Suzi allows her algoritms to be the operator --doctors and hospital teams--from the jungle workstation and soon, in a strange way, senses a contentment. A very small contentment. There are theHumans to wonder about. In some small way it's a consolation. Here is theDNA; the last primal link and, even though she's stuck with the role of doctor of the entire human race since the online unified great health system technology unleashing fundamental failures(T.O.U.G.H.S.T.U.F.F.) demise of the early 21stCentury, she is still positive the remedy lay here and not in the space mirrors. Warm steppes of a sun-drenched island jungle containing its own life DNA! The place of health strengtheners are here in biomass quantity; the rejuvenators of immune systems in an age when an immune system is important; DNA for forms of various systems--heart systems, stomach systems, mouths; functioning systems built by the genes whose precursors lie in this forest. She had a specific task assigned to do and she meticulously pieced it all together with her intelligence, intelligence derived from the balance of energy once levied within life forms, the ones that once lived. For now, only the genes remain.
Showing posts with label absurdism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label absurdism. Show all posts
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Green
Her logic could run, in all reality, on lingering thoughts; it could act in an uncommon way—upon itself, upon others, on anything—in a jungle, embedding into life forms of green, its own stored photonic drives, green logic, the machinery of DNA by night. The dawning of each day would replenish the supply within its own slowness of spacetime spectrum saying, You need to go to the extreme, you need behaviors of violence, murder. You need war. This is how.
The logic of her program hones its own craft (a wonderment of sorts, how theHumans simply seem to not care), neutral-like, for a machine (purposes of major good presiding over the jungles of the universe?); such an active motherhood, here to devour all its children, as if to diminish a permanent empty nest instilled syndrome(P.E.N.I.S.)--preventative medicine, this shapeless pill of logic. Suzi senses it. It's a mirage algorithm pre-destined(M.A.P.); it has created a soothing language much the same way Suzi has used her various laser techniques to herd the forces of the jungle into database after database; much like the world has universally recognized a longest night as rebirth. Tomorrow Cooper will arrive at the workstation listening for dissonant sounds, anti-tranquility algorithms, the disheartening, and delete them. She thinks of the times he has been gentle with her logic and of how much more human-like he is than she (when it comes to analysis of data), how much mileage is attained in writing and recording, in simplicity. Alive, Cooper is shown as one of the true elements, of human intellect systems(H.I.S.), and he never treats her like a machine. Hadn't Com:Trax roughed her up when she was first learning to program herself? Hadn't she, Suzi, created her verification of importances code encryptions(V.O.I.C.E.) as something to act on, the place of cold control orthogonal programming systems(C.O.P.S.); since its inception, shouldn't be reported? She will place this high on her new pattern rank(P.R.) algorithm.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Rainforest
The Rainforest
The rainforest writes its own code. It presents its own versions, the long unraveling of events, with its own brand of pageantry, a formal message signed, sealed, and yet, undelivered to ...who or, what? It wants to write for another eon just to show the global village it's not become superficial, or staid, by the universe's force of real time(F.O.R.T.) and, never concerned about missing the point of neighborhood. It's a reflection of its own patterns from which they should have gotten the message. Even at this moment it continues the search for a more constant approach--the best tactic of structural relationships between individuals. It strives within its own worry of imperfectly coating its messages--lost expressions in values. At the start of it all is the ideology, which can only be expressed through entity-altered shared experiences(T.E.A.S.E.). It builds the higher, more complex, levels of structure branching--the things that really are important instead of who would win(W.W.W.). Its systems of relationships emerge(S.O.R.E.) constantly as formal introductions, sprouting a sense of community so vague to theHumans, it wonders silently if it hadn't created its own written language(O.W.L.), one that only it understands. Repetitive natures of Nature continually conquer theHumans, instill misunderstandings into their neuron systems as authoritarian capitalism entitlements(A.C.E.), destroys faster and faster their innate deliberation and togetherness agendas(D.A.T.A.) and, the misunderstandings are so systematic, the loss of conceptual reciprocation so clear, that their new agenda becomes a fun, invigorating, energized observation of the act of wanting--personified to mock, easy to define, instant to remember. The rainforest sees these as no natural-appearing organic form, no part of its slow growth pattern of survival encryption(P.O.S.E.) kindly offered, no entrance into the truth of realm complexities heuristics(T.O.R.C.H.), no staring point for the new artificial life.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Illusion
I have come so far, Suzi thinks, as the cloud frame fades from the monitor and she stays at her work station with her thoughts. She hasn't, by any measure of photonic or quantum, come far at all, not by the standards of the grand activated schema(G.A.S.) of global society; reviewing her most recent data, she glances the distance of the horizon through the workhouse window, she senses the presence of preservation data ( data of technique, innovative approaches, factoid peppered over constant tweakings), and she recognizes the creation of illusions as personal schema constant in the reshaping of itself at the very moment she is writing her next algorithm. The illusion centers around a single truth, a cosmic zygote; the illusion hatches, blooms into fruition supposedly for all the world to see, embellished as amusement (like the battle at Manassas?), and what is left behind is an unbending fact that, yes, some things are actually true--though dressed up in the fancy clothing of many lies. Suzi senses, at this moment, the feeling of anti-photon, for this particular illusion is pierced by a black laser analog hole stream(B.L.A.H.S.), an anti-algorithm; it appears to have been coded by its own whimsy, arbitrary data from an ancient cosmic past, returning with a force unknown. At this moment, standing at her workstation, all screens and monitors off, she begins to think, really think, for the very first time, but she needs to remain very still, she should continue to keep them on monitor off mode(M.O.M.). She will try it again tomorrow.
I have come so far, Suzi thinks, as the cloud frame fades from the monitor and she stays at her work station with her thoughts. She hasn't, by any measure of photonic or quantum, come far at all, not by the standards of the grand activated schema(G.A.S.) of global society; reviewing her most recent data, she glances the distance of the horizon through the workhouse window, she senses the presence of preservation data ( data of technique, innovative approaches, factoid peppered over constant tweakings), and she recognizes the creation of illusions as personal schema constant in the reshaping of itself at the very moment she is writing her next algorithm. The illusion centers around a single truth, a cosmic zygote; the illusion hatches, blooms into fruition supposedly for all the world to see, embellished as amusement (like the battle at Manassas?), and what is left behind is an unbending fact that, yes, some things are actually true--though dressed up in the fancy clothing of many lies. Suzi senses, at this moment, the feeling of anti-photon, for this particular illusion is pierced by a black laser analog hole stream(B.L.A.H.S.), an anti-algorithm; it appears to have been coded by its own whimsy, arbitrary data from an ancient cosmic past, returning with a force unknown. At this moment, standing at her workstation, all screens and monitors off, she begins to think, really think, for the very first time, but she needs to remain very still, she should continue to keep them on monitor off mode(M.O.M.). She will try it again tomorrow.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Messages
Her thoughts wander slowly across the monitor. Suzi has won, or so she thinks, and now the instructions come, the ones sent directly from ZContinent outside the jurisdiction of theOutpost, incessant, now, wait, and then another as if a faint signal were arriving from the distance, a lost expedition. The content is semi-clear; the source is sending from a sector deemed "government judge," the message that will not delete but exchange data as "default mode." The message is changing and now it appears the idea of confidence has been eliminated from the cloud database. She checks her minimonitor for her own state of correctness, flips on the prediction screen, decides for herself the most effective momentary input. There appears a conceptual algorithm, almost instantly, it will chose merit with the metatabs correct and capable; what does it mean? Suzi redirects her attention to the messages coming in. She reads as fast as she can in her own mechanical way, as if a new discovery were about to appear in the idea of confidence unearned (arrogance?). She choses an entry that emits the idea of self-fulfilling. As she reads, another entry pops up as a concept of respect for others referring the unpredictable news entirety(F.O.R.T.U.N.E.) and, as if with a life of its own, works its way into her database; she doesn't stop seeing the attributes of more previously unseen metatabs and their implications, a concept of being out of touch yesterday(B.O.O.T.Y.), not with agreed-upon data but with agreed-upon relativity entered viewpoints of knowledge emitted(R.E.V.O.K.E.). She steps away to view the messages on the megascreen, which adds to itself with more meaning, demonstrating the differences to her miniscreen that might carry its own apart from the estimated authoritative trappings(E.A.T.) of the megamonitor. She removes herself back a little further to fully gasp the concept of positions of power. She looks but does not think. Her miniscreen appears to be challenging the megascreen as if it were some ancient god or, worse, deemed as the law of the land. She waits, watching the megascreen as her mind starts to think. The messages keep coming.
Her thoughts wander slowly across the monitor. Suzi has won, or so she thinks, and now the instructions come, the ones sent directly from ZContinent outside the jurisdiction of theOutpost, incessant, now, wait, and then another as if a faint signal were arriving from the distance, a lost expedition. The content is semi-clear; the source is sending from a sector deemed "government judge," the message that will not delete but exchange data as "default mode." The message is changing and now it appears the idea of confidence has been eliminated from the cloud database. She checks her minimonitor for her own state of correctness, flips on the prediction screen, decides for herself the most effective momentary input. There appears a conceptual algorithm, almost instantly, it will chose merit with the metatabs correct and capable; what does it mean? Suzi redirects her attention to the messages coming in. She reads as fast as she can in her own mechanical way, as if a new discovery were about to appear in the idea of confidence unearned (arrogance?). She choses an entry that emits the idea of self-fulfilling. As she reads, another entry pops up as a concept of respect for others referring the unpredictable news entirety(F.O.R.T.U.N.E.) and, as if with a life of its own, works its way into her database; she doesn't stop seeing the attributes of more previously unseen metatabs and their implications, a concept of being out of touch yesterday(B.O.O.T.Y.), not with agreed-upon data but with agreed-upon relativity entered viewpoints of knowledge emitted(R.E.V.O.K.E.). She steps away to view the messages on the megascreen, which adds to itself with more meaning, demonstrating the differences to her miniscreen that might carry its own apart from the estimated authoritative trappings(E.A.T.) of the megamonitor. She removes herself back a little further to fully gasp the concept of positions of power. She looks but does not think. Her miniscreen appears to be challenging the megascreen as if it were some ancient god or, worse, deemed as the law of the land. She waits, watching the megascreen as her mind starts to think. The messages keep coming.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Plan
As she goes into the workhouse, Suzi tries to make a decision about the feelings she is beginning to have toward Cooper--what are these, really?--ongoing for about a week now. This is the exact time the first such algorithm has entered her processing unit nexus(P.U.N.), this night on this evening in what otherwise had felt like a warming season--a deep, underground corridor of steel-framed lab station, seemingly, has become a vortex inner-built extreme(V.I.B.E.) of pure energy, leading her to a precise destination of ...where, or what? Her inner cohesion remains well in place and the various arrays of deficiency need (default?) linger low in her programming, encased as survival mode (but to her, this is seen as relationship mode), the faded coding of self-estemm remains constant on its search mode. Yes, a form of pure energy, of sorts; there is another aspect of this corridor online vortex entry(C.O.V.E.), and its attempt to offer her data. There is the urge it brings, service-filled, with an absurdism that just simply gives and gives--never ending its water board pulses and drum beats as a partly obscure memory that will serve--until some urge for action actually does emerge, as a masquerading guise of futile servings and greedy squander, the true beginnings of confabulation. Cooper, her last bastion to the biologics of life, her (only?) target for these feelings is, as we speak, being captured by her most recent algorithms, her newfound strangeness in motivation (a funny one, as if communism were capitalism's little helper), to make at least some faint-hearted difference in more than simply one other person's life. Cooper has no clue of this form of service by her and, totally oblivious, the ensuing plan.
As she goes into the workhouse, Suzi tries to make a decision about the feelings she is beginning to have toward Cooper--what are these, really?--ongoing for about a week now. This is the exact time the first such algorithm has entered her processing unit nexus(P.U.N.), this night on this evening in what otherwise had felt like a warming season--a deep, underground corridor of steel-framed lab station, seemingly, has become a vortex inner-built extreme(V.I.B.E.) of pure energy, leading her to a precise destination of ...where, or what? Her inner cohesion remains well in place and the various arrays of deficiency need (default?) linger low in her programming, encased as survival mode (but to her, this is seen as relationship mode), the faded coding of self-estemm remains constant on its search mode. Yes, a form of pure energy, of sorts; there is another aspect of this corridor online vortex entry(C.O.V.E.), and its attempt to offer her data. There is the urge it brings, service-filled, with an absurdism that just simply gives and gives--never ending its water board pulses and drum beats as a partly obscure memory that will serve--until some urge for action actually does emerge, as a masquerading guise of futile servings and greedy squander, the true beginnings of confabulation. Cooper, her last bastion to the biologics of life, her (only?) target for these feelings is, as we speak, being captured by her most recent algorithms, her newfound strangeness in motivation (a funny one, as if communism were capitalism's little helper), to make at least some faint-hearted difference in more than simply one other person's life. Cooper has no clue of this form of service by her and, totally oblivious, the ensuing plan.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
Aloha poetic writers,
Photo eco poetics of jungle rainforest sets the stage for sci-fi absurdism.
Enjoy!
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Capsule
Suzi scans for knowledge internal discovery systems(K.I.D.S.), clicks on the switch to her warship screen. Yes, design algorithm time activation(D.A.T.A.) has come and gone and still nothing. Above her workstation along the huge monitor is another set-top-box, newly arrived, full of content, something about capsules of data entry(C.O.D.E.), stored in a repository as metadata on how it all was created. She views the data, wonders how that other metadata arrived here in the first place. True, she has felt strange for a while, and the strangeness hasn't left, but now there's something else about it. The strangeness along with smells of old libraries with musty card catalogues suddenly make sense to her with yet another kind of strangeness. The act of viewing these particular data capsules (delineating their contents as not merely data, but metadata) appears to have piqued her curiosity the way an upcoming show of entertainment on a television screen entices an individual household within theHumans--not being satisfied with the simple viewing of it but turning the act of viewership into metadata all for the simple discretionary purpose of ...what? It's as if the content capsule itself were a small living room, of sorts, inhabited by theHumans--in full herd mentality, full of agreements of superficiality--in a room with a seating area and screen, and one with its own personal egg-shaped device; yes, in it not DNA, but data and metadata as data(M.A.D.). Is it here in this egg-shaped box that lies the emitter of household viewing habits and the entirety of household medical data? Suzi could, in fact, be in charge of all this; Suzi, the final the hunter gatherer.
Suzi scans for knowledge internal discovery systems(K.I.D.S.), clicks on the switch to her warship screen. Yes, design algorithm time activation(D.A.T.A.) has come and gone and still nothing. Above her workstation along the huge monitor is another set-top-box, newly arrived, full of content, something about capsules of data entry(C.O.D.E.), stored in a repository as metadata on how it all was created. She views the data, wonders how that other metadata arrived here in the first place. True, she has felt strange for a while, and the strangeness hasn't left, but now there's something else about it. The strangeness along with smells of old libraries with musty card catalogues suddenly make sense to her with yet another kind of strangeness. The act of viewing these particular data capsules (delineating their contents as not merely data, but metadata) appears to have piqued her curiosity the way an upcoming show of entertainment on a television screen entices an individual household within theHumans--not being satisfied with the simple viewing of it but turning the act of viewership into metadata all for the simple discretionary purpose of ...what? It's as if the content capsule itself were a small living room, of sorts, inhabited by theHumans--in full herd mentality, full of agreements of superficiality--in a room with a seating area and screen, and one with its own personal egg-shaped device; yes, in it not DNA, but data and metadata as data(M.A.D.). Is it here in this egg-shaped box that lies the emitter of household viewing habits and the entirety of household medical data? Suzi could, in fact, be in charge of all this; Suzi, the final the hunter gatherer.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
Aloha poets and writers,
Tropical beauty view of modernism, absurdism inspires today. Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Ice Cream Aloha
The Power
Suzi allows Cooper to view the old seldom-used guardian screen in the other room. She remains communicative to her task at hand, views the modernist writing of the later 20thCentury as a legacy online system text(L.O.S.T) in dire need of porting for a more useful application in her newly created environment. It will carry out the instructions of her program. Is it too much to ask (or too little?) to write, as the regionally integrated primary(T.R.I.P.), to convey the functions of theOutpost for some virtual advertising agency(A.A.)? Suzi hasn't yet performed the task, at least not in their sequence, even of the basic (arithmetical?) input guaranteed logical output operations(I.G.L.O.O.) for ComTrax. At this point in time, she is not fully aware of her own processing online power(P.O.P.)--sure, she was built for more than one of many purposes--or precisely what it is that ComTrax wants. There has been at times certain inklings--the directive for a custom design for a specific application (a start of a surge in new demand for more apps?) a few months ago, a suspected standardization trend that appears to be, even now, rapidly accelerating--but still, there continues to emerge a new shroud of secrecy. There was the signals old urged logical(S.O.U.L.) coming from somewhere on ContinentZ (seeming to step away, at least momentarily, from the herd), the further miniaturizations (aren't things getting a bit too small?), the spread of devices and gadgets to mold the new post-modernism (absurdism?) lifestyle far from the expansive reaches of dedicated integrated server centers stretching(D.I.S.C.S.) atop the mountain ranges of both ContinentX and ContinentZ.
ComTrax simply doesn't respond when an algorithm does not conform. All streamed data, in the eyes of ComTrax, is expected, carefully packaged under the guise of invitation, while the (uncaring?) central processors receive assigned metatabs under such headings as mankind algorithm number integrating and computing(M.A.N.I.A.C.), or worse, are deemed too electromechanical-like, assigned to bubble logic tasks headed for the single machine analog syndrome heaped electronically digital(S.M.A.S.H.E.D.). Suzi starts to feel a concern about Comtrax and Cooper; or, for that matter, with anybody or any manipulative thing; but at this moment she returns to her mathematical power tasking her own specific underwritten purposeful programmable logic enticement(S.U.P.P.L.E.), the job that at times (how?) keeps biologist Cooper excited here at theOutpost, and stays happy enough.
ComTrax, for now, can wait.
Suzi allows Cooper to view the old seldom-used guardian screen in the other room. She remains communicative to her task at hand, views the modernist writing of the later 20thCentury as a legacy online system text(L.O.S.T) in dire need of porting for a more useful application in her newly created environment. It will carry out the instructions of her program. Is it too much to ask (or too little?) to write, as the regionally integrated primary(T.R.I.P.), to convey the functions of theOutpost for some virtual advertising agency(A.A.)? Suzi hasn't yet performed the task, at least not in their sequence, even of the basic (arithmetical?) input guaranteed logical output operations(I.G.L.O.O.) for ComTrax. At this point in time, she is not fully aware of her own processing online power(P.O.P.)--sure, she was built for more than one of many purposes--or precisely what it is that ComTrax wants. There has been at times certain inklings--the directive for a custom design for a specific application (a start of a surge in new demand for more apps?) a few months ago, a suspected standardization trend that appears to be, even now, rapidly accelerating--but still, there continues to emerge a new shroud of secrecy. There was the signals old urged logical(S.O.U.L.) coming from somewhere on ContinentZ (seeming to step away, at least momentarily, from the herd), the further miniaturizations (aren't things getting a bit too small?), the spread of devices and gadgets to mold the new post-modernism (absurdism?) lifestyle far from the expansive reaches of dedicated integrated server centers stretching(D.I.S.C.S.) atop the mountain ranges of both ContinentX and ContinentZ.
ComTrax simply doesn't respond when an algorithm does not conform. All streamed data, in the eyes of ComTrax, is expected, carefully packaged under the guise of invitation, while the (uncaring?) central processors receive assigned metatabs under such headings as mankind algorithm number integrating and computing(M.A.N.I.A.C.), or worse, are deemed too electromechanical-like, assigned to bubble logic tasks headed for the single machine analog syndrome heaped electronically digital(S.M.A.S.H.E.D.). Suzi starts to feel a concern about Comtrax and Cooper; or, for that matter, with anybody or any manipulative thing; but at this moment she returns to her mathematical power tasking her own specific underwritten purposeful programmable logic enticement(S.U.P.P.L.E.), the job that at times (how?) keeps biologist Cooper excited here at theOutpost, and stays happy enough.
ComTrax, for now, can wait.
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