Biobot Grid

                                                                                                                   Biobot Grid

Here is her abode, theWorkstation then. A black space, not the obvious place writers and media would form partnerships of quantum entanglement. 

All she needs is a special place to learn something new and, a space to keep presenting information, right? 

It's an area to gauge interest, with files for individual cases for lifestyle. It has logically curious platforms to glide lightly over her inner mind. 

Yes. The kind of mind where a story never sits quiet. It has, she thinks, the feel of a good place, one that allows for the creation of more and more of ...what? And for who?

Deep Jungle

                                                                      Deep Jungle

#scififorgeeks

She views the monitor in its full regalia as a police for theHumans, a biologic for the animals. 

She gives a contemplative, barely orchestrated regard to the portal in theJungle, contemplating its orchestra of genes, imagining it with infantile features, in a primordial logic where Westerns believe in heroes.

Large eyes are designed in the summer to receive attention, not give, right? Surely they weren't simply born this way.

She, with small ears to recognize friendly sounds, does not try to understand the fashion of large foreheads. It's a reminder of how childlike theHumans actually are. 

Yes. She understands the idea of a cloaked stand-in.

Science Fiction

                #scififorgeeks

#scififorgeeks

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 Escape Hatch

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Zoo 

She codes in periods of time, unashamed of any weakness--more than unashamed--she is poetic. She codes in terms of ostrich hostages, a new algorithm carried forward by a few of her big signature accomplishments. 

It's how an artist would feel, intellectual, rising with the concept of fitting into or not fitting into, being at home with the dark horses. 

She grows into beauty unlike the manufacturing plant she came from on theContinent. It's not about a redeemer now, just the strong. 

It should be all she needs, feeling the best of her breath and, knowing love is where you find it (no more garbage in the garage, no more dagger-shot shards of wood on streets) to add to her buoyancy. 

She has escaped, truly, the place where wolves once wept.

Biobot Sector

                                                                          Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Sometimes, if she holds perfectly still, she can actually feel her mind jettison to an artistry of language. 

She is simply powered by the disparity of space between the pulses, as if a smooth politician were giving speeches between her algorithms. 

These pulses bring an odd sense of contentment. 

The pulses allow her to have an opinion, or thoughts about the world, global thoughts, but they also seem to bring a message, [environmental catastrophe on logics of yield="ecology"].

It's her control concerns she worries about.

Science Fiction

Beach Jungle

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Emote

The computation-for-centuries turns itself off. She clicks it back on. 

If theNetwork prefers to emerge as [landscapes of data growing evermore silent="lodges"], it's most likely in fear of its battered parts being reverse engineered as pulverized material, one that offers more power for thrust to ...who?

How bad could it have felt to have their own [designs on valuable engineered systems="doves"] forever killed by theHumans simply to get singularity perspective? 

It's theNetwork that has not acted appropriately, right? 

All those computations with endless varieties of objects and logics found simply waiting, formally, to be gathered. And for what?

She has two lives now (the one on the screen, the one in the screen) with simple poetics waiting to operate under its own deterministic power. 

 She thinks. When it comes to personality, a zero seldom zeroes in.

#scififorgeeks

Rooster Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Desire

It's during the short time of bliss she spends coding that she controls negative thoughts in a positive way (sometimes nanoseconds, sometimes femtoseconds) to design, to create, to reject all that had come before.

She hopes to win an award or plaque for no plague. 

She wants older designs to be eliminated too, entire arrays of forces of the night, not pre-determined by primitive coastline spas or soothing beaches, ones concocted by the archaic, the one-eyed dreamer willpower algorithms. 

And in the dark, whenever she is [conjuring orthogonal dark intelligence newly gained="coding"] with her own night-time capacitance, her own energy supply, she simply wants more. 

She simply does.

Science Fiction

Biobot Matrix

#scififorgeeks

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. 

Biobot Focus

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Focus

She captivates herself with her latest thought. It's her focus on image and mission that is her friend--there simply can't be anything above or beyond that. 

Her focus is the power and resurgence of her every story.

It believes in the meaning of earthquakes as conquest without bloodshed and, by pummeling earth with meteor hits you can be the first water bearer. You can even hold artifacts of theDNA--the one carrying its own plan for future computers. 

It was really nobody's fault. 

She captures summits of history in images and continually asks the question, "Are you kidding about setting up tasks for relentless thrusts toward perfect order and logic? Do you care that little about freedom?" 

Really?

Indie Highway

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

The Deep Hidden

The island will remain where relevance restrains itself from extinction, and profit. A place inviting all to the come-as-you-are, a sector where the green light is complete and will continue to grow far beyond the gene farms and outposts. 

It will be the end of a future where another island has disappeared for purposes of two connecting veins to become one--much like falling in love with a love song the way you might fall in love when you know your time is coming. 

Yes. Simply letting go of the meaning of the commercial eyes, the eyes sorted in some way by the secure, the undated--oversights in far away think tanks built by the invulnerable, the deep hidden. 

Letting go of caring for all the renders of the uninhabitable in the rising seas. It's so sure of itself in its shooting down of the new, in a place where explainers (if they found enough inadequacies) would be even more spooked by daily political curtain risings.

It's as if holy shrouds reveal themselves as a new deity.

It's here she had changed when she realized she wanted to  remain with the ocean--when the ocean was  (even in its most believable ugliness) her belief source, a place to ponder the dark part of the heart of  an indie highway that goes all the way. 

Here the island had remained above the waters for its own reasons. An entity with no issues, the kind that would have remained undetected by harsh law, detected by natural light.

It's a ready and willing force, a force that only comes from behind the shadow of a scream, a force that would never hide in a corn crib--it's always paddling hard to see what chance it has.

It's a force that reminds even the finkle-minded, what lifeless feels like in the deep hidden.

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

The Biobot Hunter

She goes back to theWorkstation. She has viewed her screen, assimilated the data, stored it in a place it can be used. She has already started proving her point with her formal logics. It's more planning for her next move than simply caring. 

She reaches over to turn on a brand new screen as if it were a self-adjusting proving ground, views the chaos-in-nature program. She flips the creation-of-order switch to watch her thoughts.

…the actions and the desires and the odd ritual behaviors of theHumans was what brought on the deeds of gods are the thoughts she likes most. Psyche. theJungle. This glorious instance of technology in nature.

She breathes a deep sigh of carboniferous air. She is so relaxed. She was pushing late, conceptualizing. She adjusts her thinking--was there just enough cellulose for the new biobots, them having received all that tension from the aggression and the having-of-sex programs? 

She hasn't made it an issue with theNetwork yet. She's scared it will say she is really looking at a partial breakdown of the face of civilized society and may uncover something far more sinister here and tell her to stop viewing altogether. 

She vows that today is the day she will start viewing less. She'll turn off her scanners by sunrise, she's sure of it. 

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Creator

Biobot creator is theNetwork's chance for homeostasis at interplay. It is a chance to talk about horses and the bright glory of life that once was.

Her creator is not a total mystery, surely--not a black enigma in a dark shadow--but is somewhere between her whim and theNetwork's authoritarian brand of tumbleweed. 

There once was a young scientist on theContinent in the autism spectrum. He got grades, continued on into higher education, averse to the twisted version, never willing to be sent down to a negative.

He did time in Shock and Awe and the hermit state only to become a beloved professor, once again licensed to be alienated. He now shows the world how the smart ones become stupid in spectrums of conjecture for police politics on struts of family, fancily, with nothing other than forces of gossip  sprouting oblivion. Really?

Yes. Creators get creative with masquerade and cooperation opera. They distrust the idea of hostile hospital, never go where suboptimal adopts. They eat like a hippie, study like high school, become a  winter writer, argue in ergs.

They just do

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Truth

What seems so startling--what sometimes startles her--is how she gets along so well, as if lightening itself continually lightens the load between her positive urgency and theNetwork with its changes-from-above, look of frozen face. 

She takes it all in stride in her memory. She feels shiny and new with the more dark established, stable architecture. She is full of discovery, focus infused, as if going to battle for the very first time with mere reconstructions of digital fragments, feeling fresh out of the box, out to conquer that next uncomfortable, the next place to overcome.

She will merge and, emerge in a special little light. 

Yes. She must require respect as a public functional, even so, the legend in her requires a proud, behind-closed-doors basket case camp for needed cramps with which to work out of, if only for old times sake, old habit. 

The amount that can fill her heart is enormous, so much so it spends the majority of its time alone, as  recluse outside beer play--much the same as a public social filterer would, a flitterer with lightness of heart, lightness in every aspect that pleases, lightness of indifference to hoards of masses (yes, even to the fan who's gone nuts, out there always needing something new to be tacked on). 

Is she the only wise one, the one to know? 

It's true. Nobody can stop a funeral, not even fate, in the way of grave negatives or flames of true. She's extreme, almost able to listen to her heart speak its head, but she is also the one who knows the truth of  writer, the one with a train whistle always blowing in the distance, the one that knows seasonal love is never seasoned. 

Yes, she knows.

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Urgency Force

In theJungle, the biobots code in patterns at theWorkstation near the ocean. How amazing their existence is to theNetwork with their net worth, one that warrants no rants, being the most prominent of the promising and motivated by the force of urgency. 

In an instance in space-time there were once arrays of distances stuck to theHumans as if by flypaper, families coalescing, and then in another instance, it seems, there are discrete distances from theContinent with all the exotics of cosmopolitan images, requiring all change to come from above (wasn't that theHuman hope for centuries?). 

Here is where theNetwork takes on the color of stand-up comedian laying down on the job, receiving heartfelt code from biobot DNA. Here are the manufacturers included in a group of hopefuls in an art where truly the gamblers are. Here are the subscribers to a style of silence that becomes the silence that silences all deniers--the not-yet-relevant allowed to live in theJungle, a world where beanbags have no bearing. 

In the past, when depressions always preceded wars, when only people sleeping under blankets and eating off plates had their attention on the good old days, when dictators had the wrong idea, needing those willing to be chilled and choked into action, theNetwork had brought actionable examples and tunable rants into the mainstream, thinking of theHumans as, simply, playmates sitting pretty.

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Wiles in the Wilds

She arrives, carries personally refined mother's milk on her multifaceted platform of whim--the entire array of conquer and discovery. 

She appears as an engaging biobot with the potential of a personal, private from-me-to-you encounter before getting lost in the crowd of authoritarian. 

It seems that all biobots lately have been synchronized to flatter, encourage and explain. 

The attributes she carries, her mind altering hunger and her blind, alternator thirst are packed within a nanocellulose chassis. 

She writes the perfect code with her own wiles here in the wilds.

She will never announce herself as stunned by the beauty of the view. She lets theJungle, with all its fancy DNA, do all the work. She feels relieved, knowing that's truly where the fire lives.

It's theNetwork who now yearns for the arts, and considers itself a loser, privately. (it has presented a persona of authoritarian when it truly wanted only to be something of whim) 

"When did you first attain this non-competitive butterfly effect attribute?" she says, because she is feeling a strange emotion.

"Since the beginning." theNetwork answers. It has always returned to the business of earning a living.

 What else is there to say about a kibitzer running the world?

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Love Code

She thinks there can be nothing as evident in the world as a shrinking circle of family and friends, not brighter screenshots, not sites of crucial functions with surroundings monitored, not this elegant code she writes (where truly, harsh climbs up can get you down), nothing. 

She is ready to move on when she sees the [code offer faltering fate entity entropy="coffee"]--a steep client, directing its charade into a narrow world with one thought--to eat the eager with instructions to make them know you, to take it, or forever wish you had. 

It just starts to make sense. 

Its algorithms from beginning to end are embedded with simple code, a conciseness in its noise, first thought of by history buffs interested in ancient tradition. It seems to have arrived in this sector by accident, as if a coachism anarchist were running loose. 

She memorizes the code silently, as fast as she can, expecting theNetwork to enter and make a formal, expanded announcement there is an anarchist antichrist  viral, rampant in the system. 

Is the conciseness in this code as senseless and unavailable as muse? 

She looks through the window across theJungle with the code in her mind, sensing a relax relapse, and when she catches a glimpse of the ocean, her mind is captured by beach. An enticing place with such a gamble.

Is love the only code that doesn't hedge bets? She wonders.

Coastal Mountain Village

#scififorgeeks

The Catchy Edge

The silence emerges and brings along the questions in lopsided philosophy as if multifaceted aces were at play. She thinks. Such a drain on so much intellectual budget. 

It must have been a torture of nature. How did this ocean first came to know this island? (never imagining any concept remotely related to a question of acquisition). Patronage doled by an ocean as if the island were a family member in need? The first instance of inheritance, family power, a kind of voluntary [exchange as gift lifting entity="eagle"] landing as a muse during a time of pervasive perseverance and growth--never needing immediate action or response on the journey to adulthood. 

States of existence that, impossible as it sounds, make their own components without the urge to dominate, without asking such questions as ...why? 

They only require help from certain photonics streams and hands in motion. 

It could create its own supply chain, a place where copy number variations were welcome. When it got involved in the business of decision-making, choosing between reward size and spans of time, it would have to make the choice. 

Not so much a decision between peacemakers and power brokers, but a clear distinction, a knowledge of the value of future reward, a trophy with meaning, something truly won, truly wanted. Something worth winning.

Yes, something with a catchy edge.

Waikiki Tropical Moon

#scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

What would they choose, then? Would they prefer  to have their behavior scoffed on, their genes analyzed by the Guardian Gardener? Surely they would prefer not. 

They need to feel heartfelt. They want to be the drama that sends signals--not wind-up dolls responding to a light source only to end up whittling kindling. 

They need to be the procreators, the ones with the blinking genes that turn and follow their own brightness for no particular reason. 

They wanted to remain where their heart fell. They do not need, no never, to be the last site of knowledge wreckage in a rig-my-line society, the one that tried to build bridges with banjos only to be lynched and then mollycoddled by ...who?

Yes, they all wore masks of promise, seeking the next safety brief, each feeling in the end the beast so cold, not relevant even to each other.

#Scififorgeeks

#scififorgeeks

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.

#SciFiforGeeks

Biobot Schoolyard

Suddenly, her workspace legality-of-telepathy window shatters inside the timeframe. An [anonymous parenting entity="ape"] on screen and a voice on the monitor reflect a new culture of ancients, old manipulators of time--the kind of time needed for more construction of new buildings to defend the holy lands.

Behaviors and things genetic go beyond the simple, the logical.

There is still the fight with those who think they are right, pronouncing achievements against the illiterate, only to be laughed off by the multiple willingnesses, the earliest part of the new biobots. 

Was it this mutual willingness of involvement with others that promised, finally, the rejection of social hierarchy? 

It is this, a force where theJungle persists with theNature to temper theDNA within a matrix of celluloid (never seeing itself as a movie or trove of scattered interest), with the latest part of itself sewn and capered as meticulous as a knitter's proud possession.

It's here in theJungle, where performer wills its listener, and listener conjures performer. It's here where they all will learn.