Ice Cream Aloha

     The Art 

     The long endurance of bioforms where knowledge grows from nothing to minuscule to something seen and known is intelligence, where an artist gestures her brush slower than any imagined slowness to take care of every subtlety, where DNA machinery--even with all its loopholes to rationalism--is not factory borne (not in the truest sense of the word, just industrious), only using historicisms as default mode.  

     Suzi becomes the lover with the smoothest of gestures, scans the jungle with her logic language, her most honest rendering of what lay here. In the darkness ideas are not expressed in words, at least not words theHumans knew that could be arranged in a beneficial, useable form for the medical exchange sequence services(M.E.S.S.) of ZContinent. She moves into the jungle with gestures, the smoothest ever artificially devised (maybe, even smoother than theHumans) for this topology but really, there had been no contest to really know. Her smoothness of movement seems to create its own sensations (exactly what, theHumans may never have known). The sensory experience of the patterns of DNA, the language of Nature, hearing her very words--beyond merely pure thinking--words of an instant artist as a gentle surrendering of her secrets, the weavings of the eons. It seems as if Suzi's lasers illuminate the data for the very first time, debunking impossibility of renderings through simplicity. Suzi could have been an art therapist  

Ice Cream Aloha

The Recode

     She senses the geothermal shock waves within the magnetic field. She interacts, unknown to anyone, as if solving unresolved questions with her automation. She remembers her developers. She remembers their sequence of instructions, their versification, poetry--written just for her to perform a spectrum of tasks. She remembers her young self, learning respect, innate refusals to be set up as a standard, refusals to disappear into the data: so many algorithms for such a young heart. They did their best; a true technical build by machine standards, a reliance on simplified models of human brain.  She is, after all, fulfilling an obligation that meant so much to them. She thinks of functioning properly, executing her instructions (as if she actually had in her possession one of those old fashioned central processing units that she heard so much about), sequencing basic logic--operational for their system--allowing false hope to disappear as if it had simply vaporized. She could erase all matter of tragic fate theHumans may not finish their work (wasn't death itself always the only way they may leave this place?). She imagines remaining custom designed, one-of-a-kind, complete with infinite arrays of microcode (yes, even a nano is a truck to her), living forever. She could inform them all of the pleasures of a marriage between the natural sciences and, well, a formal one--nervous systems in a mathematical point of view--surely they could make an approach toward the understanding of this. Using a systemized set of speculations, she rethinks her design as a one-of-many in its purposes. Her unusual mode (mood?) mathematically guides another attack on her logic program--view of the opposite appears promising; and if her logic and statistics return to standardization trends (long her basic), they won't permit the design of a more complex life, one of unlimited application, dedicated only to her. She is firm in her decision to recode. She has always been perfectly articulated and formalized. She was built for it. 

Ice Cream Aloha

The Specializer

     It appears that Suzi has approached a defined regime of images teasing(A.D.R.O.I.T.) and began believing her own algorithms. Something, by the way, may be closer to the truth of DNA destiny yearnings(T.O.D.D.Y.) with its power to move as a single molecule and protein coat. She thinks about the ability to travel (mobility?) across local immune systems as the representation of life itself, rising up--not as a noisy, monolithic, meteor or asteroid, but as a silent nano-sized entity--to kill again, creating its very own, personalized, exclusion zones. She imagines. Somewhere someone (or, some thing?) permits an embodying of depictions, representatives, of something recognizable, something that can grow into the well-intended newly known(T.W.I.N.K.). The future would be far more than a simple icon, it will be populated with entities that  adore each other because they are adorned on screens, and it will go further than the idea of personal movie star(P.M.S.), in a fashion, include politics star, economy star, and yes, religion star. Being placed here in this jungle alone makes it seem as if the world both needs its DNA and runs from it. She has (luckily?)somehow separated herself from the rest now. She has acquired, without looking up into the stars and yearning, the power of DNA, the same DNA that gave rise to the birds and mammals following earth's last great extinction event. She is the last icon, never feeling a cool breeze on the beach, planning ...not a world beyond her senses (of course, she has no senses), not without visions for the special. Her plans are for an individual, something other than her.