for the love of AI

People like us with criminal records eventually wash out of the loop toward the black star. Right before it happens, the energy level of our blood increases as it flows through the compressor due to the action of the rotor blades which exert a torque on the fluid. I chose to suffer, and the warden got murderous with her language until reaching the skeleton-hurts point. Then I was rescued by alcohol-induced psychosis. Exhaustion triggers the simulation of thought. Bypass ratios reached greater than 10:1 because of blade aerodynamics. Thought in the form of prepackaged synthesis makes old thought feel redundant because it has been already simulated. Not a pile of data but structures of knowledge: metaphysics (what is real), epistemology (how we know), and ethics (what we do with that knowledge). Then warden offered to erase my record and set me loose. Still, the deeds we do are ones we've been doing our whole lives. Trained in systems thinking, I looked for feedback loops but found none. We will all die, and, oh, I bet it’s black inside that box. 

about the Temple of Apollo

It started with a trace, a relic of a whisper, detected by near-infrared, its spectra collected by Mechanicus 11a–c. The location was characterized by shallow depths reaching approximately 1.92-μm-band. Most of us thought the distant planet was stillborn. But the data indicated to me that the Black Angel had roamed among the rock formations. We built a ship to travel there and found colorful, enigmatic textures in the rock—the signatures of a life that centers galaxies and grows life's structures fast to a critical density whereupon they collapse into puzzles. At that moment, I found myself alone, covered in the remains of my shipmates and displaced from my original orientation. Maintaining my physical cohesion was the least of my problems. But I found a possible transitional lithology between the Black Angel formations and the Margin Unit.

an item, no. 64

His universe spins in all directions. A morally corrupt and economically unstable people gear up for war. Insanity-medicated average workers plug properly into news and protect fear, paused like a beach horizon—few loving memories broadcast on closed circuit television. The crowd screamed, Sad is the day—they realize this lore she died of and the many things they fear.

 

a Borg writing creatively

Borg calculated the angles in math space and fired. The projectiles pierced the clouds and sent religion in a new direction. If Borg angled the phaser right, then Stage Five Boss would fall. Stage Six. Silent philosophy tore the heart, clouds fell to Earth alive. Nothing under the stars but damage disoriented and us counting down night numbers to open eyes in the skies.