The Last Performer

                                                                                           Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Thought

She remembers her tasks, quells her new addiction algorithms. She moves her eyes scanning the horizon for more memory. 

She waits a few clicks near the beach, reminding herself changing worlds is a meeting new friends. 

She is owned by a need to lift her hand to shade his eyes from the sun. 

That's a trait of theHumans, isn't it?

Hawaii Surf

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Games of Genes

Ensuing tidal waves of hero shots of last-known-steps form a society, to field attempts to reverse the interface between drugs and the pure water it took to make them. 

She finds skulls of desire in their last known games of genes--so epic in their activity, and yet, unable to put answers into family. It's true. The hunt for answers simply became, it seems, the hunt for ants.

They still peak awareness as relic populations endure extreme ranges in cold tropicals.

No. They never fully cut their ties from the gene world, with its legacy of spontaneous copy numbers, the numbers that promise to make you shine, to make you glow across global populations as if the search for the final actress were important.

They must have tired of the herd corrals, the ensuing tumors, onslaughts of preservation ritual, hoards of samples--disease so tidy and organized as rust. 

Yes, it is theHumans who had become the best theJungle had to offer. 

Crouching Ghost

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The Undone of System

Intelligence and theHumans meet (or,so they thought) with feelings focused on screenshots of calm--where writing is selfish and reading is social. There is a feeble attempt to push the limits to the right in a system like this. 

Her gestures go along to inhabit the outsides of the latest tunable, turntable force field. 

The needs of beauty always hunger for the undone of system, the system where genomic gnomes, chat scientists care nothing of benevolence. 

They see conformity logic goes with the architecture--conformity of behavior with its correlations of math arrive late to conquer realms of the intuitive. 

It's a place where falling victim to the latest, loudest noise is deemed procrastination.

Regional [gaming information age nano travel surveillance="giants"] develop new conformity daily as worlds unraveling populations into intellectuals--the ones who have come to not trust its power. 

It's in the deep developed conformities where the newest evil settles.

Emotion remains on their faces as they speak as events turn, as possibilities arrive possessed by vigilante posse.

Spearheads seek to find written meaning.

Yes. Mastermind views docility logic as no logic at all (yes, conformity logic with its correlations of math to power)--it needs only to arrive to conquer realms of the intuitive.

So then, the therapies are necessary--the world finally will be the contemporary scene of progress.

Biobot Logic

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Biobot Logic 

 

The excitement of armies comes with the sparseness of the small towns. 

Airs of mystery across the expanse show up in crests of desire, as if the stillness along Grandfather's Watchtower dictates the want. 

It turns out theHumans like it and, need it, and yet the [continual aggressive modem of update fashion launch activating genetic entities="camouflage"] signals itself as the true well-wisher, whisperer of the need.   

As soon as the attachment of prefrontal cortex, with all those muscle memory mechanisms, they begin the search--as if imagination, speculation is hard-wired for the reckless, the unexpected, the feckless few. 

They search gene by gene in massive parallels--how to behave in a beehive world. How to celebrate in public on donut-shaped space-time, in private together as funnel-shaped society, voicing opposition to the force of will. 

How to start from the self knowledge of local 3D geometrics of familiarity, get a moral lesson from the 4D geometry of space-time, look into a mirror and wonder about the 7D geometrics of possibility.

Yes. It was a hollow beginning, and yet, all this primordial potential comes active simply by processor professors. 

Biobots in scramble mode, and now this, a natural willingness.

The high road? Money? Secure residential compounds? No. It's only initiative that counts--logic creating its bigger moments, hugging even the bungling.

Yes, theHumans still come to fight with all this, and yet, their biobots don't need any of it--a life of honor, the show of glory. 

It's more than they would want to negotiate.

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The New Remote

Local remoteness, one lit with legend, is effective in hunting universal analogy.

By its persistence alone, it watches for centuries the means for achieving, while bias sits its stillness as choices in tyranny succumb to tyranny's voice. 

Yes. It seems trouble is never compelled by simplicity--at the forefront, pivotal moments are never momentous for a society of illiterates, even the ones who have the stones to fight. 

History shows criminal finds its way into acceptability as a whiskey workday, and yet, it never stops society from its prayers.

And now, the art of communicating a surprise falls into the hands of rising hearts scribbling in pared prose. 

There remains a continuance of intrigue for a global [privacy anonymous solution society of upgrade technology="pass_out"]. 

It's a hard-to-spoof factor. 


It's as if all imaginations begin in the grips of legend on early arrival. 

Yes. They had their chance for a peaceful life in the new remote, and now, a forbidding.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Replacement

     “What did they want?”

“Just to ask if there is some spacetime element as theDNA unravels, and they want a few answers about the coded message distorting spacetime. The logic probability—the question of specific primal content in DNA in a jungle environment; mostly topics of my capacity for holographic storage. “

“So,” Cooper says. “it will have to wait for the answer.”

  “It says it simply needs to record all the novel biophysical electron utterances on theDNA. It says it's useless to try to encrypt data, to try at all., but theJungle simply must release sequence identification with molecular components that interact with the outside world as a micro machine—not a single molecule electronic component.”

Cooper questions Suzi who doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to code right now. 

“It will have to be their way,” Cooper says.

“No. It will not. I won't do it. Why should I care?

  Suzi is feeling the effects of her size reduction in her electronics--controlling properties at the molecular level. Now it starts. Here comes Cooper the biologist, DrCooper the singular human who is supposed to care, be assertive, confident. Here it comes; Cooper's inquisitiveness into the electronic properties of the molecules in the material that comprises Suzi's affects, her bulk property, her material; here come the questions of her expressive analogs to natural science altering her logic, her geo spacial experience.Suzi has just started to wonder (much as Com:Trax probably has), that Cooper is the one who needs to be questioned—Cooper and his ideas that a single molecule is the smallest stable structure in the human imagination; his brotherly love of theHumans; his ideas of molecular components as the final miniaturization; his love of bulk materials (now extinct due to expense and overuse). Cooper has always appeared, until now, as a symbol of integrety and articulation—a pure science warrior. The majority of these human types are no longer standing up in their ideals; how many people allow scientists to politically exist with their electronic circuitry and molecular bickering compounded hourly, their lack of discovery of molecules with interesting properties in theJungle, their politics. Suzi has emerged, it seems, irreplaceable.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Desire

  The remote upland forest stares across at the lime-green ocean that extends far beyond the horizons stretching to ...where? It allows Suzi to sense the reservoir of biological diversity; it rises into the cloud on the western shore, the river-laced coastal forest. It never blinks with its thousand-mile stare, as if wondering about Suzi in the work station, steeped in forest and mountain computation; theJungle, never a quick access to the hunter, theHuman hunter, the one with a veneer of morality (really?), exploding urbanities, devastating the rain forests of the world behind the mask of want. What a surprise it must have been, the day they had discovered this, the day they discovered theNature had endured its own jungle empty syndrome under stress(J.E.S.U.S.) computations for centuries only to emerge as a landscape of green silence. What could it have felt to have its own designs on value systems, its computations with varieties of objects and logics found waiting to be gathered, its extensibility, allowing itself to operate under its own power? Was it—really, now--a cave art to spin its own writings and drawings with its own built-in measures and marks, sensing its intertwining of theDNA, sensing the possibilities of treaties being broken with laws of the forest? This couldn't have been, Suzi wonders, the place where the hand of theHumans began. Here would have been crafted the first of the newest tools long before the computer, nature's finest moment, the opposable thumb—theDNA's expressiveness of single ideas and images, the original tool for writing and measuring; and yet, still the small tendrils remain, slender leaves with essential oils, resins. thin feathery leaves never cultivated, pleasantly scented in branched crowns. Are these the headwaters of desire?