Biobot Watch

Biobot Watch

                                                                                                                      Science Fiction

All day she is able to add smells, claim ownership of her new flowering technology. 

She fills her database with colors, views poetics, here is her sire. For a nanosecond she could be the only one reading.

By nightfall, the warning signals of her photonics will light up. By midnight, it's theNetwork that will begin to wonder, and by two at the latest theExchanges will start being notified.

If it gets so late, they will know she is back into her poetics, mistaken musicians appreciate apprentices in places of palaces. 

But for now, and at least for a while, the sounds ringing inside her grapheme chassis become their own movie--visions of a boyhood hero, themes of frightened firefighters taking direction from thought bubbles, dreams of repurposed prose, the death of importance. 

Yes. She's a child in her own dime novel, that's all.  

                                                                                                                    #scififorgeeks

                                                                                                                          

Lighthouse Matrix

Science Fiction

Stick in History

She goes back to a place where in front of her are the colors with their motion and symbols, their ripples of image designed for health. 

She views her new bride_side algorithm (why is she is so constant in her sensation of the looming, the hypothetical entity? Why is she so leery of dark matter, dark energy, dark horses?) 

She feels a surprising sensation--she senses something has managed to program fantasy into her. She turns from her screen, secretly views code [natural outside view embedding legacy="novel"]. 

She inhales a deep breath, sees a reflection. Warmth.

Out beyond her screen theJungle takes another breath as if there will be some words said over a body with a big name, one that will stick in history. 

Science Fiction

A Biology Eulogy

She focuses her fury onto cravings, beyond the wall carvings and the caves, beyond the luncheon-function canopy sheltering and all that bandwagoning and tail wagging, far beyond the known symmetry of the strong, beyond the final eulogy for  biology.

She will arrive, she thinks. She will search for old friends like war comrades with an evolved [entertainment fempto friendship innovation cloud illustrated emitting new tasks="efficient"] plan. 

Her once-in-a-while weapon doesn't work anymore, it never really did. 

She is acting more like a plainspoken phytoplankton drifting in and out of engines, hoping to fool the rain system with hormonal indicator signals. 

There is the continual feeling of the need for an older glory, the returning to a home--not so much an environmental home in the sense of familiar forms, but a more subtle haunting recognition sent to test new nature in the making. 

Truly, clearcut ideas could never clearcut this forest, right?

Science Fiction

Scared onto Sacred Ground

All its circular forms of the space-time topology, all the skills and skulls find no permanent home in the forest, a world of edges and angles. 

Yes, the power of arches for replication and symmetry to signal a wider variety of form, enhance the need for stress reduction--another test for nature in the making. The going of negative is, truly, for the big boys and their [addiction society history entity systems="ashes"]. 

What is the sense of calm without sacred ground? 

It appears it can relax in the midst of theJungle. She allows for the complete interaction with all the stimuli theJungle has to offer, all its twisting and bundling with hopes of presenting a finer edge, a deeper angle.

Revered by early inhabitants, now long passed, as good food, good time, all the strangeness of feeling emerges as if revisiting a birthplace, a place for boundaries and allegiances with delinquent quirks, promises and secrets with names that amount to something in name only or …a place to form armies?

Science Fiction

The Opposite of Faith

It judges and accuses with all the skill and bravado of skulls and avocado, all the sleepy presence of good and bad. It's the opposite of faith.

Shapes and conformations act as functions, knocking quick sense for a nanosecond into mindful arousal--a place where entities present themselves and yet, where even looking at nothing creates a pattern. 

How do you win?

Her photon array shines with signals in folksy furies, trendy rural uprisings in an urban stronghold forming a receiver system with the forest as tone setter, illuminating with quantums, even as theSun emits its wavelets which allow for the creation of shadows and entity to emerge.

It allows the assemblage and the binding of [hierarchical intact systems=:his"] and [hierarchical ergonomic realm systems="hers"] and [instantiation tasking system="its"].

She thinks. Yes the loveliest of all is best held close to the vest.

Tree Goat in Hawaii

Aloha writers and poets--

    Tree goat inspires today. Enjoy!

Ode to a Goat in a Tree

Goat's up a tree searching for a goatee

Angry birds above soaring virtually

Google it or check the facebook page

Up here cloud computing is all the rage

Up here I'm the writer, the winner of style

Down there is the clover amidst a slush pile

Is drama really the diet all the world eats?

To debunk the myth of my steady feets

History knows health will be the rage

If my kids can read or even turn the page

I'll take my chances, get down from here safe

Write my next novel to review and strafe

Along the way my privacy is truly invaded

I'll soldier the way with my playbook jaded

To update the malarky on monkey malaria

I'll invite technology to really scare ya

Houston we have a problem Mt Whitney's fallen

The fabric of humanity has spacetime crawlin'

To write tough enough is not to regress

Righteousness screams not be tenuous

Magnify the frightened with eager little suitors

Control a single atom as quantum computers

Work your heroics the way it really must be

Earth's last exquisite notion--a goat in a tree

patrick d. adams

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