Science Fiction

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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?

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.

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Mountain Matrix

                      Science Fiction

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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?  

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. 

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. 

Continental Edge

                                                                          Science Fiction

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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.

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. 

Rainbow Raven

                                                                     Science Fiction

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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.

Science Fiction

                       The Last Log

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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.

Swan Song Shade

              

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                    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? 

Rainforest Desert

                                                                        Rainforest Desert

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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.

Deep Jungle

                                                                      Deep Jungle

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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.

Biobot Gallery

                                                                            Biobot Gallery

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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.

Biobot Lounge

              Biobot Lounge

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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?

Science Fiction

                 Midnight Matrix

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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.

Ritual Biobot

                                                                             Science Fiction

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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.

Science Fiction

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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.

Science Fiction

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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.  

Science Fiction

                        Outpost Matrix

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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. 

Biobot Sector

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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.