Monday, January 21, 2008

Every woman's nightmare (start)

I should have known better, after all I do have an IQ above 160. 'He' was my greatest achievement. How could anything go wrong? But that is the problem I encountered. Nothing went wrong and nothing ever will. And I am stuck with this nightmare for the rest of my life.
I discovered how to make him possible while doing spectrum analysis trials of self-repairing nanobots (see photo on right). I will skip the technical jargon of how I put it all together except to say elements of mystical knowledge were combined with cellular level biology and gene-splicing. I also will say that I did not use any 'magic' ala Harry Potter. I will get no more specific than this as I will not allow anyone to make the same mistake that I did. I have already destroyed my notes and I am in the process of losing my mind (so I hope as I cannot take much more of this life) .
Being a brilliant genius does have its drawbacks, especially when it comes to relating to other people. I was never good at that, preferring to work on solutions through mathematics rather than deal with personality quirks. Being a person of the 'fair' gender, I was constantly looked at with lust by my mostly male collegues. They should have been the most likely candidates I had for choosing a companion, a life partner, a mate. However, I wanted more, I wanted someone who would appreciate me for who I am rather than what nice body parts I have.
I was thirty years old when I began working on 'him', my dream man. In retrospect, this was not a good time to be working on this project as the social pressure to acquire a marriage partner was weighing heavily upon my psyche. As noted before, I had examined all my options currently available and all were found to be flawed in some way or another. For instance, Bill O'Reilly had thin red hair and I did not want to curse my children with some sort of genetic hybrid of my flowing jet colored tresses and thin red hair. Jerome, the janitor, had suitable physical characteristics but failed miserably in my dreams with every word that came out of his mouth. Perhaps, I was too finicky but why settle for less. I am a discriminating woman.
With seemingly no suitable partners available, I decided to use my brain to solve my dilemma. Constructing the physical package, his body was easy. I simply gathered DNA samples from all the people around me, spliced them together (this was my forte) and made sure the super-clone was brainless. Some women might consider that to be the perfect mate, a brainless Adonis, but I had another reason for wiping the brain clean. I would program his personality myself. I would make my pleasure, my happiness his number one priority in life, which in essence, was what he was being created. I created a simulation program on my computer (which has since been destroyed) to test out every variation of personality. Surprisingly, the optimum personality was reached in less than a month. I guess what I wanted was not all that complicated: good looks, a desire for me and my happiness, a bit of flirting (to show other women what I had and what they could not have), a unflinching fidelity to me (to prevent other women from luring him away), an unflinching sense of heterosexuality (to prevent other men from luring him away),and a sense of machismo (so he could protect me from whatever the world could throw at me). He would be able to fix any household repair, invest wisely and take out the trash. I am wealthy from several patents in my name so I set up a large account for him. I knew he would never use the money for any other reason than to please me.
{That's all for now ----- Frank}

Thursday, January 17, 2008

These are two very old poems that I am in the midst of changing. i am using them a test to see if the link to other blog is possible.

In the Midst of Getting There

No life in my living room yet I see it clearly:
the Victorian sofa and requisite love seat
against the walls of corresponding corners
a large oriental rug flanks the area near the fireplace
a single English leather arm chair, the pipes are neatly arranged
on the table adjacent, the reading lamp is Tiffany, of course
a large bay window accents this room,
it beacons to be looked at and out,
to see what can be seen on most days
and at night, the cat lays there dreaming.
books are scattered in various piles of concern.
All sound is muted for now
because there is no sound in this dream
this is my 'building' - my way of being there
before the physical reality becomes done.

One Last Time

I want to shout my joy at being here, among them,
but something traps it in the vocal tubes
and after a brief struggle, it dies despite never having been born.
My audience does not care.
I know this winter, it is my winter yet it is not
and my efforts to etch, mark, or stain fail to be felt
by them, those others who are all around me.
My impression melts and dries and is gone
before they see even my shadow.
Tomorrow another sun cast its firelight
and memories will fade into unreal textures.
What I once was becomes perception personalized
by single moments kept.
I know what I am, I feel what I feel,
forever in the Now. To them, I am gone and soon forgotten.