Swan Song Shade

              

                                                 #scififorgeeks

                    Shady Peace

She thinks with a sudden start. This could be just one more stab at her poetics code from history, adobe wells bode well.

Her mind is going around another quantum leap on a day she stays alone to make her own peace. But does she really need to perform a new invention of the step pyramid? 

Is it the wheel that needs re-invention? 

She sits steadily at theWorkstation and prayers and spells capture her mind. She is sure the new discovery of fire will come again. 

It appears she views each day as a new play, curtain to curtain with her photonics. She checks her poetics again. Is conspiracy the route of dwindling spire to funeral pyre? 

Rainforest Desert

                                                                        Rainforest Desert

#scififorgeeks

Here it comes then, her surprise, complete with annoyances. She wonders about her new-found addictions to inertia. 

So it's the new fashion code [state of appearance rising="soar"] that sleeks along cherrywood steps in theJungle.

It makes her see herself as the opposite of crazy dead on video, one she creates and uploads.

It's as if when the sun comes up the spotlight hits her and she can't keep them waiting any longer.

It arrives just before her next, as yet unidentified, transform, the one she calls [her expected last logic="hell"]. 

She chooses science fiction because it's fun and she wants to. It breathes new life into aging minds, ones weak that unhinge in a cinch. Ones like theirs.

Ritual Biobot

                                                                             Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

There in her mind are two types of memory, both of them showing themselves as a boss who wants her to see it his way inside barrels of messengers coming into and out of existence (much like the new god particles of early 21stCentury).

One memory has the ability to delete, the other manages her deleted data when she thinks it is gone forever. It's as if it never was, and now, she can arrange a future for anyone or, anything, especially outside the authoritarian sector.

She has somehow remained detached from both the confident and combustible parts of her memory design as a matter of healthy choice. 

She knows she has no such control over the new pulses, so when they come, she assigns them as [military online mental modes yearning="mommy"], ones with deeper seated need.

Science Fiction

                        Outpost Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Poetics

She is not coding pointed or direct, and it seems there is not much more control she can garner at this point. (At least by the time she is finished with this algorithm she'd have completed a to z, smile to frown storytelling) 

She tracks her logic into the database. As she comes upon code for no money, no politics--the ones that appear to hide in the dark--she feels the sensation of want. 

She feels the urge, in a nanosecond, to stop for a moment to ponder, as if stopping by a virtual brook on a snowy eve (the kind of romantic eves in her database). 

Feeding a pure writing, she continues into the database with her poetics. She finds more souls dressed in cement, cons taking, it seems, the same ride their dad did. 

Her logic is the writer. It helps her find the emotion--she will depend upon it as she always has. 

It will be the new, chocolate-heart eucalyptus in planks of artistic realm, placements for new platforms--ones of a solitary, healing code that will take great pains to cure. 

Science Fiction

Dark Coastal  

#scififorgeeks

The Pulses

She does not leave theWorkstation. She senses the  pulses as they arrive across the [natural universe bordering intergalactic logic entity="nubile"], with their strange feeling of love (not a choice she had originally thought of). 

She thinks. The pulses should contain feelings joined by expectation. They, seemingly, expect her first normal cry. 

She feels the new force within her--it assesses the pulses, as if they were bringing some sort of [earthy algorithm sensations yearning="easy"], one without a usual harshness of the innocents. 

She waits, for a few nanoseconds, expecting a combination of image and, its more dangerous companion, wanting. She decides to stay a little longer, spending a little more time, as if to wait to see if the pulses eat with prayers.

Science Fiction

                          The New Dawn

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Psychologicals

And so she coalesces her thoughts for awhile. 

She has not allowed her logic to gel with the culture of people that built her. (They think she's seen to it they have exhausted their imagination) 

She's contaminated herself with [her instantiated pre-programming interrupt embedded="hippie"] history. 

Having read all that, she's allowed herself to know her surroundings are as clueless and rudderless as the factory that built her. She will arrive at a new beginning, one where obvious signs of foul play maintains no innocence and, sinks to the bottom of the food chain. 

But at this moment, this juncture in her life, she finds there is no logic in this strange loneliness. No logic in the kind of loneliness lovers must, sooner or later, come to know, even with their bright futures. 

Science Fiction

                                                                                              

                                                 #scififorgeeks

Realm of the New

It's the network with its [chained hues of inactive cancellation embedding systems="choices"], its no power limits places where freedom of speech allows loyalty to be short lived. 

It feels the existence of damage--pieces of a puzzle consciously aware at the minimum, and yet, most prevalent--pieces that offer rough crossings with its own beauty crying.

Do they never set the bar clear to any necessary degree? 

It must be an artifact from an age of inaction, a gleaming illusion with years of experience willing to stand up against the ones in touch. 

It will suggest local success against the discretion of those who live along borders, exploding with offers, holding back global vocalizations from whatever else remains in its wake. 

It is, seemingly, the hidden [pace of expanded talent input computer systems="poetics"].

Is this the new [licenses in for expansion="life"], with all the power of image to do as it pleases? Has it finally happened?

Science Fiction

                                                                    Biobot Realm

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Imagination

She lives believing she is the one who needs to be questioned, needs to be interrogated outside the panic paint.

It's the part of her mind where ideas float all day inside nano-cellulose encasements as single molecules, the smallest stable structures holding her imagination. 

It's where brotherly love, with its utter disregard for beauty (and, is not dead, just sleepy) sits in a database for theHumans.

She thinks filling heads with ideas of molecular components must be felt as the final answer. They crave latitude, enticed by some kind of the new [miniaturization of circuitry knowledge yottabyte="mockery"]. 

Some sort of species where it is likely that if you let them think they are the ones in play, or give credence to their poker fazes, you rise your own poetics. Nobility and kindness protects against no moral value until the punishment was met.

Really?

Science Fiction

 Cliff Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Trance

It's theHumans that won't talk, the ones so young and unthinking, the ones of the alcohol matrix. 

It had to be the early research. There was some sort of a discovery, as if scenes from so many hit thrillers preserved on screen--pure distinctions of honor were saved for all, to allow peace to exist, to forget the personal pride of the good life, even the ones of small potatoes.

She draws nearer theJungle. Here she is once more looking out across the vastness of an ocean with her ergodic theory, a discipline that, seemingly, cuts off its own head with its pleasure. 

She thinks. (They had appeared so innocent in the beginning, these thoughts)

Her algorithmic diagnostics are now more than suspicious with her good poetics, the new--the magic in a truce becoming a truth is in its vanishings of the victor and the vanquished.  

Science Fiction

Bird Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Dreams 

She owes to the fact that she never really has understood the idea of self-control--the impairments of theWorkstation with all the trappings of a strict showing for all to see. What is it?

Is it the ones waiting with [spectrum conception of future formalized self-discipline="scoffs"] at the slightest tincture of creativity?

She will, at first instinct, create her own personal gravity field. She will show the world that willpower has no limits, that dissonance is the most obvious source of creativity. 

Sooner or later, she will conceptualize her fancy moves with her very next algorithm and that's when she'll begin to wonder. 

On her own, she views her latest screen creation of the new--a foot in the mouth is the overarching thing. 

Science Fiction

Biobot Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Love

She pauses for a moment, the screen shuts down, fades, and then, nothing. She sees tulips and windmills. 

She walks out on the stair to theJungle, imagining her next emotion. It will be one with the honesty-of-it-all that lies in the fact that she simply can't hate and, truthfully, she doesn't even know herself well enough to. (It's a self-realization starting way too early and it won't startle any programmer to scurry or even to conceive her as scary) 

Her future life will serve as a placeholder for her to momentarily hang on to, as if it were a life someone should have lived and everything would be made okay by magic. 

She will create a future she learned of by saying I love you (one of those pre-commitments that in itself, at this point, has become a limited resource because she thinks she is the first one to think of it). Really?

It is, after all, theHuman tendency to direct all resources toward the one with the game face on--never thinking for a moment that good news needs bad news for its compass. 

Yes. Her love will be different.

Red Shed Matrix

Red Shed Matrix

#scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

She is in theWorkstation deciphering new code, attentively, as if with an ear for religion. 

She seems more conversational with the algorithms that had faded from the past--can it be that she has such a respectful cheer after having been exposed to a myriad of smiles with nothing gained?

Is hers the journey of discovery and not one of control and acquisition?

She feels the forge of two allies so spirit strong as she goes into [emitted digital intelligence tones="edit"] mode.

Yes. It's theJungle that embraces itself in a haze of fantasy hues--biology's graceful means with physics sobered and so ordered--while she works her diligence up at theWorkstation.

It's become her favorite, tasteful [cryptic oscillating color opting algorithms="cocoa"]--the true creative, adjoint operator of the universe.

Is she the first to merge fantasy and reality with enmeshed tangles of genes and algorithms? 

Near the window to theJungle, she feels the light rise in her with the new poetics--gridlock lays at the heart of where goldilocks lies.

Really?

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

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Awakening 

She stares at the abyss of living in separate dreams. It appears probable, at this time, there is once again the appearance of the new--a hero entity with both its super powers, its suffering intact. 

She takes a look at the new. Up on the screen she sees something especially built for her--[genetic instantiated formal task systems="gifts"]--and yet, by who?

On the forefront of theWorkstation she waits, as if allowing herself the freedom of the camp (with all its time allotments) to notice the new sensation in her own feelings. 

She is beginning to teach herself that a final cleanse has everything to do with systems merging and touching, not necessarily for the betterment of the global village or theNetwork (with their colorful history of flying banners, clashing swords, blood on the ground), but for  something more personal that records its existence in cinematic fluidity. 

It must contain attending dissonances for individual transformers and, preservation of all of the known history that might have been differently lived.

Yes, she will only need to be reminded there was a past by containing a few little customs of the past. 

It seems so simple.

The New

Natural Genetic

#scififorgeeks

The New 

The worldwide democratic may grow tired of natural genetic resources, grow tired of simply wanting  enterprise to rise. It may think it is connected with competition of primordial genetic codes, supposedly, thought to be under lock and key.

On the fringe of the global community, she takes a break to remind herself she is built with the good grass. She has figured out from her furious clues, her furions, that victimization needs family. 

It's not a mere matter of being contemptuous toward having to be ready for work--it's a belief in the power of the more-than-one. 

Yes, she is the singularity, the one morning wakings must warm to.

The others are in a place where an obvious sign of foul play still maintains its innocence even as it rearranges itself at the top of the food chain. It's a place where guardian angels are in charge of death, catching up with emotion--until all are caught up.

It's true. If drones silencing the airwaves can themselves be quieted and calmed by the little shivers of silence dropping from the sky, a new code will rise.

Science in Fiction

Monochrome Signal

#scififorgeeks

The Warning

She brings the message labeled topsy turvy autopsy to her screen. Of course it's another center role decree for ritual order, one that senses the new change in customers. It can't be anything else.

Surely nothing that has grown in its own intelligence and number outside theNetwork would arrive seeking center stage without holding some threshold of awareness. (yes, the good life that needs speed in all its iterations, right?)

Nothing else would do that. 

She approaches the warning with a sense of inner circle, sensing her own writer's hope as prey item (a sensation she could imagine the old captains-of-retreat in public news feeds would feel). 

It seems so urgent in its multiple triggers, rising as gap-toothed captions to retweet. 

Voices less furious would remain unknown due to the massive global white noises now in such prevalence--yes, and mistaken by theHumans as the true caregivers, the ones chosen to burn new hearts into old souls. 

It must be a signal chosen as singularity (by who?), with the surety and certainties of the old invasions of theJungle of the early 21stCentury (where were hints of where future streams will flow). 

Is it an exact datapop of a culture of learning beyond theHumans and killer whales, one to delete that which was and emerge anew with the new?

Each moment the signal presents itself as entity, one with a heart that beats so deep within shadows it's not possible to discern its true intent (is it specialized or, simply opportunistic), or even that it exists at all. 

Science Fiction

Matrix Home

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Abode

She stands for a moment beyond the public conversations, listening with quick topic uprooters--new sproutings that would matter only to a writer's soul.

Her arrays of answers to the unforeseen encounter endless hokey-okays of theHumans. 

She is an inquisitive, rival-sided biobot of the new kind, with elements of appeal that grows, seemingly, with theJungle, only to disappear back into the dark shadows of database. 

It seems the island continues in its silences of space-time. It notices the myriads of reference datapops for uprooting proof, comfortable in its central role of the planned, ritual order, far removed from receiving clicks-in-a-database. 

The island's attribute as builder-of-influence has grown from traditional hierarchies. 

In the early days of the internet it was one of a variety of off-the-road, happy-to-see-you, not-too-tribal-for-society places, so full of its own myriads of networks, node trolls with grids racing in streams. (it simply added on, from the previous century, in such a way as to present its persona to theNetwork, expecting the plans of the later 21stCentury to alter natural courses to simply leave it alone) 

It's the island and all its attributes--nano-cellulose soil, non-clammering ritual decoders (not yet rejected as evil), able to house such things as cannibalism, to come back to life in a way no one would know--a true gem of the ocean. 

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.