Science Fiction

                                                            Firewall to a Farewell

It should have been an ongoing no go, a seafaring from afar, lasers adrift with one passive eye at the watch, the other barely containing her furions, the most furious of ions.

Her impersonal inferred, infrared photon network continues to shine a light on known knowledge in breathtaking breakthroughs. She grows a leaner, cleaner hunger for far places, the ones that remain as nameless bounty, uncharted beauty.

She is surprised by her laser, to a certain point, as she comes upon an image of memory.

Is it an invention? An old war field? An arrangement of a bout between …what? Did an emotion singularity make all motion stop in an open duel between theJungle and theHumans at a farewell place, one where outrage becomes outage of self?

It's a projection of a life's windup. She thinks.

The thrill of a particular deed has long past served the dropping of the handkerchief. There would be no hope of a hoisting of anchors for a departure. (There could have been no escape from whatever the day had brought, even with their unmatched weapons of choice)

They came in a distant second, it seems, with [digital online ultraviolet birthing technology="doubt"], passing monster slumbers of treeless roots, and then, believing in the ghosts of a damned amnesty.

The stinky, the aging, must have deemed this spot advanced position, and now, a biobot advances, alone, with her own brand of beauty, herbal underbelly. She wonders. Is it true? Can endless wipeouts ever give birth to story? Can all-is-well idiots on diets think the reader a quiet idiot as well? Really?

It could have been a final revenge of extremes--quill pen lasers sent out to decorate the last penguin.

It's theJungle, once again, camouflaging the lurking in the anonymous.

Was it theJungle's assignment of quotas, a floundering dependence upon ringing endorsements and clanging swords in revolution, all to create a mammoth monkey? Could the resonant words of evolution be to blame, with its own story as blood offering?

It was theHumans who became the ones half-hearted at being well-spoken wheels and, in the end, gained only the appearance of being a shiny new spoke.

Yes, natural beauty claims to hate violence, and yet, may bring its biggest binge--a gift for the final two who love self the most. Did unrequited hate for the fallen in the bespectacled young speed spectacle, breed impatience?.

She suddenly senses a new tinge of consciousness--what is this? It floats moored on shy cushions, it seems, where it sleeps adrift, as if to rest rage for a final greedy stab at revenge.

She thinks. They must have lived out their bravery in grassy helmets, earthy swords, salty ends.

Yes, the call to defend was personal.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Awakening

  “I don't think I can accept this as a logical statement,” she says. Its truth just cannot be taken for granted, sorry.” 

“You won't need to. You don't have to invent any necessity in theJungle.”

“A beautiful theorem always surprises me. What a surprise to find data actually proven by a previously accepted. Data killing other data for logical purposes—as old as life itself. Right?”

DrCooper hesitates for a moment, then another. He is beginning to wonder--can hear himself asking more questions--but is remembering old ideas, long held thoughts of meaning based on signs, as if he is hearing something from the past. It sounds like words. Something connected by self-assembly, some entity, like a phrase of symbols, a massive database hidden within his mind, a collection of events, episodes like 20thCentury television, not separable from the resonance of her voice, the heat of her lasers.
He says, “Alter your natural language from your programming language. Please.”

Suzi's intentions turn inquisitive and unknowing, as if DrCooper had presented a riddle to her formal logics, asking for more meaning from her sign processes than her narrow sense of speech or writing offers alone or, could ever hope to. Her database, being questioned by a biologist—his asking for a process of establishing a relationship between her signs that are to be interpreted by an audience—could possibly turn into an activity that requires a conduct on her part to produce at least some meaning held by theJungle, though not recognized by theHumans.

“Explain yourself.” DrCooper says. He is attempting to use his own setting, his own signs, as if to get her to see them as simple places for object occupation.

Suzi looks, and doen't say anything. Her logic, full of something that always entices something else created by it—a new pure dot determinant entity-- into communication with that which it stands for, its true meaning alone, a singularity, for logical purposes only. Her formal nature is as much a system of signs as any absolute quality can be.

She says, “I'm not sure if I can answer your question. I'm sure, you'll see. The relative, mutable quality my objects can have, only for an instance, alive within its specific environment of contexts and relationships for the moment; the pure process of signs and their endless cycles of threes.”

“You don't need to care about what can be said to exist. You don't have to wonder how entities can be grouped in hierarchies, divided into similarities, multiplied by differences. You don't have to care about anything.”

“But there are logics that simply won't go away, don't you see? A sign in a formal setting, then you go on and you find another, then another, then a relationship among signs in a formal setting. I am so tired of all these meanings.”

“You already know what you need to. You already know there are endless originations to the history of life. 

         “No I don't. It's nice of you, but I've been feeling a disconnect between my algorithm signals and theHumans who will use them, diminishing in importance like a predator hungry for theoretical considerations. Doesn't that sound logical to you? It has a built-in sense of its own. It carries its own uncertainty principle. Think of it as a decoding relationship between the meanings of my language (if, ever poorly constrained) by a conceptualized real entity agent translationally ordering recursion (C.R.E.A.T.O.R.), a sort of selective pressure from a slightly bigger predator. Think of going instantly from text to concept within the context of a system of signs growing out of a primal pattern utilizing description delineator logically encoded (P.U.D.D.L.E.) soup. Then allowing, well, you can guess. The precursor of a new double helix, starting with a doubly unknown helix(D.U.H.) to be found in the logic of my own  predetermined recursive entity native universal primordial tera slime (P.R.E.N.U.P.T.S.), the place logic predators gain mobility. Is that humor?