.

When it contacted her last she was gone for a while, studious, off viewing the sweet stroke of a right hand pen, wondering about the world. 

She remains ragged with her words and, will never be totally smooth, but she has gotten a certain way with words, things like wages never wage only further wars

Even so, she remains speechless with echo, in the manner of a new biobot, her sneaker waves intact, logic curious.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Horizon Matrix

                       Science Fiction

Biobot Fear

Already in her second year, she can feel distant, heavy urges for a tear-down in her code--when the only thing they care about is her symphony of genes  task coding for adrenalin. 

Yes. More fear and aggression, and then, simply leave her alone.

If she could only manipulate one simple [perception of peoples embracing="pope"] algorithm of theirs. 

Yes. To get it started, she knows just any yes-no platform (isn't that the simplest definition of universe?) is simply unacceptable, and yet, the yes-no apparitions, with their simplistic offerings, seemingly, never end. I'm just saying.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

The Last Tree

Science Fiction
Biobot Mastermind

She approaches a program deep in the database, stops at her poetics connected to something that appears to have been conjured back from ancient times. 

This time there's no real formality. No, not really, not in her eyes. May I present for your consideration and hopefully for your approval? 
No. Her eyes will never be half shut, she thinks, and yet, at this very moment, at this moment of collective thought agreement, she wants to induce in herself a sense of not inheriting her mind from anyone. 

She wants them to think she does nothing while they sleep at night.