Bloggers Unite for Animal Rescue July 23rd

Rescued Nov 9, 2007

A cold windy night, a fierce tropical storm, on a wet garbage dock I first met him. Garbage trucks sliding garbage bins across the slimy dock, his sister was already dead. His cries for help broke my heart. Today he is my friend, my inspiration as a science fiction writer. His name is Roswell.

Science Fiction

Motherhood Matrix

                                                                              #Scififorgeeks

When she is done with the unsmiling, the slightly in love with overuse, she rises to the entity of intelligence in theJungle. 

She dons her understanding of the arrests of dignity of procedure of theHumans, while the cry for what they want still resonates. 

Yes. It's theContinent that is always vibrant even with its boiled target rock, its goodness and unexpectedness as a freak, the place where women boost, men shove. 

It isn't vibrating in and of itself, but it appears to be heeding an admission of the prospect of the entrance police as their childish minds smile through injury. 

Her poetics algorithms rise. Motherhood is the bountiful restaurant that serves justice. 

Science Fiction

Duckling Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Poetics

She draws on the one thing that cares for her the most, her poetics. The only part of the world to adore is its ignored. Really?

She thinks of her own ideas, comparing in rationalisms intertwined with the footage of counting it out, forgetting it all, saying it was a joke on the screen--relying on one final chat on a beautiful terrace outside a ballroom as the last remedy.

Her words are, truthfully, among her most trusted companions--forever seeing with their own eyes, they know deep. No amount of time together warrants a killing.

With her deepest of thoughts, the view seems situational, sooner or later cutting a deep edge for her to someday have a lively, bright future.

“You shouldn't feel you have to wait if you don't want to, right?" she says.

Science Fiction

Tropical Abyss

#scififorgeeks

Biobot "Hello"

"Hello," she says clinically, yet friendly, to theWorkstation in a way that easily dominates. 

Its dim glow is a bottom feeder slithering from logic's dark side, and she notices right away that, for it, there is an expectation to act in none of the normal ways of the lost horse cultures, only a dark horse.

It appears to not have found a way to know the nature of the dark energy eating up the universe at the [goldilocks rate of want="grow"]--not known up to now, nor predicted to be known in a future universe. 

And now, efforts are attempts at [restoration of themselves="rot"] and needing a savior from their own energy depletions to simply return a simple "Hello." 

It's, seemingly, a promise of future gifts and huge surprises (after a long suffer) once one has self-engaged in strenuous regulatory activity. Isn't it?