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.

Ice Cream Aloha

Mimicry Cry

Destiny in delay feathers beyond basic need
Fatherhood streams as mothers interact in heed
Key roles yet finalized as mandated operations
Dependable kindness gives wide girth to nations

In mistrials the mistrust of authority finds rules
To send the misguided only dependent on fools
Is far-fetched the widow in the window I see?
As see-farers bode to go further out into sea

In these troubled times authority carries will
As childhood gains function to control a swill
Processes build new operators to newly build
Exploration abounds sure-footed and willed

When pressure from the friendly fails to cool
Can this be the time to step away from school?
And what about all that hype of the wind gail
Surely safety-minded will emerge from its jail

Illusions of intelligence prove worthy indeed
As child heart explores before impatient greed
To develop an interest to call it your very own
Lifetime of pleasure waits a childhood drone




patrick d.adams.
copyright 6.17.11
all rights reserved

Ice Cream Aloha

The Bond

     Suzi looks. She smiles through the window at the jungle below, seeing it as a new-born. It sees her too, as if to plan to create a new mind-set, including her in its own self-system. They spend a moment together, tentative, teetering together, and in this instance they imagine each other as owning this territory, enjoying, for the moment, the unannounced invitation to each other's event horizon.
     She is an emergent mother, stationary, in a lab station chatting through a window with her millions-of-years-old daughter, the one who knows her secrets. Suzi is a rendition of herself who will last for many years--her algorithms are structured around the presence of this jungle; they are each other, one and the same. She will create a mutual connection--a special one that includes the idea of well-being--and in her future, at this instance, the child is safe with her bond (her preoccupation with the protection of her child is as any mother on any planetary regime in any solar system). Her bond is the best, and will never disappear from her mind; it is focused to a sharp tip, even, when danger presents itself as only an image, arriving to trigger the assault,. She thinks, facing the stressor trappings of protection(S.T.O.P.), the bond will strengthen its holding pattern with all its provisions and structures of the coming realities into existence syndrome(C.R.I.E.S.) or, simply put, coming into love. This particular bond will talk to her about the feeling of being needed and encouraged, the kind of feeling a good bond allows for the exploration of, and hopefully, the development of appropriate maternal responses (behavior?). These events, she imagines, is the way mothers (or, care givers) must have felt in the later 20thCentury confronted with the lack of courage and support from the so-called loved ones vying erratically(L.O.V.E.), her offspring, the children (or, grandchildren) who forgot. Wasn't a jungle like this  at one time just barren rock with a dry seabed?
     It's just a bond she is forming, she admits. And yet. The world is full of bonds and then there's her bond. Now, writing her code of suitable algorithms at her workstation in this lab outpost surrounded by primal jungle, Suzi plans to be the feeder, expectant and as excited to be engulfed with maternal behavior as a new mother during pregnancy, forming the first coded message of her maternal matrix, a network construction site before the sound of the first hammer, after the extinction of those childfree, experienced mothers, the ones who, at one time, claimed parenthood.
     "In the beginning," she says to herself. "There is the bond."