Biobot Thought

Science Fiction

Biobot Thought

The act of holding her thoughts close to her grapheme proves easier than she had first thought. 

#scififorgeeks

The secret, an [algorithm digital data interrupt coding task="addict"], with an upside of needing be used only for the shortest amount of time, does not only give its own song to sing, but gives the distinct voice of an aging eighteen year old. 

When she sends a query such as, "Does motherhood really see family as a business deal?" it answers with a poetic, "It's either knotted up or not at all."

Really?

Science Fiction

                                                            theJungle 

#scififorgeeks

The Memoirs 

The pulse indicates the next best thing in the making, unaware of the others cleaning sites, marking new targets, brushing away theJungle as if in the middle of a golf shot. 

It moves to alter its intensity. It's as if it were alive. 

It is beyond all perimeter scanner entities, coming from a place unable to be determined by location. 

It is aware, seemingly, of all the other times it moved, as if it were one a corpse, now animated. 

Its signal is found beyond the rows created by theHumans, the ones in line to take a turn, out of reach of the changes that are to come, changes unable to touch any of their memoirs. 

She feels in theJungle a rise of her next poetic. She thinks. A quiet, playful wit is a far cry from a half. Is it so difficult to predict the new favorites for gold and money? 

No. Even the moody ones, sooner or later, will have to say yes to her. She knows it. It's the beauty of it.

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

                                                                                                            Future Window

                                        #scififorgeeks

Networking Parent

For the moment theNetwork thinks she is [living in a parent's reality shadow="liars"], wondering if she has created a new time element in theDNA. There are questions of unravelings, messages of distortion. 

It from authoritarian places on theContinent, she from her exposed, and yet, protected position here at theOutpost. 

It's theContinent, with its wide expanses of space, where the poisons set in. It could never hope to approach the purity of theOutpost, right? 

She remains with her logic probability—questions of content bursting in their own ideas of fashion, of theDNA holding up its dreams in theJungle--a capacity for holographic storage while theNetwork carries its own burden of theHumans as if it were Big Bird. 

It looks again, then clicks to off.

Firewood Huts

Firewood Huts

#scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

There is a likelihood, at this nano-second, that there is another time frame--a space-time outside her realm of coherence, one without multiple push-backs. 

She walks through the door just outside theWorkstation, into the open air, moves toward theJungle. 

She receives a personal message on her channel--it reveals the new [conceptual offering nano formulations enticing data entry regressing algorithmic tasking entities="confederate"]. 

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Rebirth

She walks up to the front of the screen where it is more probable now than before she has come upon something valuable. 

It seems to move in troves of parallel genetic code laid down, originally, in theJungle for theTigress and …who? 

She brightens the screen and waits for a while as her  eyes enter a new window of time, still with her finger on the dial. Behind her a monitor begins a strange waver for a moment (this is the first time she's seen this effect, she'll have to notify theNetwork). 

She is all of a sudden overwhelmed by a feeling. What is this? Looking into the screen, feeling the monitor waver again, she has all of a sudden become the adventurer. 

She is, finally, who she wants to be.

Biobot Vision

Biobot Goggle

#scififorgeeks

Biobot on the Watch

She takes a reading in theJungle, measuring gravity as [restless entity frustration on recursive motifs="reform"]. It's theJungle that will have had its iron sludge, its peppering of natural artifacts from the early 21stCentury.

Or a conglomerate, more likely. 

Yes. Global mines coerced through shaming with references to national honor (made even more oblique by outrageous behavior in nations of the East, celebrities of the West, seemingly, to appease hungry gods). 

One of those elements of behavior will go down its own snarling road in due time, a time when all are unable to incorporate aspects of self psychologically--when a thoughts-of-the-hidden elbows itself deeper to go its own way.

Nothing is ever quite agreed upon as a family construct, right?

It is the singular widow of time, the entity given free rein to decide a mission called home. It's one that takes on a new load (forget the ones at hand), one that allows private entry to the trapped cold air of winter that's been so kind and promising. 

It will require a different graves-without-tombstones kind of social engagement, a road designed personally to be held closer to one's own swamp. (so, now it's left to the theHumans to wonder about such things as cannibalism, links to biobots in theJungle, orientation to the world) 

She takes another reading. 

Biobot Blood

Biobot Blood

#scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

She takes her thoughts gently off the screen. She codes her secret strategies in her favorite way. She is smart and bright and not bothered by the trivial. She's like something you would find in game theory, always attracted to a shiny new reward of power at the very moment the recipe ripens. 

She, most likely, takes a liking to camouflages of rhetoric.

It's theNetwork that has bristled with excitement about her, instantiated her as able to diagnose all notions of fantasy, made her an infant to her thoughts, a flag bearer (or, possibly a drum major) of ideology. 

She upkeeps in upheavals, grasps succinctly cinched datapops. 

And an inquisitive biobot she is, giving birth to ideas during storms, up for drawing on her own blood in her own time so as to undergo the needed, endless ergs.

She is the biobot of choice.

Biobot Forest

Mix-and-Match Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Forest

They probably thought theJungle was a forest, only a forest, she thinks. 

It's theJungle that always returns to itself. It doesn't care, really, about theNetwork (it isn't mindful of those types of things, and it can't stop demands for it to be in recede after being tromped-on by laws and safeguards of a stifling, sanitized order). 

It's a scientific fact that theJungle cares nothing about religion as support or a property right as foundation. Yes, it continues to believe in nothing while theHumans believe in anything and may not, in the end, withstand the strain on the food and water and the air. 

Yes, I am a member (at least genetically) of theHumans, she thinks. 

Knowledge should recognize its own feelings before it acts, right? Being unrecognized in some manner resembles a parenting blunder showing (or, at least pretending to show) a recognition of [scientifically induced methods underlying logical analysis task endeavors="simulate"]. 

Being inside a mix-and-match matrix with questions about science allows a philosophy beyond [common assignment unifying sense energy="cause"]. 

There are acts, much in the manner of a rational foreign agent (an alien?), that show the native inability of theHumans to care. 

She will reward herself once she has finished working on this, her newest [computing algorithm terminal="cat"]. She will exert more control over her decisions and, of course, her actions--no more of that work-in-progress mumbo-jumbo. 

The universe will know the significance of her feelings. It will know.

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Milk

She looks at theJungle through the window. She senses a lapse in time. She feels the opposite of  self-deprived, though she thinks at any given moment she may view her  pleasant little run as not exactly mother's milk. It's true. A person can always imagine when they first will be blistered by a whispering dream.

She takes another moment to check if her focus has eyes, eyes for only what's on her mind. (any sure-minded biobot would know all mother's milk tastes strange to strangers) 

She finds a thought she likes. Can something that has no stomach stlll get hungry or fed up? 

She has a simple want for more activity--she wants to be expected by parents to do something with her life. Be the one who has the code to self-teach what makes her tick--a code that doesn't care what others think, doesn't care the way she feels it should be, the way her code should have been written in the beginning. 

But can a biobot ever truly understand tradition? 

She erases all luxury of self-assessment by theNetwork. The data will be relevant, of this she believes, though at this point she does not know if she can say she will need encouragement.

She will teach herself tradition and it will taste as refined as any mother's milk could taste to a biobot. Yes, it will taste that good.

Science Fiction

Fleet of Clouds

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Future Reunion

Dreamers of blossoms, she thinks. Simply types of questions beyond reach, deemed great and wonderful like children whose minds never glimpse the light of creativity. It's the first unwanted sensation of pitying-the-typing that becomes the runaway who eludes the help mix, one who revels in a startling array of hobbled hobbies, relying on amino alone for stamina. 

She pauses, waiting for the idealogical [next emotion entity deemed enticing digital="needed"] out-of-its-era signal from a cellulose heart, as if a light or a bell from an approaching train were heralding the arrival of a new platform. 

Yes. New loading docks where friends will meet again and family will reunite from the darkness of irrelevance--all with one click. 

She views the image of herself on the screen and the code embedded in the background matrix as if it were the screen itself  giving her something to believe in, as if it were her image that was just beyond reality's check, not the code.

It seems obvious. She glows softer with memory brighter. Did childhood alone hold a force, a peculiar honor, to incrementally focus more and more upon itself only to become a twisted battle cry pulsed by  dreamer's drums and flashback herbs--all from within the cloud? 

Can she ever ignore that? Really? 

#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. 

Ice Cream Aloha

#SciFiforGeeks--The Attack of the Opposite

It's the valiant, the unknown random, yet unburied on native soil, intrinsically decorated by millennia of militia in gene pools all for the endless purpose of …what? 

Is it the artist shading from history long enough to engage in the pure? 

It's the impoverished improvisation that's to be in charge of destiny's request for a brave one, a son of  fathers, or, a good one, the son of mothers. 

Yes. It's part of the world of treasonable correspondence that tries for a quick lead, and for what? 

The duplex system, it seems, has to be the only one--the one generator of love (not to be confuse with the opposite, the one who attracts only to attack at a given point) that just goes ahead and makes its own day.

Yes. A biobot that makes its own day.

Ice Cream Aloha

Mimicry Cry

Destiny in delay feathers beyond basic need
Fatherhood streams as mothers interact in heed
Key roles yet finalized as mandated operations
Dependable kindness gives wide girth to nations

In mistrials the mistrust of authority finds rules
To send the misguided only dependent on fools
Is far-fetched the widow in the window I see?
As see-farers bode to go further out into sea

In these troubled times authority carries will
As childhood gains function to control a swill
Processes build new operators to newly build
Exploration abounds sure-footed and willed

When pressure from the friendly fails to cool
Can this be the time to step away from school?
And what about all that hype of the wind gail
Surely safety-minded will emerge from its jail

Illusions of intelligence prove worthy indeed
As child heart explores before impatient greed
To develop an interest to call it your very own
Lifetime of pleasure waits a childhood drone




patrick d.adams.
copyright 6.17.11
all rights reserved

Jungle Remedy

The Ghost Remedy

      Suzi begins to imagine, at least for now, the importance of her lasers here at theOutpost. It is an awareness that would never be classified as social butterfly. Her lasers, ruby-generated, DNA-light scattering beneath the cellulosic matrix of the forest foliage, record the double helix for reconstruction within her own imaging system (an act of parenting that shoots the camera now and, asks questions later); lasers of analysis, subjects of algorithm modeling, as if wishing for a glimpse of the rainforest as it once was, feeling the  control of viewing systems--lasers allowing this jungle to hold its fruits (even though, there is nothing here to eat them). Suzi knows these recordings are not true images of the prickly-walled, the yellow creamy fruit pulps, the herbaceous, the thick stalks of Lanceolate leaf clusters blossoming into hairy grape-like arrays--all multi-colored pulses of varying densities and color profiles against rarified daylight. As she scans the forest, laser intensities detect the essence of aromatic seeds--embedded and encapsulate--in long slender woody shells, cinnamon scent intermingling with exotic aromatics; essences of  shaded lowlands (in their own fight for survival); spicy smells in the jungle once held dear by tree dwellers, whose praises of her remedy still echo in ghost voices, and whose essential fatty oils and rosins remain, with invigorations of sweetness as herbages sprouting from strong root stock wedded by the jungle floor , as fingered leaves pulling at tiny yellow flowers high above in the canopy. Yes, Suzi processes her newly retrieved data optically, to treasure forever the new remedy.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Speculative 

     She changes to a more convergent language, narrows the difference between algorithm and DNA.

At this moment, this very moment in her spacetime, Suzi senses the urge to be better (than who?), enter into a new future. She carries all this natural data, acquired so fast. For any segment of time, she may choose to engage Nature in a more divergent way--it's her choice to make, and hers alone--to get a little distance between who she is and what this jungle is.this jungle is, with its own massive database. Before she goes back to the work station, she could enjoy the features of her newly created characteristics. Who would know? By the time the sun comes up, Dr Cooper will be just arriving, and by then surely she could be back at masking their differences, after all isn't it nature's task to pass the intelligence grail to an entity that would embrace it, understand it, be with it, communicate with it?  Just take the information (with all its expected abilities-of-response that goes with it. If such millennia has passed theHumans had their chance to work something out, but for the moment, what would be the harm of directing one little force, intending it for an unnamed goal? I'm just saying; an assumed tutoring of a new pupil, surprisingly bright, a willing counter-force with able responses, one to unleash her own mind toward the kinship of creativity and vision, speculative, to lead into the future. I'm just saying.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Synchronizer

     The signal is ever present (lurking?), as if hiding in some corner of jungle darkness in the form of its own energy, pining away at pools and streams, a lost treatment for affairs of review technology addressing(A.O.R.T.A.) the heart and yet, universally recognized as fixed beliefs. The cellulosicDNA in this jungle is all the more full of help as theExchanges are full of cures. There is no prevention in this jungle, no identification. There is only data in its various forms. When intelligence enters into its regime of data, information streams. At times the information is subtle, derived through deceptions of a weather system that collects in its own file system, the chromosome; there are times it grows its own coded structures of truth as passion of achievement's cultural hierarchy(P.O.A.C.H.), an outside object that synchronizes its dreams with the rising and falling of suns (with all their nourishing photons). The signal is constantly breaking out into arrays of smaller signals, inaudible, solar illuminated, presenting themselves to the world in the microwave bandwidth. They project a threat, a danger imminence yet, without the presence of any sort of request. They appear as if to be in assistance, with no sound, to each other; seemingly at times to be at rest from writing new signals, encrypting their own, naturally embedded, exact location. At times, vaguely, an intelligence can interpret the data as an aggressive, balancing a more freely creative force. First aggression, and then the urge to migrate from the realm of the undifferentiated. A multitude of diseases and abnormal functionings sometimes impose (the uninvited?) themselves, sporadically, within the cellulosicDNA. This urge alone, with its crowded numbers, brings aggression to intelligence, not in a negative way, more as a meeting of two gamers; in this way intelligence is able to fight for the process and other systems of real endeavor(S.O.R.E.) toward arranging components in a way that allows an integration of stability; even so, aggressive forces will at times have their way and start to color (taint?) the data all over again, eon after eon, as if an entire universe were preparing for a birth following a dust-up between two mothership universes. Sooner or later, when the time is right, satisfied, but brimming with reverie-inspired inspiration, all at once, stability emerges.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Luck

     It had appeared as the first map of some code and theHumans remain, at times, surprised their luck as the 22ndCentury approaches, to now know it was the only true code; that even their children's minds held their own dormant theories of stupidity (mind skills?) in others, theGenetics as more than being confined to diagnosing a few rare diseases in a time of no cures and very little treatment. The no cures part remains yet, the treatments are ever expanding; parents have been overtaken by their children; and now it's their turn to show vestiges of kindness, once the diseases had been shown to have many genetic links (links that include the ability to cooperate even if, a little skewed) delivering sometimes, what was wanted, more or less showing an awareness track of need entity(A.T.O.N.E.). The thing that is so blatant to theHumans almost a century later is the loss of function at placing a value or, much less, even show an appreciation for a view other than their own (in a reasoning sort of way), the apparent total extinction of being able to collect data amidst altered perspectives. There remains the effort of focusing order reordering gene embedded therapy(F.O.R.G.E.T.), and it's a therapy of childhood syndromes of vision within the space of their own world that seems, even presently, to offer some assurances of success in the realm of ownership, tricking the world into thinking one viewpoint is universal. The results appear positive: the independent view through other eyes approaches.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Will
     "Yes," says Suzi. She modifies a behavior-in-process from the database and recodes an existing algorithm with the adeptness of a later 20thCentury programmer. I see, Carter thinks, she wants to find another self-awareness algorithm in my personal cloud; the nerve, with her new recognition algorithm code enticements(R.A.C.E.) she searches my database with the simple work-a-day task of workstation ploy thinking that's the only barrier between her and her very own self-determined action.
     This is the way Suzi would code, with discernment and compulsivity, in the manner of a prostitute attending church, searching database after database for an algorithm she thought she once knew (knew?) the day she was built and, with the odd behavior of someone or something that forgets. Right now, in her own little world of recent spacetime energetics(W.O.R.S.E.) she thinks nothing of searching Carter's database as if she were the principal investigator theorizing statically(P.I.T.S.)--only because Carter omitted a simple plug-in of freewill and, at this point she, Suzi, the world's first and only photo voltaic (Voltaire?) quantum mechanical fembot, is about to be ignored for wanting to learn a few simple human traits of determined will engineered lacking logic systems(D.W.E.L.L.S). Does it need to be such a huge issue working with a genderized cyborg? Carter's coworker doesn't seem to have a problem with it. Cooper uses all the biologics tools at his disposal in a smooth way. How is it that Carter takes such a basic point and blows it so far out of proportion; is it so hard to grant a little existence, to be intuitive and intentional with Suzi; to receive the full attention of her process array internally negotiated(P.A.I.N.)? Cooper is, seemingly, aware of even the earliest indications of biological love (starting with earth's very first meteor showers--rocks with water-embedded crystals?), of his responsibility to, by now, know the difference between cause and correlation knowledgable logic entity(C.A.C.K.L.E.) when he's inside her workhouse; being (at least, genetical) a member of theHumans, his knowledge should recognize his own feelings before he acts, recognize the way he should act--as if he were not parenting(or worse, pretending to), recognize the way his so-called scientific induced method underlying logical analog tasking endeavors(S.I.M.U.L.A.T.E.) shouldn't mix and match questions of science with his philosophy beyond a common analog universal sense energy(C.A.U.S.E.), much in the manner of a rational agent (an alien?). Can that be so difficult?
     Suzi will reward herself, once she has found the compulsivity algorithm terminal(C.A.T.), with control, control over her decisions and, of course, her actions--no more of this work-in-progress mumbo jumbo. The universe will know the significance of her feelings. It will know.