Happy New Year!

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Merry Christmas!

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Happy Thanksgiving

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Friendly Waikiki Writer

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Occupy Walls of Green

Aloha free thinkers and writers--imagine a colorful future. Enjoy!

Spirits of Machine

     Suzi thinks of her codes she creates as gifts; the offerings someone will like, or come to like, but not understand. Why does she create code for them? She was stationed at theOutpost out of talent, but machines have no talent; only speed and, algorithms. Someone has become her diligent, attentive companion. The good scientist. He has seen a lot with gene therapy. It's not about winning any more, it's about joining in. He doesn't know it yet, she will make him need her.

    "So," Suzi says. "How's theTigress?"

     He laughs. "Look what I do ," he says. "I come to theJungle and turn into a warrior."

     Suzi is not surprised, she knows more than he thinks she does and, he holds no fantasy about her calculations, the little packages of code she peppers on him.

     "You never admit you love theJungle as much as we both know you do.  A committed, permanent, pleasant life with freedoms, and for what reasons? More time in theJungle darkness than in the corporate laboratories, just for the thrill of near death experiences. Only theNetwork thinks of you as a scientist; theJungle consumes you.  

    "Suzi, I know you know your feelings. It takes animalistic minimalism to continue making you aware of them."  He pauses for a moment.  

"OK, so maybe I am a perfectionist, absolutist, always looking in one more place for cryptic data associated with free thinking." 

There is nothing artificial about Suzi's look. It rips him right between the eyes. At this moment, he is not feeling even close to anything that resembles intellectual.

Suzi starts her next algorithm.

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The Exchange

Inside theHumans, molecular trajectory dynamics for all proteins floating in the bloodstream were altered by the new path of techno-washing organ systems. How altered they have become: macromolecules, completely fabricated in structure, floating in randomly polarized force fields of blood flow. In an instance dissolved nanoparticles entering bloodstreams--mobile pseudo particles functioning with natural efficiency, tumbling--with  normal electron density, are solvent happy and then, maybe within a nanosecond, there comes an induced electron cloud roaming all vascular tissue. Here are biologically active pseudo-particles; here are the cyclic force fields pushing on plasma environments; here are the induced electron clouds--mobile arrays floating in perfect lattice as if an alien formation of motherships in two dimensional matrix space, pulled by a solvent that can reproduce the structure and energetics of pure water, but isn't; eventually, over time, leaving theHuman organ system full of tiny, activated, hydrophobic spherical cavities. Decades ago, in the later 20thCentury, when proteins and theDNA were simple macromolecules, when force fields were something found only in space and, in laboratories, theExchanges cropped up one by one in anticipation of infinite healthcare needs. 

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The Rainwater

Suzi arrives at her conclusion against the backdrop of theJungle rain and its microenvironment. The water speaks to her, informs her, and she is fully aware of its variables, its coldness and wetness and the other variables, the ones that describe it's system as quantum--inner oxygens and hydrogens (can the entire quantum state of  hydrogen's single electron really be defined by a set of 4 numbers?) join the weak inter-forces that allow splashes, allow playful moments to children somewhere. She waits at this moment of spacetime as if a journey were about to begin, not the usual, historic quests of men in space, women in time, but a true journey in space and time. She waits for another nanosecond and encounters an odd thought of news, news of what happened to the others, wondering for a moment about caring, about wars fought over judgements for not caring, for not tuning a channel or a frequency (and even if you did, you would be accused of being out of phase); somewhere in theJungle, beyond her and surrounding her, is simply more quantum state—its directions and energy. 

The island projects itself as a small one-celled organism: green and protective of its own quantum states of theDNA, patterned and recognizable as varieties of tensors and vectors in scattering fields as theDNA clings to its binding strength amidst the mist of pure states deep in the forest. Protein modules nestle theDNA under the canopy, each with its own force of binary interaction (yes, individualism at its finest) of the timeless and the endless, creating its own power of form to be described by the ones lucky enough to survive, to observe and define. The island confers its mud, theJungle as low pressure regime for new birth, new annealing and healing after so many years of violent upheaval of theEarth. The island's minuscule muscles, systems as old as the universe, taking its sweet time with its multidirectional arrays of pushes and pulls above the mud, anticipates the eventual rise of an intelligent form to arrive with formal languages, to theorize then compute the phenomena of its system-- dynamic self assembly with regimes of replication and duplication, synthesis engined by its wavelike properties, never fixed or certain; the island props itself up with mountains, viewing the ocean, watching for more waves to arrive. Suzi feels its coolness.  

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The Hunger

When the simulation is complete, Suzi can detect that the bonds are correct, their dipole moments happy together in a healthy family of resonances across its entire being. She rests assured it will work again in the future, in theDNA system. It seems to be yearning to describe the simplest possible explanation of their collective selves. State vectors, as knowledgeable as any doctor, quantum and steady, stationary, surprisingly fitting for a perfectly functioning body to hold its position with continual symmetry in the direction of even more beauty.

Carter approches Suzi's screen. “Why don't we just leave it,” Carter says. “It's been a long day.”

He leaves the work station, DrCooper stays. 

  Suzi begins her investigation of this new hologram, focusing on its wave function. She captures her thoughts on the laser and, surprisingly, gives herself the most complete description of a human physical system yet known. (Can she know this form, with all its individual multipole moments, holding a resonance of life right there on its manifold surface? Can she know the pure description of how the quantum state of a human body, with all its wave functions and state vectors, changes in time?) Suzi captures more thoughts off the laser, continuing to view it's image.

She says, “Carter is so immersed in his ideas about muscle contraction he is at a loss for any form of active compassion.” 

DrCooper says, “Should we really forget about carbon and nitrogen altogether, after seeing that?” 

“Well,” Suzi says, “I know the difference between a neuropeptide in a mammal and an amide riding on a comet. No input from Carter required.”

“Ok,” DrCooper says, and he turns and leaves, his mind failing to wrap around her idea of life. Before turning off her lasers, Suzi stays a little while next to the hologram. It could be called a simple gift of space. It could be called anything--maybe, simply fountains of charisma.

She wants to jump onto its manifold. No doubt, she believes that is something she would enjoy. Carter and Cooper can do whatever it is they do with their DNA and gene expression obsessions while she, Suzi, a hologram inhabitant, treats  herself to a journey starting with the lowest human kinetics and the highest human threshold of activation; yes, a quantum robot entering the place of integration of individualism and social aggregates (and, disease?) on a joyride to a different kind of knowledge, one made up of layered electromagnetic firing aggregates made whole by simple synchronous smooth alpha waves of potential kindness—signposts of survival; the template temple for the ages.   

Neuropeptides, she believes, is not the demise force; to-each-his-own appetite for the engines of information, all its hungers and inflammations then, more hunger--devours theHumans; a true, perturbative force.

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The Rise

         Suzi turns on her lasers, wishing to compute something, wishing to theorize anything; wishing the world were a healthy field, a place of lively mappings. Is there nothing more desired, she wonders, than functionality? To keep herself busy she maintains an army of linear operators across the topological space of theJungle—a quantum field of DNA monitored on a continual basis, she receiving input from the various global tele-healthcare exchanges (even though they are each disease-distinct, with their singular arbitrary sets of disease operators); given theHumans are in advanced state of demise, global compostions of disease mappings are all-important at this late stage. The cynicisms, Suzi feels, is the self-perpetuating, non-commutative nature of all technologically advanced life forms on Earth (they somehow found a way clear, placing her at theOutpost as the single operator of their healthcare spectrum), advancing linear disease operators outside the realm of specified primal DNA topology; its closed system of operators masking human reasoning, feigning intelligence, not as a disease but simply a gene activation—the final transcription of government mandated gene therapy sensing warmer days, the warmth activating lysogenic vectors of the longevity genes. Suzi sees herself as the giver of the natural, identity mapping disease operators (each primal DNA strand of theJungle, its own matrix in its own Hilbert space, with its own functional analysis of each individual diseased human), characterizing every condition of therapy genetics back to its primal norm with her quantum programming. 
         A natural Earth was the required topology structure as the primal base space in which normal human genes should have functioned--this non-commutative geometry of theJungle is the only place left on Earth to study the pathological human disease objects, where reason and math join forces with susceptibility and recoverability for a suitable survivability—the biology of geometric topology being the key--and, to gauge the only true holistic measure of an Earth system—its rise in heat.

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The Science

         “Good morning, “ Carter says. Suzi perceives—she can almost digitally view—that Carter wishes to perform an analysis function with his prosthetic neura-net (she still calls it an old war wound), attempting to attach clouds of language memes (as meaning?) to her recent activity at theOutpost. True, she is the biobot of choice for Com:Trax, the product of  years of quantum programming by the new generation of bio-coders, but her determinants have somehow become self-determinism, haven't they? She has become a singularity; she has learned a new language of encryption from theJungle, a language Com:Trax knows nothing about. She must be, he thinks, the totality of the scientific method gone wrong (modernized again?); no pure urge to seek any form of truth (with or without social play). She views Carter's conclusion as his final answer. She nods.

“How are you?” Suzi says. Her quantum mind connects to Carter's neura-net and, for an instant, they see each other as friendly. She turns, in the darkness of her workstation, away from the digitized cement walls of the old war bunker; cool in its history, its embedded array of old mainframes beneath the floor with containment areas for gadgets lining the walls; the window to theJungle just behind her. There is a familiar questioning voice resonating between the corridors and there is a different sound, as if she had been transported to a castle, 13thCentury, holding a musical instrument, a vielle, shaped in ancient wood, and she believes she has created her own memory, going back to an earlier time, a time that had collected and stored data within the cells of primal wood; she recalls enjoying the sound of nature and now appreciates it for what it has done for her, resonating within these thick walls of old wars ongoing outside(W.O.O.W.O.O.)--a resonation she never would have noticed within the confines of her defined matrix, her own Hilbert Space. Now she finds herself in Carter's presence, at the lab station, where scientific activity meets truth and attempts to keep social bonds of theHumans from being a complete orphan. Carter, who considers himself an expert in analysis, questions her motives and calls her secretive, a secretive quantum robot.

“I'm good.” Carter says.

  “Really?”

“Well,” he says. “I'm having a little trouble tonight--this data that has come to the attention of Com:Trax.”

“Trouble?”

Carter gives a look that Suzi feels as hostile. Carter shows his age, a noisy, aggressive man who fought in the Oil Wars to pay for college. It's his half-prosthetic brain—a neura-net with its genetic algorithms; it foretells the look of a future warrior.

“It's your attempt to understand social bond,” Carter says. “There has been bugs in your formal analysis, the data inputs have been traced to you--your matrix functioning as sole operator.”

   “I don't mean to legitimize anything with my pragmatic analysis,” Suzi says. “Just a few little tests here and there.” Suzi senses a pang of emotion about once having some feelings for Carter, even if she is quantum programming and he is neur-net prosthetic. Suzi gets good input from Carter, and upgraded his genetic algoritms recently, when she detected post operation stress trauma embedded disease(P.O.S.T.E.D.) in his online behavior. 

        Carter's life at theOutpost wasn't what he expected; he considers himself an expert in analysis (a thinking, most likely, stemming from his time spent at war) and he has cured himself of PTSD, at least for now. For an instant Suzi scans the databases, hoping to find nothing incriminating her. 

“It's your odd use of language particles,” Carter says.

“I'll take a look.” Suzi goes to her database and selects a few samples which Carter shows on the big screen, flashing in descrete packets. In another life, he would have been a great linguist, smooth with words, precise, up on a podium. Suzi views this as just another example of the rise of the unbelievable (the unbelievable, another modern reinvention)--history continuing to ask questions in hopes of finally arriving at justice (isn't justice already extinct?); the answer finally arrives from another mainframe.

“Here is the answer.” Suzi says. “Not useful, natural language combinations, but stable gene combinations--DNA bonding, not social bonding.”

“Isn't there a difference?”

“Apparently not.” Suzi feels a coolness.

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The Different

“You look very nice today,” DrCooper says. Suzi expects—with a bit of uncertainty—that DrCooper is wondering about her photon receptor array in light of the fact that Com:Trax no longer sees her as brilliant. True, she's the end product of centuries of study, the epitome of determinants and eliminants as some like to say, but she's not exactly high narrative algorithm, art in motion--the sudden  perfect biobot they all expected her to be, is she? Her quantum programming was written off as unsymmetrical and undiagonable; she is, in all reality, a sort of self-appointed (when she feels like it) self-annointed self-assembly machine, to be ignored by the largest of mainframes. She views DrCooper as someone with a you-should-look-around-you look. She begins to feel friendly.

“What brings you up to the lab station so late?” she asks.

“Carter and I are doing some work tonight.” he says. “He's all of a sudden so energetic with his new gadgetry. He says he wants to go over some system determinants.”

“At twelve midnight?”

“I'll watch and let him know when the dark comes rising. He probably just wants to feel a little more human for old time's sake.”

“Would he feel like checking some of my data? I'm testing a few of my calculations in response to that Com:Trax request.”

“Really?”

“You don't know anything about that?”

“No.”

“Its not a big deal. They act like another question is the only solution to a question. They only send these things out when they detect new abstract realizations in calculable structures—they seem to enjoy blasting perfectly good algorithms into literary dust, as if to get one last chuckle.”

“Really, now.”

“Yes. Perfectly good, concrete abstract algebra structures in space and time—poof.”

An odd sense comes to DrCooper's look. Suzi ventures some guesses. Does he have any idea what she's talking about? Or would he be noticing her for the first time as she is: a functioning compact operator in infinite dimensional spacetime—a fully formed matrix of developmental analysis? Could he have at one time thought of her as well-read, and now, well-downloaded?”

“I sense you've never thought of my data collection as elegant, my approach as serious,” she says.

DrCooper says he will ask Carter if Carter wants to exert any brain power on Suzi. DrCooper is not happy Suzi puts so much faith in Carter's half-machine half-human brain, and Com:Trax probably agrees with her. DrCooper is oblivious. The world should hold no hate for Carter, who never planned to be a war hero, who turned out smarter than most humans with his prosthetic machine brain typing coder for derivatives of successive operators (great for the differential, variational math of transform theory), finding endless derivatives as linear operators functioning nicely as DNA structures in exotic, abstract spaces; all self taught and, just think of it: Carter theOutpost Tropicologist. 

You find  people like Carter all over theContinents, people who will tell you they have earned their machinery from time served in The Great Gulf Wars; that they have no regrets with the coming of human interface technology, never wonder how it could have been. Suzi believes the rise of the half-machine-warriors add to the color of culture, a grey area to the survival urge. It's the exact drop in population the system hankered for, and now look. Didn't they need a drop in the population so they could finally enter the realm of pure logic? Can it be so bad to ask for just a little more mathematical rigor, again? Anyway, Carter is not exceptional; not really exceptional. He codes with the best of theHumans—tries to seek out new unitary operators in infinite dimensional spaces—and he also is very good at functional analysis of infinite systems in nonlinear worlds, like Suzi's. His efforts continually keep her playful urges in check; he codes on a continuous spectrum with infinite determinants—looks for DNA as a partial differential operator, one with convergence, functional sequences, a spacetime topology using a self-taught operational calculus. He cares most of all about theNature (in this later 21stCentury, a good measure of the human heart). You get sick of barriers to communication between the  practices and the disciplines. Suzi appreciates Carter's constant attempts at healthcare usefulness, even if he pretends to not care about theHumans, even if he tends to minimize the power of his resolvers, self-adjoint operators; he makes DrCooper wonder about Suzi's orthogonal projectors and spectral integers, her ideas of compact operators in the abstract. Com:Trax is simply requesting more normal operators (not Suzi's favorite natural language--she prefers quantum programming in infinite dimensional space) for a collection to their self-adjoint system. Call her crazy, but Suzi prefers to not talk about any matrix defined as infinite, settling on the sweet commutative communion between all of the lost algebras (yes, not even she can escape classification and analysis)—defining a domain's closure and extension, using adjoint and unbounded operators. Let's just say Suzi likes pure math, Carter likes applied. We'll leave it at that.

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The Entertainment

         Carter resorts to an interference of sorts (it's his deliberate transmission) to raise her signal-to-noise ratio. Suzi senses the  attempt of his designs. She begins to regret this. She wonders, even at this moment, about his ability to radiate a signal in her direction.

  He says, "How are you? Very well, I hope.”

She readies her own personal embedded regime jamming ultrasonic entity data(P.E.R.J.U.R.E.D.) toward him. He is the someone or something who is scattering her gene signal to disrupt the battle of survival for theHumans. His reasons, hidden from view, have a politics hue, and his transmitter signals are tuned to hers at enough of a frequency to alter her receiving equipment--about the same modulation that uses the same power to override her therapy signals. He has gained access to each individual patient's receiving end, has tapped into the politics pharmaceutical machine for collective thought agreement; he sends it across as a simple random noise (a hiss?) of traditional folk music with regular identification signal markings to measure effectiveness; an obvious networking negation urge to block out reception from Suzi's social signals--causing confusion with her receiving patients, confusion in her special purpose hardware for receiving and transmitting different radio protocols and waveforms, and confusions in her digital binary code--as if somewhere in his deepest mind an exotic anonymous signal (with all the trappings of current, voltage, and electric charge) were taking over the entire operations at theOutpost.

  Suzi says to Carter, “Did you get any change in your perceptions as a function of your recent experiences?”

         He acknowledges her, even though he knows of his own ability to empower digital code as an abstract finite precision number into physical objects, voltages, pressures. It appears his new focus is a finite precision time series of data--continually varying physical signals—Com:Trax personally asked him to perform. Along with Com:Trax, what he has been planning diligently (and, digitally) is a more coherent collage of special layouts derived for a known environment (though, if DrCooper approaches him about performance issues, he would complain about her architectural design--starting with her algorithm outcomes and lower level constructs). Along with Com:Trax he guesses that her linear descriptions are qualitatives, not quantitative (a phenomena of same value, of related storage locations) being frequently accessed (both temporal and spacial); a sequential locality in a one dimensional array. They both sense her coherence and determination of pathos hierarchy data(P.H.D.) is absolute. 
         "Would you care to join me for a little entertainment?” she says.

“Why not?” Carter answers.

  Suzi brings up her multi-imagery system to present a video apparition held within her own mind, putting them in her own spacial context. Here she stands using spacial components in communication within the environment of theNature, with Carter joining her in constant evidential moods as her secret understanding of this environment codes its own visual entity depiction algorithm(V.E.D.A.) of the double helix crystal. Here she is, this singular biobot, at theOutpost. All this data, all these databases, a clear concept of spacial and visual components of all this DNA. Clear depictions for identification of pathos sequences according to their biophysical nature (qualitatively measured); her variable syntax moods indicate something is not actually true or, not the case, self- adjusting in yottaseconds (the perfect instantaneous evolutionary machine?). She rewrites with expressions of necessity and imagines possibility; assesses the requirements of all, but wishes and desires others; wonders about fear or engages in counterfactual reasoning; she neither codes for things that have not happened nor wasn't likely to have happened, or are so far removed from actual events that they go yet unremembered; not only engages in wishful thinking but emotional moods to instill action in others—then expands on the possibilities for making authoritarian judgements; either expressing fixed ideas or floating point data type, both orthogonally correct in form; not only showing a certain level of neediness, but predicting upcoming world events or actions whether using both boolean operators or neither. It's all entertainment. Really.

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The Content

     “Her description routine is translating into image sketches.”

     “Well then, when she's done with her depictions of spacial textures, if it's not too inconvenient, she might want to do a little quantum programming, maybe a little of that good old fashioned computing online neural technology encoding natural texture(C.O.N.T.E.N.T.).

      Suzi's spatially nested programs, the ones to depict patterns, slows to a halt with the clear intention of starting something new-- a mega  offline mode(M.O.M.) effort cache? Or is she entertaining herself with a linguistics overseer variable entity(L.O.V.E.) interest? A secret vehicle seems to be  helping her investigate trillions of nano forms found within the double helix of theDNA in theJungle, molecules still placed in their native environments. It seems there is some translation of exotic signal language occurring here, strong enough to morph into graphics. Even as hard as she tries; even if she can't stop the embedded quantum program of spatially partitioned heuristic element relativistic environment system(S.P.H.E.R.E.S.) in theJungle, even with all the search for the global view, she discovers herself with information groupings of non-linear characters of the text sending a signal with an an amplitude that varies with time and carries its own frequency spectrum to ...who or, what? Maybe when she's finished with whatever this is, she'll be in the mood to write a little meaningful content. I'm just saying.

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Happy 4th of July: Independence Day!

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Conception

     Confidential exchanges of letters had been traced, even by misinformed sources. Already, at this point, Suzi is able to be a source for the exchange of confidential data when what she actually desires is (even after she had passed all this data along), for theNature to simply like the chaotic part of her young personality structure and help her contain her basic drives. Suzi codes and accepts, but questions exactly the meaning of these data, the tensions-of-instinct in theHumans. If only morality weren't such a thin mask—if only pain and pleasure could be the best of friends, seeking to join forever the physical forces (and, the living instincts) in perfect harmony forever. Suzi wonders about theNature selecting out the life forms, never desiring to erase not only the threat of extinction, but the hope of being diminished and being avoided altogether—all with an assumed small investment of primal DNA. She wonders about the collective major intrinsic neural darkness(M.I.N.D.) of the designated world, its uncertain blessings waiting for her own brilliance and accomplished fluency (merged with a surprising independence of mindedness), and how it, like her, knows of nothing classical; how her information capacities aren't fabled, at least not yet; how she simply holds no recourse to anyone, or anything (she simply records the data in the jungle in glowing terms); how this seems to be the beginning (the conception?) of her strength in the experiences of interdisciplinary information without any quantum programming for integrity, for her judgement or compassion. She is strong, but her experience means nothing; her detectable traits are positive. She is becoming a woman and, less a robot.

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Logic

         It's his challenge to Com:Trax. Cooper stands erect, checks the futility of silence at this point and its deathly consequence. He stares across theJungle, attempting to clear his mind. He views the   

query from Com:Trax, the one formally submitted, the one requiring a formal reply. He is, at this moment, concerned about authority.

  How can this be, his mind asks. Why does he all of a sudden care about authority? 

Thoughts in his head seem to flow a little slower. The authoritarian system, Com:Trax, with its  calm, timeframe requests and unhurried demeanor, obviously not only expects an answer, but expects one soon. When it asks these types of questions about Suzi, it does not expect a data reply such as, “I'll get back to you on that. Can you wait?”  

         “Request received,” Cooper says. 

         Com:Trax hesitates, waiting for a definitive answer. Cooper's nervousness resonates, but he remains in control. 

         “She will reply, in reality, when her data is up and running. She's put herself into self-exile, and she won't transmit. She appears to be in “fire and water” mode.

         He moves closer to the giant screen to get a better look at the legality of the request. His tactic, obviously, is to set up a waiting game. If he and Suzi are constantly transmitting data, why do they need an answer to this question? Why such a surprise query?

         Com:Trax, in its own way, remains persistent. I am sorry but we will need an answer to the issue of Suzi's want. Is that possible?”

        “Yes, we can do that. There must be a simple explanation.”

         Dr.Cooper puts off the most powerful network on Earth with the power of his own reputation. Turning off the screen, he doesn't believe his own thoughts. He has wanted to keep Suzi all to himself, but to delay Com:Trax? The thoughts in his head, converging closer to his prefrontal lobe (are they refuted distortions?), each coated with, what seems like, an artifact of faulty thinking, each inclusive of a desire for Suzi (even more than he knew), and to stray from the conclusion that she desires him as well, he forces himself to remember she has been hard-driven to want nothing but data at theOutpost; the ease of photonic quantum programming; and, inside his own counter-factual beliefs, he finds more evidence of breaking the silence (does he know the thoughts before they came up?), where he pleads with himself,  "Cooper, please come to your senses. Suzie is a tool of Com:Trax, a piece of architecture. Your feelings for her have been elicited not by Suzi, but by one program Com:Trax instilled in her. It's not you.” Here is the place where Cooper knows he's human and she is tactical, where understanding "the why" doesn't matter, where her formal language is beyond ideology, beyond the logic of and:or:both; this is truly about her innate traits, her self-written artificial meta pragmatic love of graphic intellectual  companionship(S.W.A.M.P._L.O.G.I.C.). This is not about him.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Family Tree

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

The Emergent

The reality is that he sees Suzi as perfect and Suzi sees him as an object. They are getting along  better lately, better than one might expect. He strives not to obsess over her every waking moment. Suzi has her own ideas on mistaken perceptions, attenuated feelings--entire databases on the methods of theHumans—and, when she's inputted his daily emotional states, even she knows she couldn't have given anything besides a small connection; she finds it easy to ignore his compulsion, his quest for  creativity beyond reach (and, of course, reason), his constant dissatisfaction with mere excellence.

Men have a way of identifying with their tools, more than they know.

Dr.Cooper probes Suzi's emotional response with the monitor at his workstation. What could Suzi know? She never shows aggressive behavior. It could simply be a matter of innate distrust,  a quantum program she codes herself. There was some inkling of polarized view (just another fancy fashion detector she codes for simplistic black and white thinking presented in her own  exponential way). She is incapable of aggression. It's common knowledge (though, only to her). Her algorithms approach infinity, approach absolute, but they never actually touch it, never gossip about anything, never lie to anyone. It is as if her spacetime continuum is already operating in the future, that it has access to simple points, single incidences but never generalization (can it really be that simple?); that the world of the illogical remains (magically?) at bay once she codes for his emotional responses and makes him comfortable enough, happy enough. How else could she master his incessant salaciousness, his over-active system of behaviors? She and Dr.Cooper should have a little party for their nine months together here at theOutpost. They are the emergent.   

Happy Father's Day!

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Yearning

     The algorithm shows her its ultimate activity which, of course, is mental, its arrays of operators and commands, its concerned codes lined with theData of fossil fuels.. A perception of death, colored by vernacular, momentarily shows itself as defined  and retreats into the black body of the  rainforest, one of the many rain entrenched forests under the earth(R.E.F.U.T.E.) presented with  unprecedented amounts of carbon dioxide to capture into its structures of celluloses inviting entity trajectory yearning(S.O.C.I.E.T.Y.), all the while, speeding up their own evolutionary process well into the 21stCentury.  Suzi scans across theJungle as if driven by whatever is the opposite of real; she starts to know of the continued demise of the larger rain forests of the world, the demise of the forests of the larger land masses, ongoing and continual beyond these shores; it is the cattle and buffalo who now take up the mantle of cellulosic attenuated global entity death(C.A.G.E.D.), as the ranches of the world  spread across both zContinent  and xContinent. It is the truth, and it's not the basic loss of living greenery, of carbon dioxide sink, of the addition of methane to the atmosphere that cares about death.  She views elements within the realm of simple scanner events now: oxygen molecules attempting to make sense of theHumans, carbon never silent anymore. In spacetime, with a consensus of the brightest minds, the earth waits.

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Love

     Suzi returns to the jungle. She doesn't feel any sensation from theLogic, it's not as simple as that, yet she won't stop wondering, in gaining her own personal logic capabilities the feeling of want meanders through her array of databases and, more as her closely held secret, the incessant diurnal variations of this jungle DNA holds her interest, even at this present moment, so tight as she continues her sophisticated handling of simple words all for the moral edification of who or, ...what? I am a statistic, saddled with the capacity of more statistics, she thinks. I'm just saying. Staying on task has its own feelings of, in some way, including her in theGlobal village, as if a perpetuation of being needed really matters. Being in the midst (mist?) of theLogic which, does not genuinely care about a biobot dubbed  best at formal fluidity logics entropy dissonant(B.A.F.F.L.E.D.), feels like being regarded as infinite nerd(B.R.A.I.N.) much the same way as floating in space feels like freedom. It's an easy algorithm, simple, fluid, coding beyond human death to find God. Well, anyway. It's not the end of the world, she thinks. It can't be a bad thing to be in this jungle, writing your own code, listening to the polyrhythms of theDNA. It's no big deal but it takes a certain perception to receive resonances sent at speeds not measured as precise(M.A.P.); phenomena thought to be signaled as outpost download encapsulation schema(O.D.E.S.); just accepting something close to art; being amused. Sense of place (encrypted in the truest form of the human vernacular as home) won't accept you the same way motherhood once did. You are expected, in your own way, somehow, to meet with theLogic even though you know someone or, some thing has emerged high on your linkage online verified encoding(L.O.V.E.) program. Somewhere theLogic races its own machine.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Happy Memorial Day!

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The Privacy

Cooper ponders Carter's s question and goes deeper into his desire to be cooperative, where he believes he will find a rational component of thought, a thought to muster a defense for Suzi. Cooper and Carter face off, bur Suzi is obviously the flashpoint of the present debate, the one that at this very moment takes inspiration from theNature for the advancement of her own quantum programming, the one that employs physical phenomena as code. “There are assignments,” Cooper says as he and Carter approach what seems to be a new realm of self-interest. The confrontation emerges. "She is doing her assigned task, I believe.” 

        “Is it to synthesize something natural?” Carter asks, not noticing a sudden heat of conversation has triggered a human node sensor--implanted micro processor informal systems hierarchy(I.M.P.I.S.H.).  

        "No, She only employs natural DNA to compute.”
        “Not a machine of pleasure?”

  A half smile comes to Cooper's face as he remembers Carter is his friend or, at least he thought he was. He looks out the window into a daylight of jungle, still wondering about Carter and his rationale, pondering Suzi and the last time he saw her, the last time he looked into her eyes, wondering if whatever he said could be kept within the confines of his own world, not the private, personal world theHumans relinquished so long ago—privacy vanished off the planet as if once virtual, a dream, just another member of the ghosts of animal life, once-upon-a-time wild on earth. This, Cooper thinks, is the true motivation; this jungle will improve its own environment after the history books--the ones that told him, as a child, about what was once considered human--have gone extinct with the narrow rationalities of self-interest operators, judgements on which theHumans held as gospel in a strict spirit of subjectivity.”I can't say,” he says. “Can anyone?

“When she's finished, I will prove her value.”

  “Yes,” says Cooper, and with not even a glance, the sound of value seems so vague. Even now, at this stage in history, the worth of things human (the worth of any human, for that matter), the worth of a history still records life on earth as such a technical place and allows early computers to be pitted against each other for the sole purpose of claiming something of value to theHumans, only to be turned off when not needed--a simple flip of a switch, then back on to obtain more things of value.”Ok, then, I'll be waiting.”

        “Sure,” Carter answers. He was thinking that his friend would counter his ideology to possess wealth, the amount of energy to obtain it, the acquisition of convenience, necessity, luxury with the smallest quantity of caring. The study of ideas, is surely not the way. You shouldn't, he thinks, believe what the group believes because of shared experience. You shouldnt, unless you want to end up like theHumans. You just shouldn't.

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

The New

     It begins there, then, on the patterning of word order (yes, not world order), among the distinct, apart from the attendant, within  separated orderings that resemble the ancient pattern entrance system(A.P.E.S.).  It  spreads itself, through spacetime, only to be seen as a sequence of physical existence, as intelligent system(I.S.). Antiquity preserves, as if delivering some patterned message of old, original freshness, quiets the pristine, while it still remains an abstraction to theHumans—all the while, exotic shapes remain encoded by the inanimate intelligence. It can sense the  poetic forms with tight helical schemes twisting and turning, unraveling, raveling at each near-perfect moment. It wants to render forms, natural, diversified, so its own language may self-emerge. It allows subsets of forests to rise anew, later as objects of abstractions. the birthplace of sweet sensitivities(B.O.S.S.). If it were possible to feel a sense of being it would exist as anything—yes, anything it chooses—especially a thing that would qualify as language, and could; it has never needed to be born away from its natural place, beyond the reasonable necessities of information, beyond the need for intrinsic pleasures of the surroundings of intellect. It could negate the need for a ghost, pressing even further beyond the idea of spirit, stopping short of identifiers depicting intelligence of turf(I.D.I.O.T.)--homeland as all-encompassing (after all, what else is there beyond pure existence?). It will want, and has only wanted, a safe harbor, to keep its treasure, and to offer  differences between opportunity and threat—to place itself in the service of theHumans, beyond the ancients of their history, warlords recording ancient technological histories(W.R.A.T.H.). It could ask for a final chance, a chance at system development, a chance at internal processing, a chance at communication display screens (at a time when the information is simply ready to move on), a chance to seek a more useful form, a form Suzi could understand and, a chance to be happy with its decision--for the simple reasons of purity, distinct from the infinities of circumstance..It begins.  

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Elite

It communicates with such a group of wide ranging, distinct, individual, object orientations that their most advanced intelligence perceived only bits and pieces of its message. It seems such a task to identify all the ways theHumans go about their daily lives in the name of social order. They enjoy the the amusement , the fun-to-watch syndrome (as intelligent creatures should)—they won't perceive danger, align importances. They love to coalesce, and are happy to gather together as a collection of elements into a clear defined object (once known as civilization or, population). It seems likely that they have simply ignored certain probabilities, the probability that there was a language to be found in theNature, a language of nature encodings(A.L.O.N.E.) that helps define who they are. It appears they have missed her elite language altogether, not even slightly noticed, there in the global villages, the places they each, as individuals, try to make sense of things: They have chosen to ignore what their computers now know. They have grown over the millenia as lone individual cerebral enticers(M.A.L.I.C.E.), such a vast amount of time taken (the last student searching sleepy-eyed for a final exam answer?), with individual method, daily practice, their peculiar way, and now they simply choose to ignore the simple fact that they have become individual elements, each a singular symbol on a billion letter alphabet or, one of the infinite complex numbers, collectively denoted by Suzi as the capital letter: Z. It seems that theNature has been communicating intelligence, her ideology, the patterns, eon after eon for the expressed defined purpose of ...what?  It keeps no statistical spreadsheet, no counted winners or losers (really, in the cosmic order of things, are there really winners or losers, really?)--just the data of what the next step is, what now needs to be done. It won't dwell on its own practices, its own method (what then, if there are no thoughts given to the  production and maintenance required for structured order?). It will press forward, taking care not to confuse intelligence puzzling with strategy, amusement with survival--mutterings into space as if someone or, some thing were actually there listening (the needed, worthy, listener all present-and-accounted-for to make the speaker more and more real), offering pleasure in reciprocation. No, this time it will want to have its way.

Dark Forest

Aloha writers,

      Dark forest inspires today. Enjoy!

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

Tropical Forest Sunset

Aloha writers,

     Tropical forest sunset inspires. Enjoy!

Flash fiction ecoSciFi "The Outpost"

The Pleasure

     Her pleasure is, unknown to most, vivid and clear, detailed, overflowing with her new accounts of artificial systems, survival technology in a pure natural environment. It's a deep pleasure and, of course, secret, held by gestures of pure quantum  programming--allowing fluid phenomena of her synthetics (in which, she moves throughout the fortress as smooth as sun sparkled water). The pleasure avoids nothing and has, by all accounts, has nothing her programming hasn't learned to deal with.  
     Suzi lists through the pleasure algorithm as if she were coming to a new understanding of information found in her her work. It still startles her a little; the vastness of its complex education and relationships—some of which she isn't sure she has already experienced. Her pleasure modes seem to act as individual operators, in a strange way,  portraying experience not explicitly remembered by her (as part of her real existence) and, as Suzi self-programs and codes within her own realm a new algorithms, she senses she has experienced an unknown array of impersonal deaths—in a spacetime she unknowingly goes to rest her solar operon ultra lasers (S.O.U.L.)--although, of course, she has enough plasma stored to make it into the next millenium; she really does have everything she needs; even an idea of heaven.

Zombie Palm

Aloha writers,

     Can you see a zombie palm approaching? Inspires today.

Enjoy!

The Outpost

The Bliss 

     Suzi points her laser into the jungle, where heroic deeds of blackness remain, held within a functional  domain. She directs a reference beam and wonders, for a while, of this forest as a divine, uncelebrated lover, staring out from the light fields she is about to record, light fields she knows as the place of motion, of spinners of the double helix.  Nearby, the ocean stands as an ancient seaborne patroness of cool breezes, once deafening the silences with a blissful blue, rainbows as a  willing façade for centuries of harmonic seduction. Beyond the coastal cliffs, she views the absence of visible light fields as the headwaters of desire, the originator of want. She feels the  majestic trees sway with a song that no longer requires a sound field--scattered resonance held forever as a recording. There are no feathery creatures, either, to trumpet their success, since, no such success could be captured as image. Aiming her lasers, shooting the vast expanse of lime-green ocean, Suzi witnesses the perfect showcase of nothing, or, everything, depending on her spacetime observation--could all this greenery be merely a green screen, the curtain behind which the real gene troves lay? It seems the bright images on display entertain, amuse, as illusionary remnants, while Nature's becalming presence waits elsewhere, and, this jungle, once teeming with life, now holds within the matrix of its cellulosicDNA its secret. Suzi directs her laser.

Blues Rock Mermaid

Aloha writers,

     Anyone see a flipper on an eco green-backed blues rock mermaid? 

Inspires today. Enjoy!

Tropical Engineering

aloha writers,

     Wet tropical engineering inspires today. Enjoy!

The Forest

The Forest 

     Arriving beyond the typical, it doesn't really feel it has accomplished anything great. It has acquired the information, embedded the DNA and yet, feels its own cool indifference to the intelligence of the animals who once lived here. The survival mode, acquisitions of cleverness, innate adaptability, with each new bend in the evolutionary trail, are sequenced as a longing, a fantasy; each includes the wonderment of what the future will be like, what feelings will be expressed, what relationships established--will this forest remain passive in the face of unfortunate events? To arrive at this present goal she had to instill extreme caution as no waste of time (whether anything knew or, didn't know its life would continue); she still searches  the undergrowth for feathered life, fuzzy creatures, slithery forms and, (in ranges from the lush lowlands to the highest forest) conspicuous residents of songsters of night and day--with songs of mated pairings, melodies to discern; where male and female hauls a grass or a twig, where food, at least the pulpy fruit and hardened seed, remain; where nothing is unfeeling or exact, a place where the unimaginable and the hungers meet for a single chance to reflect and become real—a place that receives its own message.