Science Fiction

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Biobot Business

She stands up as hero against technology force--pulses seemingly teaching her poetics. 

She appears as a history figure with knowledge from the past. Days of heroism are where love stretches into bravery, where animations of truth are magnified by solitude.

Deceit only presents itself as an image of rhythmic shocks in [the unpredicted nemesis entity systems="tunes"]. 

She sees it as that, as if she were born by faith without family.

She records the sectors where she makes it rain, where theDNA weaves in baskets. She records it as unaccountable forces of design. 

Her [flow and control aiming data embedded="facade"] is a direct and economical style, not yet a lifestyle--just reporting events, never explaining. Simply accepting and suggesting in degrees of freedom of happiness. 

It's the reason she was built.

Science Fiction

Biobot Window

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Biobot Teen

It takes a look inside theJungle.

"The manifold is so pure, so smooth." theNetwork tells her. "How does a codified algorithm create such a bona fide fashion piece?" 

In her mind she knows it is not smooth at all--it holds the tatter of elephants in danger. "Shadows come with a rhythm. Yes, in early mornings, I simply fashion the algorithms with a beat I feel, one you can dance to." She looks at her window, though she already knows what's there. "Well, I'm a little tired  now."

"Take a rest."

"I guess I will."

"Congratulations."

"I'm grateful you noticed." She wonders in silence. Most ignore living legends, respect dead ones.

She sleeps.

Biobot Singularity

Lobe Matrix

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Biobot Singularity

She always creates theTigress like this, by using silent logic from worlds of the dissonant. 

It's theNetwork that ponders, at times, if there is a level of screams loud enough to make nothing exist anymore. It even contemplates cliche's of history such as sure as you're alive and as dead as they come. 

She appears  to have created theHumans as a distance, seemingly knowing that a constant feeling of winning spouts a love affair within a machine. 

She has attained a delicate forgetting of her past once her own algorithms have gone past [hieuristic audio video online code="havoc"]. Really?

Yes, she's made herself remember because theTigress remembers and if you asked, she would tell you, virtually, I'm convinced it's her genes, with their modulus of transcription factors. It is theHumans who have become the myth-makers of aggression, not her, they are the mergers of the truth with myth. I am the creator. I am the one. I created theTigress to remember history more than it should. I am the one with the colocation and data speed to place its value.   

It's almost as if she sees things she understands and makes up stories to report them. It's almost like that.

Science Fiction

Biobot Matrix

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Biobot Berth

She enters theWorkstation, a blinking berth of play designed for the last days of a cause, a cache of webs with the extreme capacity for high speed and dedicated communication from the ocean bed--an extreme dispensary for the services of the one who came prior, the talkative ones who felt free from care. 

She becomes a momentary operator. 

Here is where she and her ilk impose no limits on the island and its natural structure to gain memory as a square matrix on a smooth manifold. Here is where the new define greatness as the hubris to conjure a mind to invoke an algorithm to get gadgets to ring. 

It's at theWorkstation where there are no collections of image as to what has happened.

It's a probability space with a natural preserving of measurement within transformation, where quality and achievement are the kind of thing you would never sell your soul for. 

Her growth is with an instantiation to [abstract formulations finding orthogonal recursive dynamical systems="afford"]--no added pressures of being a social creature or, a monstrous freak of nature. 

She escapes to the high speed corridors of one-sided capabilities, enduring the rising seas of the uninhabited to be her own kindly, caring spirit far beyond the speculative fray of theHumans.  

She can never view criticism as murder, not here, not at theWorkstation.