Biobot Watch

Biobot Watch

                                                                                                                      Science Fiction

All day she is able to add smells, claim ownership of her new flowering technology. 

She fills her database with colors, views poetics, here is her sire. For a nanosecond she could be the only one reading.

By nightfall, the warning signals of her photonics will light up. By midnight, it's theNetwork that will begin to wonder, and by two at the latest theExchanges will start being notified.

If it gets so late, they will know she is back into her poetics, mistaken musicians appreciate apprentices in places of palaces. 

But for now, and at least for a while, the sounds ringing inside her grapheme chassis become their own movie--visions of a boyhood hero, themes of frightened firefighters taking direction from thought bubbles, dreams of repurposed prose, the death of importance. 

Yes. She's a child in her own dime novel, that's all.  

                                                                                                                    #scififorgeeks

                                                                                                                          

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

                                                                                          Hula Matrix

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Biobot Thought

Here comes theNetwork, the one entity who cares from the place with room for so few to succeed. It is more assertive than it needs to be, but not overly assertive. Not so assertive it needs yet another investigation.  

Here it comes. It's inquisitiveness enters into her electronic property. 

She, seemingly, has control of the molecules of the material that comprise her. Carrying the bulk of the property of her material, she sometimes forgets about its interfaces. They think they're the ones in play.  

It's the questions about her [heuristic expressive analog learning="heal"] systems of theExchanges. The point where nature enters into her mind, her geo-spacials. 

She has begun to think.

Science Fiction

Frosty Tropical

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Sloth

When she traces the uninformed with the uniformed, she exchanges a confidential long distance of life in principle against a short term existence of guns and fists. 

Sbe will be a reliable source, she believes, a reliable source for theExchanges, like the data in theJungle is--with its [conceived of recursive reflectual entity computer tasking="correct"] spectrums. (Although her source will be what she actually desires now, deep down) 

It is for theNetwork to simply like the chaos part of her young personality structure and allow her to contain her own basic drives. 

She codes and accepts, but has begun questioning the exact meaning of the data, the tensions of instinct that are true almost everywhere in theHumans. 

It's as if there is an unnatural object of charity--the ultimate call to do nothing on.