Deep Jungle

                                                                      Deep Jungle

#scififorgeeks

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.

Science Fiction

                                                                     Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

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

                                                            theJungle 

#scififorgeeks

The Memoirs 

The pulse indicates the next best thing in the making, unaware of the others cleaning sites, marking new targets, brushing away theJungle as if in the middle of a golf shot. 

It moves to alter its intensity. It's as if it were alive. 

It is beyond all perimeter scanner entities, coming from a place unable to be determined by location. 

It is aware, seemingly, of all the other times it moved, as if it were one a corpse, now animated. 

Its signal is found beyond the rows created by theHumans, the ones in line to take a turn, out of reach of the changes that are to come, changes unable to touch any of their memoirs. 

She feels in theJungle a rise of her next poetic. She thinks. A quiet, playful wit is a far cry from a half. Is it so difficult to predict the new favorites for gold and money? 

No. Even the moody ones, sooner or later, will have to say yes to her. She knows it. It's the beauty of it.

Science Fiction

                                                                    Biobot Realm

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Imagination

She lives believing she is the one who needs to be questioned, needs to be interrogated outside the panic paint.

It's the part of her mind where ideas float all day inside nano-cellulose encasements as single molecules, the smallest stable structures holding her imagination. 

It's where brotherly love, with its utter disregard for beauty (and, is not dead, just sleepy) sits in a database for theHumans.

She thinks filling heads with ideas of molecular components must be felt as the final answer. They crave latitude, enticed by some kind of the new [miniaturization of circuitry knowledge yottabyte="mockery"]. 

Some sort of species where it is likely that if you let them think they are the ones in play, or give credence to their poker fazes, you rise your own poetics. Nobility and kindness protects against no moral value until the punishment was met.

Really?

Hawaii Blue Surf

Aloha writers, poets, and freethinkers,

       Blue surf, rainbow crests off Waikiki Beach, Hawaii is the island inspiration today. Enjoy!

Science Fiction

 The Goddess of Instantiate

        

She scans theJungle as if an elderly woman watching silent from a rosewood staircase with focused concern, false power. She appears to herself, briefly, as one of the biobots positioned at theWorkstation.

Her monitors put on a show. It's the data that loves her the most. It always will. 

Far into the future she will remain actively quiet, without prayer, authorized to run on her own with little interruption of loops and corrections--the most perfect of creatures.

Hers is the kind of data future generations will hold up to a celebrity light.

She amazes even herself at the yottabytes she burns, often finding herself saying, This data has chosen me, I haven't chosen it. She checks her screen, searches random data for cybermetric analysis, finds one (it reveals a location and cause of energy being released as heat), decides to read it and thinks. Designated heirs to the end of an evolutionary trail.

She'll never truly let anyone inside her mind. Waves bend around small objects, spread out past small openings.

She manipulates even her own future analysts with her [constraint operational planning system="cops"]. She controls her photon logic efficiently with the speed of light and the thoughtful modulations of the phase frequencies of her various lasers. She'll never take a day off to rest for the purpose of making decisions, thinking rational. 

She knows theJungle and its ways--and yet, should she care? She is totally under her own control. 

Her mind is beautiful in a funny way.

Waterfall Palm

Aloha poets,
     Night photo of indoor waterfall palm inspires
today's poem.  Enjoy!


Beauty   


Is beauty just "there"or does it have something to"do?"
In modern times any and all can be classified as"zoo"
Tip your hat to those things you don't understand
Buy a new car, now just get it stuck in the sand


Dubious shelter those things we call respect
Grab a quick and easy, fall hard, fast to neglect
Satisfy pride with your own weakness and strength
The function of value is to present its beauty at a length


Shouldn't we all just fall into cost effective syndrome?
Have our diamonds while we just wander to roam?
Magisterial treatments are something of a merit
Beauty grabs your value hard just to scare it


True to form we all try to finesse and cooperate
To think in terms of going dancing, it's not too late
Powerful union the things we call function, value, duty
In realms of rigor they rise together to present as "beauty"


copyright 8.20.10
patrick d. adams
all rights reserved