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.

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

Flash fiction biologSciFi "The Outpost"

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.  

Sudden StorySciFi "theOutpost"

The Feeling

     Before the decline of the Golden Age of Genetics and the rise of theExchanges, the feeling of being a relic remained. TheHumans conceptually used that part of the brain that allowed for sensations through the body, perceptions through mind (and yet, no obvious body of data--or, body of information--in the physical realm, and they always gained, in the decades leading up to theDecline, traction with the idea that the feeling (using its power of control) carries meaning, possibly not for the potential of living the unperturbed life (happiness?) surrounded by well-thought-out independent personal choices, but minimally, something presenting itself in a form that cannot be effectively communicated (much less understood) other than through the means of actually having been physically there. It appears to have taken on a life of its own, believing that theHumans represent a clear and present danger to ...what? The feeling has appeared over the eons to be only for theHumans, seemingly, to bask in individually, not in a bath of relativistic knowledge, but as a unique, unchanging, experience of perceptional sensation much like one would expect a close personal companion to act, and if the feeling could still be perceived, unscathethed by the burden of maintaining levels of presentation to the world--the weight of the balancing act between pleasure and architecture, function and form--it could continue to be perceived in its native form, personal, not subject to criticism or forms of social justice; the feeling could still resonate with the original feelings of the cyberGen curators, much as it did (long before theExchanges) soon after the full mapping of the human genome of the later 20thCentury, enabling the diagnosis of prenatal and pediatric diseases and children with birth defects, allowing for treatments to ensure theHumans' unborn child was healthy and if not, treat the disease in the child or treat a birth defect, whether it is life threatening--or cosmetic. The old feeling would let the conversation continue for decades about theArrays, focuses of gene therapies for adult disorders--stroke, heart disease, neurological, cancer; the feeling was once hope, hope that this was where genetics would have an impact on the future, permitting the concern for why people get those as they grow older; it would have said that it wouldn't happen tomorrow, but sometime soon, DNA's voluntary poverty box, living in a barrel (chromosome?) upended as impoverished data. The feeling would have allowed for continuances--advanced practice genetics nurses and reproductive coordinators, certified genetic counselors, and adult genetic services coordinators, pediatric genetic coordinators, cytogenetics laboratories looking at chromosomes--of the singular knowledge that the way something feels creates its own mental state. It would have created the urge to talk about the pure subjective, the only invention of theHumans exempt from extinction and excused from error, Yes, the feeling once allowed for all of this.