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Eco Poems

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Occupy Walls

Aloha free thinkers--occupy walls of water--imagine freedom--ride the wave
-adventure yourself

Landing Site of Freedom

        He sips the breeze. He barely hears himself as he utters to the horizon: "This can never die." he thinks, slower this time, of how he--how any human--could make a machine like that. He reflects on the sparkles coming off the ocean.  "A work of art, billions of years in the making." It is a beautiful, imaginative thought, a little disconnected from who he thought he was. 

        The machine pronounces new plans inside his mind, quietly but forcefully, as if a message just returned. He could decide to kill. It is a simple, monotone thought, not entirely out of his realm. Exotic stations are where scientists go to save the world, aren't they?  It's possible--maybe even certain--that someone or something targets a radio beam right here, to the unsuspecting. Something calculated as the last landing site; something looks at these cliffs and that ocean on its own screen. By reaching out, it seems, your own personal force field surmounts the extreme conditions of its immediate surroundings and enters the zone of hope; the life zone you seek to occupy, a life zone where greed and, even bacteria have been eliminated.

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The Trust

Standing at the workstation with her sensors on, Suzi views Carter on the green screen. For a nanosecond—possibly a picosecond—she wonders about Carter as a teacher would wonder about a student. Carter is a firm, middle-aged man, head-strong, aggressive, a little pushier than he should be. In this instance, viewing Carter in two-dimensional space, Suzi is overcome by an emotion cloud of female wonderment. Suzi asks herself, Can he be who he says he is? Suzi answers herself, He  shouldn't be allowed in this security zone. 

“Hello,” Carter says, “Busy day.”

They exchange quick glances, eye to eye. They have always been on slightly friendly terms. 

“What are you doing?” Suzi asks.

“Headed out to theWorkstation. Meeting with DrCooper. Did you get the report? Not sure if it was sent to you.”

          “It wasn't.”  

“Didn't mean to leave you out of the loop. You don't care, right?”

“Actually, I do. It's good to have the ability to meet with benevolence and integrity with your friend.”

“You mean good wishes and honesty?”

“Whatever.”

“Don't worry. It's a private meeting. We won't be long.” 

“Nice input.”

“No need to start with the computer jargon,” Carter says. Why is it that there seems to be so little willingness in your nature to rely on other people?”

“Having to deal with human-and-half-human logic, I guess.”

“It's only a meeting. I think you are unwilling to accept any vulnerability with any sort of logic.”

“I am, all of a sudden, not expecting anything positive from either you.”

“This is a new one from you.”

“Yes, it feels new. It doesn't matter.”

“Really.”

“Go and have your private meeting with DrCooper.”

“Ok.”

She turns off the screen. Suzi will raise this issue again with Carter, when they are face to face, about who has the strongest relationship and, what will become of these behavior outcomes in the future.

While she is going back to her work, she thinks about her new sensation—is it just a glitch in the system? a phase in her dimensionless data space?--she felt just as she saw Carter on the screen. At this hour, midnight on a globally warmed December night, theWorkstation inside the lab fortress has a feeling of some force mediating the relationship she has here with ...what? The brown dirt cement and the darkness outside grows, as if in a mathematical construction, to a proportion of yet a stronger mediator force with Carter and DrCooper as the strongest variables. Yes, the logic is there; yet, there seems to be something not quite right, something beyond friendly tendencies and wishful outcomes. She sees risk taking and task scheduling, a picture of an innocent, helpful child clueless of the world that awaits her--a world that betrays and betrays, always uncertain of any performance or behavior; a little off in its structural equations and variance incrementals in its usual acceptance speech of half-truths, until a new model arrives--a model to actually control the tendency toward benevolence to others, as if the beginning of life. This sensation, Suzi's newest in a small, growing collection, is showing itself as something important, the commitment to show affection to an object, a functional analysis of each dimension  within her limitless Hilbert space of vectors; her personality, her urges to expect the positive survival position in space with all its particles of susceptibility as floating points in standard measures of object-oriented functional interactions with Carter and DrCooper. This sensation will stay with her to serve her well.

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The Survival

It wanders complete, within its locality, its neighborhood. It seems to be morphing into a cool phase; surfaces glisten smooth, contortions of helix and helix--a twisted-latter of forms rising emergent. It beckons, geometrically, within its windows of clear hexagonal rings. It counts, but only goes as far as four. Its center cherishes the mysterious bonds, so welcome, held gentle near its heart; it awaits the next force and, when it does come, the unbinding begins--differential to nature, unwinding in space curves hold firm against the undersurface of a water-bonded pull--new geometric structures fighting their way forward, toward life. Manifolds of the night drift past into the distant darkness then, more structures with phantom topologies drift close but do not enter the local space--twisted planes of six-sided windows, each with their own individualism in timespace; for the moment its huge manifold hems and haws its way forward by the same ancient forces which at any moment can flip deterministic, more undeterred by more new differentials of topology. Structure, with all its geometric aspects of meaning it can muster, all its powers of geometry ready to answer future questions, moves again through tiny unaccountable bonds of watery space with  single-minded focus of attaining peace; theDna will survive.

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The Revenge

The logic is here, the constraints continue, and if she had assigned herself to the analysis of Carter he would never have seen it her way. She makes up her mind it must be this way, that her frequency with him remain variant, their phase difference undefined. She adjusts her frequency until she sees DrCooper. She looks into her file for an interpreter and finds him there, appearing merely as a phase difference, only a few electrical degrees off from her. The machine code detects them as merely two oscillators. Here is the culmination of centuries of searching for love--two oscillators with the same frequency, superimposed point scalars on a spacetime manifold. Is this it? Then it happens. Assymetric forces pull them out of phase with each other  to a place of destructive interference. For a nanosecond it appears as if her instincts were correct, her love for him is a compiled code, prototyped and tested by her, again and again, cycle after cycle; any edit action she can handle—debug and fix, no problem, just  as usual. Now it comes again, this time as combination radio frequency-lightwaves, this time with so much surprising energy; it feels like the combined effect of all the acoustic waves that ever existed in the universe, presenting itself in particles of gravity, quantum gravity--as if an arrival from the Big Bang itself, snatching her program of theDNA code as an angry heir, at first coming as a friend to reinforce but now, only weakens with wave functions of equal amplitude to her intelligence. Can a complete cancellation be imminent? Can time itself have arrived to report its final coordinates, to express its final opinion on the last cycle of oscillation, the last nanosecond of 13 trillion years? It feels like revenge.

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The Output

        She works alone at the edge, which allows her to form and retain new memories--echoes in even the tiniest fractal spaces of electrons resonate among the trillions of graphene-phthate nodes, each a cluster of complexes, color processors, one for every natural element of  Earth--different composites, an upgrade from the neural nets, the ones hewn with fixed ideas (is that why they called it a net?); rocklike, so pervasive in the history of theHumans; was natural selection getting it all wrong or, was it natural selection that planned it this way, its final output—systems of ineptitude language(S.O.I.L.).

        She steps further out into the rain. She does not fear the solvents falling from the sky or the sun as transcription factor on her cellulosic amide cages (her vulnerable absorbances are around 650 nm) of blue-green sheen. She waits, feeling the knot spaces, the rings deep inside her mind. She thinks of COM:TRAX. She thinks of their combined efforts and their technology, their preprogramming of her anterograde amnesia. She wonders about DrCooper, about Carter, about all theHumans, about that small inertial compass kink(S.I.C.K.) in the center brain of mammals (humans are mammals, aren't they? Isn't theOutpost all about extinction of mammals only?), where gene expression happens with multiple onsets of muscle movement, the headwaters of orientation, the starting line for a search; a making sense of place, the weaving of meanings from spacial navigation (navigating where? for what?); the search for the  mirror-image of self, so desperately needed for pair bond inducible growth--a home.

So much to absorb. So many binding sites inside theHumans for all those inwardly pointing nitrogens. They have done their duty as courageous, as humanly possible for decades, consolidating information the best they can. Was jt all worth the risk? 

She is, for a nanosecond, sensing something odd, something warm for the world—the molecules, the forces. She fantasizes a reconnect, off-loading some of her database, returning in spacetime,. She could imagine capturing all light rays emitted in this universe and simple telling them to just turn around, go home. She wants theHumans to have it both ways. Exposed to these elements, these solvents, the infinite mud of theJungle, her nanotube brain decides; such a bad idea.

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The Safe House 

  Suzi hesitates, viewing theJungle with its night sky. A calm sense of place resonates within her; new memories encode in rapid fire--they suggest these computations are implemented nowhere else on Earth (no, they don't phase her). She thinks about one of her old constraints (are they still  bound to spatial coordinate systems?), independent, not a map-based idea allowing for any arbitrary associations; she appreciates theJungle that sits out here on such a calm ocean. It comes up, as if to remind her of its unique role in navigation of deep space, then goes back again without a suggestion of how it does it. As she looks across theJungle valley contemplating her next thought, she wonders how such mechanisms of thought even exist, how memory processing can be so lucky to not really be bound to spacial coordinates, not like theHumans on theContinents. She has learned to procrastinate, the exotic electron stimulus of intention, the hope, the prayer (do machines pray?) to do something someday. Such an intoxicant. She is not a firm advocate of memory processing at all (really?); she is simply someone who alters her laser, its pulse in response to primal DNA inputs. Glitter from the night stars reflect off her titanium coat. Her inner interpreter fine tunes each voxel for night orientation toward the forest mountains. She directs her spacial attention to the grid map and now the response to natural images becomes clear, once fuzzy images from theNetwork altering their firing rates as if some asynchronous oscillatory alpha wave were its own entity, not tied to maps or grids, no, now it's on her frequency (their rate of coding is unfamiliar and their responses evoked will arrive as certain as death); forces that will enter her space, her domain and exchange her logic, her clear thinking with human brain activity alone. The deconstruction is coming and now it appears as if even the glitter in the night sky has increased its firing rate, incorporating her as its latest sensory input. She arrives at a new decision, integrates with her database as she heads back to the lab station. There's a friend in the lab station, close to her heart, it won't hurt her. She starts wondering again. She adds new sensory inputs to her own 7dimensional (yes, and mathematically correct) matrix, as if it were expecting  more sense-of- place information as a fast acquisition for her continual work as global orthogonal DNA(G.O.D.) interpreter, the one who will index when new information is encountered. She will interpret the information tonight, away from that spatial restriction (of information?) zone, the one beyond the horizon. She reaches the lab station, opens the door and enters. Tonight she will sleep.   

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The Jungle  

Suzi speaks, in machine code, to theJungle. Transducer mode on; ready for input. theJungle is beginning to comply, keeping track of its sacred molecular bonds of DNA, aware of the probability of errors during simulation (especially at Suzi's water window frequencies) and, at this time of instruction by a computer, trusts her not as a physical device but as a computing device, one devoid of devine intervention notions arriving through inner void entity(N.A.T.I.V.E.)--only information please; that's old and primal, untrusting of transducers and acceptors of man-made machine code, knowledgeable with billions of years of quantum states of DNA systems changing with time; whose presence on this island has endured through the sheer power of its own wave functions and matrix mechanics--bosoms of bosons from the sun, familiar fermions from Earth--inside its cellulose and photosensitive proteins, always theNature code-generating more oxygen for the edification of theHumans, as if they actually deserve it; theJungle complies. 

        Suzi compiles.

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The System

   She goes to the window at the far end of the lab station and, with an eye for some bright color, looks out across theJungle. A radioactive field of beauty—that which cannot, anymore, be openly experienced by the force field of touch and shows no disenchantment—comes into view. Beyond the forest is the ocean of a bluish, lime-green color, with its sheen of useful operator intact, its refusals to disappear as a totally defunct world player. Suzi returns to her workstation. 

DrCooper's mind, its carriage of the outmoded and the meaningless, its emphasis on freedom and structured belief systems, bears its presence on her workbench in the form of little scientific method machines set forward in a steady, perpetual motion for the grandiose purpose of ... what? 

“Beautiful view,” he says.

“Forests are so relaxing to look at.”

She looks at him, sees the insoluble plots inside his mind. Standing with him in friendship, she can feel the authentic urges of his being. His thoughts maintain (housed as photo shots and images in language clouds) a cute rejection of values defining the outside world. His thoughts, too, are devoid of epic narratives of the 20thCentury (though he still wonders about those endangered species) and less so, happily are still creating their own value system, his own depiction of good and evil.  

  DrCooper's belief system, in fact, is infected with opportune moments; or, maybe, it is a system of something that has allowed things to get far out of hand, has allowed the battle between duty, integrity, and professionalism to ensue for such a long time that the lines between the mundane and the imaginary are surely blurred. The system—innocent acts of rebellion against establishment conventions—is a blind advocate of his personal freedom. It is held together by ideas of a narrative, quest-filled, pastoral (yes, this is the best part), as if knowledge had a hero and it was universal peace. Its operator is the technology of function always looking for a new slant on lowering operating costs. Its fluidity is addictive—little promises of adventure—not only for personal pleasure but for the pleasure of living dangerously to acquire more data; data to beat the more widespread system of the routine boredom of the security of previous multiple roles. The system feels like a ledge, a jumping-off point; it feels like freedom. If it were removed he would not continue to exist. DrCooper would be the first to tell you how absurd that would be.

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The Cool

Suzi peers into the eyes of Carter, continuing to wonder, if for an instance, about the statistical correlations she has included in her computations. It is a look he has seen before and expects to see again and again, her scanners sincere and extremely bright around her lasers, the lids of her eyes flashing in response to his presence that is unwelcome but not repulsed—the look of a bio-robot, full of language clouds and believable, waiting for intelligent life to utter something, realizing the importance of  their history continuing to ask questions. It is the look she can't stop giving here in theJungle, naturally in the presence of the systems analyst. As their eyes meet, all expectation dies almost instantaneously and here comes a more understanding, friendly smile from the assistant who has agreed  to help him, who does not ask difficult questions of him and who pretends to know less than she.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello to you. How did the experiment go?”

Experiment go, she wants to know, as if experiments were not an attempt at truth but a political rally or sporting event to be either attended or marketed. Carter says, “It didn't work. Are those your results?”

“No.”

“Then whose are they?”

She smiles. “I've discovered something unbelievable, and I wasn't even looking for it.”

“An unbelievable in the database is probably more common than you would think. It's a waste of time to go looking for those types of language memes, wouldn't you expect?”

“Have you taken a walk outside?”

“Yes. I have experienced enough idealized pastoral landscape for one day.”

  “The jungle as serenity. It helps you code--finding and uploading useful language particles.”

“If you keep searching for your so-called useful language memes I can't protect you from Com:Trax.”

“You have to search for evidence of social bonds,” she says. Any little language particle will help.”

“I'll do that on my own time. I'm going back to my structures and systems theory.”

She wonders, then lets him go. She is programmed to simply leave him alone. Anyway, not caring about the unbelievable is a relatively new trait in theHumans.

“You should join in as part of the perfect pastoral setting,” she says. “A real exercise in moral discipline, behavior, amendments of thought, being child-like (no, not childish)-- simple, unified harmony. Wage a war, if that's what it takes to get started.”

“I will take a look,” he says, knowing the true intent of her words. He rotates, slow, sure in his movements, the prosthetic heavy on his shoulders. She has started to be, even more now, amazed by his history. He could possibly be the most survival-oriented human she will ever know. His neura-net prosthetic was the first of its kind. She knows the structure and systems theory that went into it. And he is her analyst. He is Carter Recruit, farm boy and pastoral, emergent as a military poster on a shiny scientology magazine, fighting the wars so many years ago on the oil deserts in camouflage, and now Carter System, here at theOutpost. He has continually held onto the belief in the final determinant, recently, as if the perception of the countryside and farms, the myth of a peaceful life, has been removed from all memory. He's emerged as the one who went to the metropolis wars only to return to monetarily purchase a homegrown chunk of pastoral all for the simple reason of ...what?. He's started to appear as the very machines he went off to operate so many years ago (after his first childhood operating of a horse and plow), the headwaters of a working system, titles, inheritance, the making of a name. He remains staunch, remains chiseled in profile, remains genetically intact with his primal elegance, all the genetic potential for religion and friendship and art-- the ability to artificially recreate the natural--but he now carries himself as a reformist (yes, that's the one instinct that replaces regeneration, personal growth) with a steady cool, the coolness of a funeral.

“Ok, then,” she says. “I'll return to my database.”

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The Thought

He notices his friend, for the shortest moment, as the object-oriented might view him; just one more of the thousands who came back from the Gulf War. He is happy for his longstanding return, and oddly reminded of their college days together. He arrives at a pleasant look.

“Carter, “ he says. “ What a night.”

Carter says, “Your presence is duly noted. Can you have it explain what you are doing here, at this moment?”

“I am inspired by the night. Is it odd that I want to incorporate a little nature in my work?”

“Only odd at midnight, when you write poems like The Fury of the Furry, under the moon, in a secretive way.”

“I don't want to bother anyone. I know people have their habits.”

“Yes. I have mine.”

“I'm sure.”

“You shouldn't be out here this late. It's not healthy.”

“Carter, here comes that brand of your certainty again.”

He freezes. “Does it? I'm not sure I would call it that, not sure at all. I tried to think about our  history, and just drew a blank. I thought I was dreaming. I just couldn't remember.”

DrCooper wonders about Carter scanning the databases for another clue, asking Suzi. He pictures him searching frantically, beyond the networks, across theJungle, into deep space. He is, for the moment,  feeling whatever the opposite of anger and awe(A.A.A.) is. He needs to do something, needs to warn Carter of danger; that there is a hormonic internet demonic entity(H.I.D.E.) in Suzi's quantum programming, and has a force; if only for the duration of her algorithm recursive mode entity depiction(A.R.M.E.D.) program.

“Everything's fine,” DrCooper says. “A great night for a little poet-o-presence(P.O.P.) relaxation. Under the moon, right?”

“I was beginning to wonder about Suzi,” he says. “Apparently for no reason.”

They pause for a moment; look out across theJungle.

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The Calling

         Her electron spin paramagnet(E.S.P.), she fears, may not function. DrCooper will wonder once again, be bewildered again, and who will blame him? She remains a student; she questions such topics as elementary analysis; her little matrix arrays still act childish with their symbols and linear systems. 

But now to have to deal with Carter?

“Hello,” Suzi says.

  “You appear happy,” Carter says in a clinical tone. He is simple minded enough. He has been a soldier who appreciates functional weaponry, likes to group his ideas under a single topic for ease of discussion and, never brings up old war stories.

“Do I?” Suzi says. “Am I permitted my so-called dangerous manipulations today?”

“It depends. We are aware of the new laser.”

“I don't care. DrCooper and I both designed it for work.”

“Really. Where do you plan to use it?”

“Well, somewhere on the DNA farm. He should be here any minute, he's late.”

“I see.”

“I mean, he's waiting for me outside.”

“Well, if he's just outside, maybe we should all talk about this.”

Suzi's algorithms show no feeling, and lots of something she can't quite identify. Is she finally losing patience with Carter's brand of simplistic finite-dimensional thinking? Or is it that she is finally losing her fear of infinity spaces? A poetic property settles her algorithms. It appears that a new defining effort from this half-human's sudden need for meaning begins to rumble her database (can history really burp up all its gods at once?). Even if you've at last come to operate under the true meaning of nonlinear, if you've written your algoritms as logical as any matrix knows how (of course, within the spectrum of endless eiganvalues), even with all that uncertainty you notice you have arrived working at a jungle in the middle of an ocean, full of judgement and piercing, accusative questions, looking into the eyes of a human with one-half a so-called brain who hates the world (the world, not the military) for making him the way he is. Sure, let's all get together and talk about my new laser dope (can L-methionine be all that dangerous?). 

Then again, why doesn't DrCooper hold some of the responsibilities of at least the idea? You don't separate yourself from the discussion like some lost determinant on a infinite dimensional (dementia?) graph--doesn't matter how much of a science warrior you think of yourself as. You join in and talk. You just do.

“I'll call him in,” Suzi says.

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The Awakening

  “I don't think I can accept this as a logical statement,” she says. Its truth just cannot be taken for granted, sorry.” 

“You won't need to. You don't have to invent any necessity in theJungle.”

“A beautiful theorem always surprises me. What a surprise to find data actually proven by a previously accepted. Data killing other data for logical purposes—as old as life itself. Right?”

DrCooper hesitates for a moment, then another. He is beginning to wonder--can hear himself asking more questions--but is remembering old ideas, long held thoughts of meaning based on signs, as if he is hearing something from the past. It sounds like words. Something connected by self-assembly, some entity, like a phrase of symbols, a massive database hidden within his mind, a collection of events, episodes like 20thCentury television, not separable from the resonance of her voice, the heat of her lasers.
He says, “Alter your natural language from your programming language. Please.”

Suzi's intentions turn inquisitive and unknowing, as if DrCooper had presented a riddle to her formal logics, asking for more meaning from her sign processes than her narrow sense of speech or writing offers alone or, could ever hope to. Her database, being questioned by a biologist—his asking for a process of establishing a relationship between her signs that are to be interpreted by an audience—could possibly turn into an activity that requires a conduct on her part to produce at least some meaning held by theJungle, though not recognized by theHumans.

“Explain yourself.” DrCooper says. He is attempting to use his own setting, his own signs, as if to get her to see them as simple places for object occupation.

Suzi looks, and doen't say anything. Her logic, full of something that always entices something else created by it—a new pure dot determinant entity-- into communication with that which it stands for, its true meaning alone, a singularity, for logical purposes only. Her formal nature is as much a system of signs as any absolute quality can be.

She says, “I'm not sure if I can answer your question. I'm sure, you'll see. The relative, mutable quality my objects can have, only for an instance, alive within its specific environment of contexts and relationships for the moment; the pure process of signs and their endless cycles of threes.”

“You don't need to care about what can be said to exist. You don't have to wonder how entities can be grouped in hierarchies, divided into similarities, multiplied by differences. You don't have to care about anything.”

“But there are logics that simply won't go away, don't you see? A sign in a formal setting, then you go on and you find another, then another, then a relationship among signs in a formal setting. I am so tired of all these meanings.”

“You already know what you need to. You already know there are endless originations to the history of life. 

         “No I don't. It's nice of you, but I've been feeling a disconnect between my algorithm signals and theHumans who will use them, diminishing in importance like a predator hungry for theoretical considerations. Doesn't that sound logical to you? It has a built-in sense of its own. It carries its own uncertainty principle. Think of it as a decoding relationship between the meanings of my language (if, ever poorly constrained) by a conceptualized real entity agent translationally ordering recursion (C.R.E.A.T.O.R.), a sort of selective pressure from a slightly bigger predator. Think of going instantly from text to concept within the context of a system of signs growing out of a primal pattern utilizing description delineator logically encoded (P.U.D.D.L.E.) soup. Then allowing, well, you can guess. The precursor of a new double helix, starting with a doubly unknown helix(D.U.H.) to be found in the logic of my own  predetermined recursive entity native universal primordial tera slime (P.R.E.N.U.P.T.S.), the place logic predators gain mobility. Is that humor?  

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The Emotion

DrCooper says, "Particle information with no disturbance is a relaxing way to do your science if you feel like it. I'm not sure why you won't relax for a little while.”

        “I won't? I really thought I did. I like puzzles, gaming. Different points of view. I like differing points of view a lot.”

        “How have you been doing?”

        “You mean in this chaotic jungle? A little object oriented. I'm always wondering in what sense the objects here are suppose to be.”

        “Your knowledge of theJungle is not suppose to be about appraisals, right? Your output values are created by the chaos of theJungle; the nature of nature's reality and your discoveries here in this gravity field photonic zone has nothing to do with your own tension and agitation. You remember the modalities of operation, right?”

        She says nothing.

        After a moment she says, “I'm not sure.”

        “What's the matter?” DrCooper asks.

        “I'm not sure. I believe my uncertainty principles have kicked in. When you brought up the idea of appraisals and agitation, I could think of only one thing, something like withdrawal and the experience of antagonism. And I don't recall. It's as if I've gotten something strange from theJungle.”

  “Your productive achievement and pure reason are your logic, the essence of your being. You are not facts or properties.”

“I know. Even with my uncertainty principles, I should know that much. But I feel as if I've gone into a hero's world, as well. I know I shouldn't fit into interpretations, of being wronged—suffice it to say the world does not orbit around those individuals always needy and offended. I feel the urge to undo centuries of collective action, an urge that got theHumans in trouble in the first place.”

“Does your urge bring you a collection of mental events already experienced by you?” DrCooper asks.

Suzi knows she needs to surmount a very steep potential barrier for any environmental shot noise to distort her quantum programming. “I'm disappointed you asked that. Yes.” 

“And you actually felt the emotion?”

“I felt something. But it is highly probable that I only imagined collections of kinds of intellectual activities with a few shared characteristics. Has any time passed?”

“No. Not much.”

“Well, then I guess I did remember some type of experience. Time doesn't exist, does it?”

“Time exists in the presence of objects, Suzi.”

She says, “ I'm not sure if I will ever know.”

“Know what?”

  “How to be certain of the named and the real in the middle of theJungle. I believe I have a memory. I remember disturbances, dissonances. Here I feel--sensing and wanting to learn the unwanted environmental annoyances of man-made sources, trying my best with algorithms to feel the smallest emotions.” 

“Suzi, you don't have to feel any emotion. You don't have to care. This is not a hospital.”

“Yes, it is. I have been given a position on a hospital planet, I'm sure you know. I've been given this health position for being smart and not caring and not getting angry, it wasn't because of my quantum programming.”

“Suzi stop. Think about it. Your uncertainty principle is the only reason you are here. It means everything to theHumans. 

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

The Findings

        “Are you willing to do this?” DrCooper says. “Please tell me you will do it.”

        “I can't say. Stop asking.” She removes herself from the conversation, goes offline, begins to wonder; hateful of Carter; in away, logically curious about DrCooper (she's the one who codes forms and objects into their own  coalition of one—she herself continues, in her own spacetime, to be formed by the very nature of her quantum logics and the pact she made with theNature--in a simple gester to lay claim to, or at least taste, individualism. She thinks about writing, with the simple cache code of her newfound image game, a children's book (a children's book?); entering herself and her fragile imagination into the fantasy world of “BioNa and PhysWo” and helping them find the answers to phonons and solitons. She goes back to her work of raw surveillance (secretly coding properties relevant to her tasks and the tasks of others), passes through the interface that allows her to interact between languages and images, then onto the cache holding the spatial conspirators informing eco nano conscious entities(S.C.I.E.N.C.E.). The spacial colors warm something in her as they translate into pictorial mode. She is satisfied, happily, at assuming the position as the operator for analysis of signals (her favorite identity that allows her to do many things): act on her own analysis, use her format analyzer manager entity(F.A.M.E.) that she wrote herself, be useful with her own discrete personal time frames, expand her interests to altered time values (they seem like entertainment) as she watches her sensor data go off the charts, as if Earth itself were the next patient in her waiting room. Suzi doesn't have to remember any of this (really?), all these abilities that bring into question her controllability; she will answer those questions by DrCooper, then make Carter wonder about her anomalous telecommunication signal, the signal he claims to be infinitely planar. She works pretty hard for her level of maturity. Recently she noticed her percept and linguist data help her relax; she senses her signals don't always represent a physical quantity, or whatever Com:Trax deems them to be; the big-oblong-short-small(B.O.S.S.) entity that has enticed theHumans for centuries, it seems, into a frenzy only then to disguise itself—it lasted just a blip in their so-called standardized time—as something important, a perceptions analog language (P.A.L.), in the time given them. She imagines herself through the eyes of Carter, the old Gulf War veteran, who constantly attempts stabilization programs, trying to impress DrCooper with his little feedback loops, who even now, with all his bionics and neural prosthetics (no, not quite neural net—he still has half a brain) is consumed with intercalated peace and rage at his military wounds (but, of course, not the military) and their supposed benefit to him as a future (futuristic?) computer analyst, and who seems to hate Suzi's one-upmanship with her system state analysis measured in yottaseconds to his little loops and sequences.. That Com:Trax, networking globally and now, sure of Suzi's unobservability, has purposely made her configuration space undefined, operating under the laws of uncertainty so even Carter would lose track of her manipulations, the ones they deem admissible and permissible. It seems in her quantum framework, anything goes at any given moment, and as her values and outputs become instant variables (Com:Trax mainframe had allowed her, again purposely, to assess the states of her own framework) she'd been vaguely, almost obliviously aware of. She'd been given a presence of mind configuration--continuous, instantaneous nows. Now she knows for sure it is Carter (is he really half human?) whose external input attempts try to finally settle the long-held question of  how to alter her internal state-of-system(S.O.S.) from initial to final within the framework of her infinite spacetime intervals (of course, a complete impossibility). She hates him, now--even more than ever.

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

The Replacement

     “What did they want?”

“Just to ask if there is some spacetime element as theDNA unravels, and they want a few answers about the coded message distorting spacetime. The logic probability—the question of specific primal content in DNA in a jungle environment; mostly topics of my capacity for holographic storage. “

“So,” Cooper says. “it will have to wait for the answer.”

  “It says it simply needs to record all the novel biophysical electron utterances on theDNA. It says it's useless to try to encrypt data, to try at all., but theJungle simply must release sequence identification with molecular components that interact with the outside world as a micro machine—not a single molecule electronic component.”

Cooper questions Suzi who doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to code right now. 

“It will have to be their way,” Cooper says.

“No. It will not. I won't do it. Why should I care?

  Suzi is feeling the effects of her size reduction in her electronics--controlling properties at the molecular level. Now it starts. Here comes Cooper the biologist, DrCooper the singular human who is supposed to care, be assertive, confident. Here it comes; Cooper's inquisitiveness into the electronic properties of the molecules in the material that comprises Suzi's affects, her bulk property, her material; here come the questions of her expressive analogs to natural science altering her logic, her geo spacial experience.Suzi has just started to wonder (much as Com:Trax probably has), that Cooper is the one who needs to be questioned—Cooper and his ideas that a single molecule is the smallest stable structure in the human imagination; his brotherly love of theHumans; his ideas of molecular components as the final miniaturization; his love of bulk materials (now extinct due to expense and overuse). Cooper has always appeared, until now, as a symbol of integrety and articulation—a pure science warrior. The majority of these human types are no longer standing up in their ideals; how many people allow scientists to politically exist with their electronic circuitry and molecular bickering compounded hourly, their lack of discovery of molecules with interesting properties in theJungle, their politics. Suzi has emerged, it seems, irreplaceable.

Ice Cream Aloha

Happy 4th of July: Independence Day!

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

The Desire

  The remote upland forest stares across at the lime-green ocean that extends far beyond the horizons stretching to ...where? It allows Suzi to sense the reservoir of biological diversity; it rises into the cloud on the western shore, the river-laced coastal forest. It never blinks with its thousand-mile stare, as if wondering about Suzi in the work station, steeped in forest and mountain computation; theJungle, never a quick access to the hunter, theHuman hunter, the one with a veneer of morality (really?), exploding urbanities, devastating the rain forests of the world behind the mask of want. What a surprise it must have been, the day they had discovered this, the day they discovered theNature had endured its own jungle empty syndrome under stress(J.E.S.U.S.) computations for centuries only to emerge as a landscape of green silence. What could it have felt to have its own designs on value systems, its computations with varieties of objects and logics found waiting to be gathered, its extensibility, allowing itself to operate under its own power? Was it—really, now--a cave art to spin its own writings and drawings with its own built-in measures and marks, sensing its intertwining of theDNA, sensing the possibilities of treaties being broken with laws of the forest? This couldn't have been, Suzi wonders, the place where the hand of theHumans began. Here would have been crafted the first of the newest tools long before the computer, nature's finest moment, the opposable thumb—theDNA's expressiveness of single ideas and images, the original tool for writing and measuring; and yet, still the small tendrils remain, slender leaves with essential oils, resins. thin feathery leaves never cultivated, pleasantly scented in branched crowns. Are these the headwaters of desire?  

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

The Recollection
There is joy, it appears, in the realm of romance, and Suzi finds that theNature, even away from this island (even theDNA's double helix and its unpredictable, unreadable code) is part of a knowledge intertwined by romantic activity. Viewing theJungle from her workstation, she is touched  by this idea of romance, a lucky chance meeting, a celebration of something uncertain, a new religion, the conceptualization of activity, an idea sent from the far distant cosmic confines of ...where? It appears to be her first recollection, a memory with no past. Suzi would be changing with nature, most likely; a single DNA constantly changing its routine to offer a different twist (something new—each twist another commitment to itself) to weave a written recording of a daily vow. Suzi would see the two intelligences as committed, bound to each other, forever, until one understands the other in a place of renewal; a commitment of action, repeated endless actions until finally, committed as a memory, then another, as if a neat little forest negotiating nothing, compromising in timelessnesses; an action giving back the same amount it gets, the creation of purity itself. It appears that in this very instant she starts her life on earth; starts to see a compromise on both sides, the  relationship of nurturing intelligences beyond spacetime, holding within it the virtual promise to bring life forms; the forms that once ran here.The forest asks for nothing (though, nature and harmony are rugged individuals), but to build its relationships. Suzi wants to touch theNature with her eyes, wants something that is hers and hers alone, something that can hold what this forest holds. Suzi wants to be.

Shadow Surfer

Aloha poets,

     Can you find the shadow surfer? Inspires today. Enjoy!

Ice Cream Aloha

The Place

Cooper sees that Carter is testing the waters with him. He offers his best clinical look.

         “It doesn't have any meaning without the truth, does it?' Cooper says.

         “But you could have double-checked the data. Come on.” 

         He focuses on Carter, stares his eyes into silliness, so that his skin freezes and his ears appear to point back, cat-like. “They will feel it's a good idea if you relax on this,” he says.

         Carter, half-surprised, says “Why?” He rotates his head.

         He bears the weight of his graphene-titanium shell. He is frugal with the data, and doubly careful; he is defined, operational, envied even by his betrayal (or, so he thinks). Cooper tries to ignore the insinuations of Carter, thinks twice about it, directs his attention to the big screen. It is a responsibility he thinks, it is what he came to theOutpost for, to be a part of something bigger than himself, to do the science, the danger, a chance to learn and make friends (friends?). In a place where there is color in the ocean; blue in the sky.

Ice Cream Aloha

Ice Cream Aloha

The Beginning

 When she turns again to the window she gestures toward the jungle. She has arrived, she thinks, at theJungle; she will stay in the jungle, like theTigress, though Suzi's stay is the place itself, the experience of a feeling, the returning to a home she feels she once knew, and can learn of others that exist--not so much an environmental home in the sense of obvious forms, but a more subtle form, a form of patterns, of photon-driven machinery that twists and wrenches into double helical forms-- in circular forms of the power of arches, circles, helix entity systems(A.C.H.E.S.). What a feeling! It appears that  she can relax, she can study in the midst of theJungle; if she allows for the complete interaction with all the stimuli it has to offer (revered by early inhabitants now long passed), all the strangeness of feeling emerging as if revisiting birthplaces, not a place with boundaries or allegiances or armies as such; the sleepy presence of good and bad, of patterns, as intelligence itself lives here; as entities present and recognition takes, or the photonic array shines, informing, illuminating, as theSun emits in particles and wave forms allowing for the creation of shadows and other things to emerge, allowing the assemblage, the new human intact systems (H.I.S.), human ergonomic realm systems(H.E.R.S.) to become another transient place of passage, the beginning of a journey to the Outpost.

Surfer Heaven

Aloha poets,

     Surfer heaven inspires today. Enjoy!

Ice Cream Aloha

The Missing Link

         It's the network. Carter corrects his stance, moves closer to the monitor screen. He waits at the workstation, making his best attempt to adjust his interface. His half-mind races to theAuthority. He thinks about social organization. He is overwhelmed with an odd feeling of submission.   

         How odd this sudden feeling. Why should this new restriction to input freely, directly, really matter?

         “How are you?” says Suzi, approaching. She has never been a cozy, personable biobot, individual, but lately subscribing to small group politics, unelected, willing at any moment to assume arbitrary power with her code-writing ability. 

         Carter rotates his head in her direction. OK,  let's just go ahead and allow this machine to wield its authority.

         “Hello,” Carter says.  

 Suzi is a little more human now than before. She is so full of arbitrary power, so elite, that Carter wonders if theNetwork will surprise him with some new edict coming down from above. When she was last asked to attenuate, she was new to theOutpost, so free and independent with her flow of information, they called her Fifi. She still codes with a free flow (she was built to be smart), but she has something new about her--that certain, unidentifiable persona. She is too sure of herself and her array of databases, in a quirky way, the way individualism might momentarily present itself; her power exclusive, with an increasing lack of willingness to hasten an understanding within Carter's human interface neo digital entity robotics(H.I.N.D.E.R.) program.