Part 2 – DRAFT
AI and the rise of the Scanners
She didn’t know (or care) where she found the wall for the way into the rainforested area known as the sheltered avenue of the sphincter muscle, or the shed. She just followed it and no sooner had she begun than had she arrived.
All she knew was that it was all about to be ended. It was all about to be taken for a ride and given the Texas shove-in-the-mud to preserve the way of the Indian and stop the pressure on the Chicano’s to leave. It was Trump’s world and she wanted to get out of it before she was found here and lost all she had won. It would be the wrong thing to do to give in, she knew that. So she went to the wrong side of the tracks for her answer. She went to the crowd that made all the wrecked lives of the villagers, who went to the liberal-minded New York States as in the Ron-slammed-into-me kind-of-thing when it all went a wrong direction and it all ended up in the sink, looking cool. It was in Southern Mexico that she learnt that it would take a long time to go to the willingness of the fold and a will to be would be.
God, she wished she hadn’t taken that peyote. It had cleaned out her insides for her but had left her mind in a twisted knot.
Still, when they all came to ask what she had done with her Summer she would say she had gone to the Indians of North Dakota and then to the reserves of New Mexico where she had learned that it could be a long time before she would ever know what it was that gave to her the usage of her mouth and tongue to be able to make it tall and orderly like to the renditor, namely, the Trump himself, who would remove all Chicano’s from the whereabouts of the South.
He questioned whether a wall would suffice, that maybe it should be in the font of the learned vessel known as the First Commandment, known as “Don’t steal over the border as you will be killed.”
He knew. Soon he would be the first President to be able to talk to the real ones who ran the planets. The machines.
To be cont.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016