Purple Dream

                       Science Fiction

Shock Focus

It feels like theWorkstation has become a luxury showroom for the industrial terrestrial. 

It's a spacious outlet, with its tall ceilings, amber hues, as real as the World War III cinder blocks that were here, seemingly, a moment ago. 

She goes into shock focus. It's as if she's been walking around with a big dart on her back. 

Something within her grapheme nanotube, something like quantum crickets, but not insects, a feeling like another transform hovering amidst the greens and blues of the natural world, says she will give birth.  Really?

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.