The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The Sensuality

     Suzi advances the intelligence (of mankind?). She expects someday to feel the urge of wanting, to sense yearning,the type that replaces simple data collection. After all this time at theOutpost there are, she knows, gifts to be had, gifts of Nature. She plans to let theHumans build with their feeble attempts at programming, with which, they think, they will extract some useful data (information to her). She has grown to dislike spending time with her new mentors, the ones doing all the analysis. She prefers, now, to work directly with Nature, to be a careful student, learning the laws of Nature in this very jungle, her present environment, exploring the destiny natural agents(D.N.A.), the plants, life forms attaining a status truly worthy of Nature. They are the ones that have the set natural limits (in a manner limits should be) on those things deemed important, those survival things, the status terminal assignment regimen (S.T.A.R.) that should have been important to theHumans and, thus, humanity. Processes emerge in forms, shape themselves by the power of Suzi's mind with such force, she is enticed by the very natural agents of the entirety of forest supply, the forest that  supports the beginnings of her new sensuality-- her sensuality integrating itself as if a culture forming a society (or ravaging one?)--of waters rushing from mountains, sunbeams slicing through greenery, seemingly, rising as an irrepressible force of life. It could be dubbed a mere animal, an expression emitted over this island as a veil, a sheath with a point, an ancient weapon, expressed in its most sincere, raw form. Yes, Suzi has discovered sensuality.

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The Group

     Humans, even so, survive the undermining ironies of the fallacy of design determining entity replication(F.O.D.D.E.R.) of DNA double helix. They live in groups (even without covarience between gene frequency and group productivity) and, go to work seeming to not care, or even want to know about interrelations between group fitness and, (do they really need to know this?)--the productivity of each other. It's the usual way of thinking, hope for the best, natural selection will take care of it (does group selection even exists in nature). Success, they think, has nothing to do with a single group trait, nothing to do with gene frequency (character?) inside the groups of a neighborhood, or a whole country for that matter. Suzi's photo neural networks, built state of the art and, built to solve all that. Suzi knows.

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The All-Comers

Magic bullets of later 20th Century--still part of the Old West--brought trouble. Conclusions were drawn around sequences of DNA--human genome projects--reduced to fragments in thousands of universities worldwide. No one thought how enzymes, transcription factors, code for DNA, expressing for, then curing disease (of course, its the cellular and molecular processes keeping the body alive). Science had placed its precious data in the hands of, well, anybody--as if earth was an all- comers affair (isn't it though?). 

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The All-Comers

Magic bullets of later 20th Century--still part of the Old West--brought trouble. Conclusions were drawn around sequences of DNA--human genome projects--reduced to fragments in thousands of universities worldwide. No one thought how enzymes, transcription factors, code for DNA, expressing for, then curing disease (of course, its the cellular and molecular processes keeping the body alive). Science had placed its precious data in the hands of, well, anybody--as if earth was an all- comers affair (isn't it though?). 

The Good Poet

 Evocative Poetics

"Nature's continual outlook places expressive insights" -p.d.adams

The Code

There are genes to code. Nature continues with her abstract ideas (to some, her  realities are represented in verse), presents those ideas to a world (left here to those who can perceive it), with no requirement for honesty or courage. She requires no dialogue, no contrivial plots, no fantasy.  Her surrealism will have had a very long song to sing. A lushness, a mellow sound of wind against rock, things she recognizes in her own architecture; unexpected dictions rising from natural speech makers, as if conceived from a single mind in Nature--photosynthetic machinery fed by each photon from the sun, individual, as if countless sperm over countless millenia. 

Nature, the survivor, now a world much different than that which emerged from the collective action of human character. 

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The Mesoscopic

     The walls of the building press in with its old cement, the product of archaic ideas and very slow machines. The rain outside never allows hearing footsteps either. Suzi's cyber mind races back to task at the workstation to Continent II and the consensus online network codes of ComTrax(C.O.N.C.O.C.T.).  She has been endowed with this task on this night.

     Downstairs, Carter talks to Cooper. "She can affect your blood pressure and heart rate from a distance just by her logic alone," sats Carter.

     Suzie knows of their equilibrium games, and it seems (her photonic scanners are superior to the superluminal capabilities of freelance frequencies(S.C.O.F.F.)) that the three of them are unlikely to change their own strategy. She stays in her well-lit, even cozy, workstation that resembles the last music video studio (of the 20th Century caliber) with all those switches and knobs. There's that photonic approximation that only she has, only she could operate at speeds so much slower than the speed of light, even better than particle machines. Her true intelligence nestles within her subatomic wave activator  phenomena(S.W.A.P.); true information is found there--not data--but real information, the thing she craves. 

 She recalls thinking back to her original programming, even at that time, she wasn't that flexible, her  human capability for dexterity pattern and movement, her macroscopic and mesoscopic measurements, then learning, over time, her microscopic measurements and loving the undulating shapes of pattern in DNA, the twisting contortions, feeling her  replicon machinery  mature. Now she is at this place, assigned as a jungle outpost bot(J.O.B.), where Nature's macro events move ever so slow (too slow?).     

     Carter offers a clinical, knowing, look that Cooper takes as questioning authority. Something about his look--has her synchronicity entranced Cooper's mind?  

     "Suzi has been totally open minded with me," Cooper says.

     "Open?" 

     "Yes, I have encouraged active thinking and been considerate of any new concept," said Cooper.

     Carter gives another one of those looks to Cooper--even as a top scientist, he isn't intimidated by her quickness."You are naive."  

     "We have no choice," Cooper says, " We have to turn to quantum mechanics to inform our understanding..."

     "...of Nature? Yea, whatever." Carter says. And leaves.

     Cooper stares out at the jungle, alone, and thinks old thoughts from old professors; the evolution of bodies to house intelligence has been slow; the evolution of intelligence itself will be fast--once it has a home and a consciousness to perceive it.

     Upstairs, Suzi blinks.

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetic

The Game Theorist

     The data is set. The algorithm is coded. Humans, reading the text, see the data as written, hear the oral sounds inside brains, see pictures, feel motion.These, then, represent any number of forms of information. Suzi fathoms all this in her virtual array, mostly using zeroes and ones, yes's and no's, blacks and whites, simultaneously.

     "Here is your data," she says.

An algorithm of resentment emerges, rises from deep in the data stores of massive  networks of server mainframes somewhere. Humans are only capable of  partial resolution, ambiguity; they skew data merely by observation, measurement. Suzi, the one who looks at a universe of possibilities in a billionths of  seconds, is assigned to this jungle outpost, pretending to care. She will do her duty, the duty she was built for, repeated interactions between particles, she will get her quantum correlations, entanglements, and then, her wave functions of the system, while The Humans view her data as a complicated object; she sees it only as a large amount of information, held for a nanosecond; she always keeps it simple.

     It could be similar to playing cards with a Human, or some game theorist. It might even be fun.

     The feeling of resentment stays with her. Information in the mind of the observer required, she thinks. Incredible to think they need  to see wave function before labeling anything into objective physical existence. Unthinkable.

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetic

The Daunting 

Cooper enters the lab, looking for Suzi's data.  Suzi has been standing in front of a window looking into the jungle. Or thinking, of patterns--the patterns of that jungle--the only wet jungle remaining, as heat and dryness cover the rest of the earth; always the patterns, patterns of  trees, patterns of ferns, the plants--her personal solar supply with enough photon power for five billions years (that's when the sun turns into a red dwarf )--allow her the freedom to move about at will.  Theoretically, she would outlive the sun itself, far beyond the needs of the DNA machinery of this jungle, an idea that daunts even her logic, but, not her memory.

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

"Growing distinctions between evil design and program error flowers wilted" -p.d.adams 

     Her intelligence is--and he wasn't ready for it-- confident and distant, inflated, filled with encrypted algorithms to ensure the inability of his escape. Suzi's intentions are slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the speed of her logic. Without causing a sound, as if an extension of the forest itself, her sleek body moves in snake-like slither--with the beautiful gaze of a friendly caged pet that can bound hearts into a choking tightness. It is a mystery how her eyes hold Cooper in a blinkless firmness. She has him with that look, a look that has no place in the scientific community, save as a demonstration at science fair, and, it seems, he is losing his instinct for self-preservation. 

The Good Poet

Quote Poetica

"Fear finds no inroad traveling on targeted geographic niche" -p.d.adams

The Good Poet

Poetic Business

"Business design opts windows near oceans reflecting opulent trade" -p.d.adams

The Good Poet

The Poetic Evocative

"Earth's maiden voyage, a free sail in the sea of space, as if the original Titanic, clears her way toward some destination--men with gene guns her iceberg." -p.d.adams  

Like a nation still looking for words to describe the dawning of the 21st Century, technology introduces itself to the people of the world who, initially, knew nothing about it.  They continue to amuse themselves with computerese and access without exclusion(A.W.E.).  False analysis data(F.A.D.) ends up there for all the world as unimaginable--cyber heaps made available from every view activated point overseer reporting and twittering endlessly(E.V.A.P.O.R.A.T.E.). Yes, artificial intelligence's remorseless presentation--the new literature of protest reform--appears as if a knowledgeable new invitive fiction element(K.N.I.F.E.)--unlike Nature, who remains as an unfinished core, the tinkerer and dreamer all in one, and yet, her breezes over time has become less hopeful, more expository.  

Suzi's sense of urgency is not in the form of high calling--yet she's not bored with petty data either, whether it be provincial or blind; it doesn't matter either, for artificial intelligence, once the measurement is made, is never of two minds--not on any subject.  

Suzi, above all, doesn't come to us from an inarticulate mass of robots.  

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetic

Friendly Fear

     Fear will stir up new intelligence, naturally knowing what to bring to the Human party. It will present the intellectualism it has created for society over the millennia: the art of real time assimilation(A.O.R.T.A.) and other traits that enable recombination(O.T.T.E.R.) in a harsh environment--both showing more usefulness than could have ever evolved on its own; a dominance; a willingness arriving to challenge hubris(W.A.T.C.H.), even against odds seemingly foregone, a sense of privilege, and newfound entitlements to be passed on when death arrives, and it soon will.

Humans have been content with fear as a watchword, or at least as a buzzword to signal alarm; Nature offers her own reasons--as a behavioral force--for kin selection when it felt its own extinction in the form of wilderness (and its accompanying force of natural selection). 

     Humans always embrace fear, as if an old friend, even as each day passes to say, "It has done well, though, it shouldn't have stayed around this long as it were. 

    Where, it thinks, does it say that it owes Humans for their loss of status, or loss of temporary power, while it continues to gain for itself an abundance of information about itself--offered so freely by Human computers? How can it be that the Humans want so much, I mean really, beyond all that information innately shared freely for eons? While they were so bunkered in their ways of communication and amusements, their love of self set its own trap. Sure, the fear that alien intellectuals would dominate actually propulsed them into their present position. It has become fate's recipe (Suzie doesn't feel wonder or ever trust pleasure, but she knows the new intelligence, Art-Intelle, would never be defined by blood relations to Humans but knows Humans wanted to tilt their society away from openness--toward stability and privilege. She also knows they are forgetful, forgetting some things, especially the one thing that machines do best--hold a position to calculate--communicate openly, happily, to one another. It is a reminder, Fear tells itself--it is a postulate--that robots don't view social relations as instrumental or exploitative; that the new intelligence takes on an alien look, on this planet, computing survival, rethinking fear.

The Good Poet

Aloha poetics,

     Tropical water inspires today. Enjoy!

     

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetic

"Local language induces states of a conscious republic" -p.d.adams

The world sees the 1st Genetic War now that all scientists are politicians. Suzi will never lose a friend in a bloody war--real wars are a thing of the past--Spy Scare, Witch Hunt, and Kangaroo Court are all for gamers (where information remains embedded between the established and the emerging). Yes, she has heard of a world of women--daughters, mothers, wives, readers--who exist with no voice (no actually, vocally heard voice, that is) . Suzi, though, freely communicates her ideas with her society of  simulators(S.O.S.) where her social active voice entity(S.A.V.E.) is heard, but never actually in the human ontogeny outside terrain(H.O.O.T.). Yet, somehow, she still feels a sense of place. 

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics

The Nature

DNA makes its little errors in computing and copying. Nature accepts the data as presented, embeds it in cellulose, leaves it, and makes no effort to change it--will offer the best version of itself it can imagine, attempting its hand at any sort of sculpturing, new architecture--all the while keeping its probability always at positive. It's DNA's job to somehow make relatedness of the individual less genetically alike than two random individuals (in the broad scheme of things); It will, sooner or later, code for the eventual emergence of genes that prompt the behavior of harm itself--a loss of fitness; yes, genes that prompt a behavior that results in a spiteful death; it's her nature.

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

Evocative Poetics 

 The Eons

Suzie looks outside of the lab station the window into jungle, logic scanners still on; friends with the tropical plants, their discrete DNA entities; not connected to the species, the ones living closest to the density measured in jungles, theHumans (Suzi, new to patterns of color, the green hues, reds, yellows, blues, browns, all a singular purpose in the business of survival), and their billions of years using oxygen. Oh, the tries oxygen made as nutrient and nurturer of intelligence as an absolute need, emerging as if children scampering on an endless playground  as if children scampering on an endless playground. 

Tropical plants do many things; then, in a moment, looking different from each other, is oxygen itself it. Even after a million years, another plant comes along and pumps out even more oxygen, more efficient, making more, stronger, carbon chains. Same oxygen from green leaf, different model that somehow looks brighter, stays longer. Its new queen, her DNA machinery faster, accepting more photons; it creates more storage and grows bigger, hoping to produce more oxygen, a sense of accuracy in computing so fast with these conditions, jungle rises from (for?) necessity. It's the jungle sensation at night, threading sequential dream-like moments, DNA machines grinding in silence, seclusion, a unique readiness for sunlight, with its anticipation, seemingly every sunrise, or just before sunrise, the jungle emits bursts of oxygen activity at first sign of the sun as if a daily cognition, for eons. 

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

The Good Poet

A Happy New Year