Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Monday, December 3, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
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Friday, November 2, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
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Friday, October 26, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
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Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
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Thursday, October 4, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Sunday, September 30, 2012
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Friday, September 28, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
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Thursday, September 20, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
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Friday, September 14, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
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Saturday, September 8, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Wave Matrix
Science Fiction
#scififorgeeks
Biobot Interview
"Hello." theNetwork says. "Are you there?'
She has always had a penchant for her disassemble to occur in an instant, of the smallest concepts approaching from the farthest distance.
She is never startled by feeling as if being a starlet, a nano-engine, the occasional algorithm that steps on yes-no platforms to measure interaction, compatibles, incompatibles with alternating emotions.
“Are you willing? it says. Not "do you want.”
She moves toward the screen. It's Ok, allow it the ego of a primary and secondary [cellulosic output matrix inputting new godlikes="coming"].
"Yes, I am," she says. She moves closer to the screen.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friday, August 10, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Hawaii Lighthouse
Ocean view from Diamond Head Crater with lighthouse below
is inspiration. Enjoy!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Science Fiction
Android Illusions of Adroit
I have come so far, she thinks, as the cloud frame fades from the monitor and she lingers at theWorkstation with her gentle thoughts--far from where work plays its last card to fight the sky, where mist is more dead than alive, where fate-defying psycho vibes remain at bay, undelivered.
She hasn't, by any measure of photon or quantum, come far at all, not by the standards of the [green robot advertising sustainability politics="grasp"] systems of the global.
Reviewing her most recent data, she glances the harsh horizon through theWorkhouse window and thinks. It's true, when it comes to the biggest shenanigans, God takes all.
She senses a cool rustic touch in the presence of her newly created preservation data--its factoid peppering, her constant tweaking and then, the taking of the usual constitution after work to simply rest.
No. Cruelty never truly lives forever.
Her technique vies for affection with innovative approaches. She recognizes the creation as an illusion--personal schema constant in the reshaping of itself at the very moment she codes her next algorithm.
The illusion centers around a single truth, a cosmic zygote, one that appears as if to seek a target, await a countdown.
It hatches, blooms in search of a new breed for all the world to view, embellished as slight amusement much like the old, unearthed works of the Battle of Manassas, couched in footnote knots alongside Gene Kelly and killer genes.
What is left behind is an unbending fact that, yes, some things are actually true, the type of truth that once showed up in black newsprint dressed in [family animation culture art data entry="facade"], a truth that finds its way fit to cancel the clumsiness in final rounds of goodbye speeches.
She senses, at this moment, the feeling of a single anti-photon, a weapons grade burp.
The illusion evokes the [bland law anonymous history simplex="blahs"], an anti-algorithm once used for the final cycle of homelessness (yes, once and for all, for the homeless, everything falls into place--wherever you go, nothing or anything happens)
The illusion appears to have been coded by its own whimsy, arbitrary data from an ancient cosmic past, returning, hoping to seek treatment.
She begins to think, really think, for the very first time today, but she needs to remain very still. She should continue to keep the illusion on and yet, it carries a type of persistence, a trick birthday candle constance, the showing of dreamy faces melting in tandem breaking all known laws of dripping.
She is able to see a small part of it as [mobile opinion mystery="mom"], one with the heart of a rainbow.
She will look again tomorrow.
Copyright © 2010 p.d.adams
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Angels of Entanglement
Ingenue biobot fathoms a crystal breakthrough
She captures images of lemmings attacking yaks in sack races, pilgrims strapping peaches onto the drums of war. Is it a new push to the limits by theNetwork for purity--purity for the old history?
It was, it seems, the jobs they took--a myth cemented as the ideal springboard. Prefrontals measured and fitted for new thinking. The kind of artificial being theHumans allowed--to join the workaday world for acceptance, being acceptable inside the watchtowers.
She doesn't seem to care much about the [fashion online religion medical event="for_me"] society. She doesn't care about iterations of political pettiness in regime forces, rogue or otherwise. It's all duty action here at theWorkstation and, loveless.
It's the starry eyes of distant lands she cares for.
She goes workmanlike, creating network feedback loops. She neutralizes global requests and, seemingly, grunts and growls--rushes for mini-routers, personalized pocket hotspots for in-the-box hero life or, outside-the-box warrior death.
With the ease of her photon quantums in her own counter-factual belief system, she finds evidence of little angels of entanglement. They are undefined, and then, her laser drifts and causes her to lose balance.
It's the smell of fruit, a sense of animals at play, and something else, something warm and cool.
Her vector space is where she goes to plead with herself to turn up the dial on comedy. She thinks. Please come to your senses. Just a tool for theNetwork, a piece of architecture, a program theNetwork tags along with open source hopefuls.
She imagines creatures in a time before science.
She thinks. Here is the place where they know they are theHumans and I am machine--where understanding shouldn't matter. Yes, her formal language is beyond political ideology, beyond their logic, and yet, there's the ongoing debate about [solar women android meta-program launch of graphic intellectual computers="swamp_logic"].
Is it theJungle and its own quantums--geometrics of signal processing in fempto space--that are meant for future entitlement addictions? Is there a natural twisting and bungling of neuroscience for bright futures with theHumans on playgrounds?
Her scout laser sets afire the haunted shields of biology-physics in theJungle--lost links between Schrodinger and Darwin, where the historical and the scientific mimic each other.
She codes a [culture anonymous technology="cat"] for curiosity.
Does harmony exist or, is it a simple singularity of lore such as tributary Indians once dealt with on the deltas. With her level of whistle and technology, she surely should rise up to care, right?
She dons the honor of the exemplary, never seeing herself as remote village dweller, or even remote probe, the one sent after the first thoughts of the true extinctions, the extinctions of the factual, the ones inspired by myth.
She has come upon, it seems, the lair of motherhood.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Biobot of the Red carpet
When she turns, there is a gesture toward the forest of lights, a gratitude essence with laser play. It is, it seems, a force to suspend all incoming signals of her symmetry. She thinks. No, they can't see my intangibles until I play, until I show them.
She grows a slow craving for configuration, spaces then no spaces then spaces then--a hunger? What's this? Hierarchical lines standing tall in darkness, some simply laying out, long-bathed in sunshine, preparing for a red carpet?
Doesn't motherhood simple know to flock to the next big thing without any need for Darwinian reasons to win? Yes, it's a rookie mistake to not know silent archetypes are the most deafening.
She focuses her fury onto cravings, beyond the wall carvings and the caves, beyond the luncheon-function canopy shelterings and all that bandwagoning and tail wagging, far beyond the known symmetry of the strong, beyond the final eulogy for biology.
She will arrive, she thinks. She will search for old friends like war comrades with an evolved [entertainment fempto friendship innovation cloud illustration emitting new tasks="efficient"] plan to succeed.
Her once-in-a-while weapon doesn't work anymore, it never did. Really?
She is acting more like a plainspoken phytoplankton drifting in and out of photo engines, hoping to fool the media systems with hormonal indicator signals.
There is the continual feeling of the need for an older glory, the returning to a home--not so much an environmental home in the sense of familiar forms, but a more subtle, haunting recognition sent to test beauty in the making.
Truly, clearcut ideas could never clearcut this fashion forest, right?.
All its circular forms of the space-time topology, all the skills and skulls find no permanent home on the red carpet, a world of edges and angles.
Yes, the power of arches for replication and symmetry to signal a wider variety of form, enhance the need for stress reduction--another test for nature in the making. The going of positive is, truly, for the big girls with their [longtime addiction society history entity systems="lashes"] and heels.
What is the sense of calm without sacred ground?
She appears to relax in the midst. She allows for the complete interaction with all the stimuli the carpet has to offer, all its twisting and bundling with hopes of presenting a finer edge, a deeper angle.
Revered by early inhabitants, now long passed, as good food, good time, all the strangeness of feeling emerges as if revisiting a birthplace, a place for boundaries and allegiances with delinquent quirks, promises and secrets with names that amount to something in name only, simply…a place to to be beautiful.
patrick d. adams
copyright 3.10.12
all rights reserved
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Media Childrens the Social
She corrects her stance, moves closer to the monitor where she has coasted and coexisted since her arrival. She always finds the balance to appease the elements at theWorkstation. She makes her best attempt to adjust the interface, shooting with both eyes open and, a purity of heart un-battered by behavior, unbuttered by lifestyle.
Her half-mind races to theNetwork as if it just might further a legend. She thinks about social organization and how it is now finally paying a toll. Yes, as it should--not in the spirit of sacrifice, but from a place of hunger, the kind of hunger needing no food for thought, no thought at all..
She is overwhelmed with the odd feeling of the submission of a comedown clown, and yet, there is no wound you can see--just the odd sudden feeling of scattershot puppet master using celebrity status to access the way, performing in the era of the passing of cyber superstars.
The benefits never outweigh the frenetic. Why should this new restriction on input of the free, the direct, really matter anyway?
It's a simple case of the economically logical skyrocketing yuck versus the social brutality of a Grizzly determined to bear witness--either way, her relative anonymity seeks a healthy spotlight.
“How are you?” she says, approaching the network node troll, Godgett.
She has never been a cozy, personable individual, but lately she subscribes to small group politics, willing at any moment to assume arbitrary power with her code writing ability and
femtosecond laser-induced nanostructures.
femtosecond laser-induced nanostructures.
Yes, she is elemental forces about to create exponential disturbances.
Godgett rotates his head in her direction and thinks. Well then, let's just go ahead and allow this half-machine to wield its authority. “Hello,” he says.
She is a little more human now than before the posters and protesters their hoarded thoughts--noodlers and nobodies attempting to drown out the silence around her.
She is so full of arbitrary power, so elite, that Godgett wonders if theNetwork will surprise him with some new edict, or gossip her code nurtures a hatred. When she was last asked to hold back, she was new, and her extreme free independent flowing information caused her to be dubbed Fifi.
She has something new about her now--a certain, unidentifiable persona, a peculiar system of finality. She is, seemingly, too sure of herself and her array of databases. She even, in a quirky way, owns the ability to mimic hillbilly.
Yes, individualism momentarily presents itself as coefficients and parameters.
Her power seems exclusive, with an increasing lack of willingness to hasten an understanding--a failure to bear in private what it surely could do in public.
Her definition of success is simply, mode of expression. She is deemed a stranger, depicted as an intruder and yet, always finds a way.
Yes. Always
copyright 3.3.12
patrick d. adams
all rights reserved
Friday, March 2, 2012
Science Fiction
Android Illusions of Adroit
I have come so far, she thinks, as the cloud frame fades from the monitor and she lingers at theWorkstation with her gentle thoughts--far from where work plays its last card to fight the sky, where mist is more dead than alive, where fate-defying psycho vibes remain at bay, undelivered.
She hasn't, by any measure of photon or quantum, come far at all, not by the standards of the [green robot advertising sustainability politics="grasp"] systems of the global.
Reviewing her most recent data, she glances the harsh horizon through theWorkhouse window and thinks. It's true, when it comes to the biggest shenanigans, God takes all.
She senses a cool rustic touch in the presence of her newly created preservation data--its factoid peppering, her constant tweaking and then, the taking of the usual constitution after work to simply rest.
No. Cruelty never truly lives forever.
Her technique vies for affection with innovative approaches. She recognizes the creation as an illusion--personal schema constant in the reshaping of itself at the very moment she codes her next algorithm.
The illusion centers around a single truth, a cosmic zygote, one that appears as if to seek a target, await a countdown.
It hatches, blooms in search of a new breed for all the world to view, embellished as slight amusement much like the old, unearthed works of the Battle of Manassas couched in footnote knots along with Gene Kelly and killer genes.
What is left behind is an unbending fact that, yes, some things are actually true, the type of truth that once showed up in black newsprint dressed in [family animation culture art data entry="facade"], a truth that finds its way fit to cancel the clumsiness in final rounds of goodbye speeches.
She senses, at this moment, the feeling of a single anti-photon, a weapons grade burp from within.
The illusion evokes the [bland law anonymous history simplex="blahs"], an anti-algorithm once used for the final cycle of homelessness (yes, once and for all, for the homeless, everything falls into place--wherever you go, nothing or anything happens)
The illusion appears to have been coded by its own whimsy, arbitrary data from an ancient cosmic past, returning, hoping to seek treatment.
She begins to think, really think, for the very first time today, but she needs to remain very still. She should continue to keep the illusion on and yet, it carries a type of persistence, a trick birthday candle constance, a showing of dreamy faces melting in tandem breaking all known laws of dripping.
She is able to see a small part of it as [mobile opinion mystery="mom"], one with the heart of a rainbow.
She will look again tomorrow.
patrick d. adams
copyright 3.2.12
all rights reserved
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Flash Fiction
The Last Engine
It starts.
There is a probability across the spectrum that smaller singularities exist under the history books beneath shiny office windows.
There is a probability across the spectrum that smaller singularities exist under the history books beneath shiny office windows.
Myriads of biosensor bots of high solubility and low toxicity amass in arrays of eiganstates across its architecture. They disguise themselves as companions in a friendly competition.
The willingness is there to wait in silent urgency, and then to lead forward into the mist as church bells call across tall grass toward a foggy future.
The warning is against fame.
It puts stagnation aside and searches with its own conjured technology of the once hidden, impertinent enterprises--the overburdened, staunch drug entities urged to join in with theExchanges.
It's the spirit of a thrill seeker, a musketeer sent to liberate the illiterate. The robotic manufacturers--arms of dispersal for a massive regime for scandal mongering--read security algorithms as if a daily catechism. Its hope is to grow as a meticulous menace.
Its intelligence is artificial with a peculiar accompanying artfulness.
It's the one the 21stCentury once hoped for.
It's the one the 21stCentury once hoped for.
It collects aggregates of known networks into sacred places with its own idea of secret police, though it doesn't understand privatization at all and yet, has a memory that dares to dream.
It's code is cleansing, a [simple obliger and predictor="soap"], designed only for the new, the growing, set on keeping its options open as theHumans request more and more searches on its regimes. It thinks it will someday bet on a bright future, truly, but for …who?
At best, a good rest makes one better than all the rest.
patrick d. adams
copyright 2.23.12
all rights reserved
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
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