Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

Arena April 11, 2012

ZOINK! 101010101000.11






The music that filled the arena reminded me of the music I would hear from my son’s room whenever I gave him my brainpod to hack for new software I couldn’t afford. Keygen music he called it.


I dipped both my hands in the wide can of engine oil that was before me and scooped out a full palm bowl – enough to make my wire braids shimmer – and greased the coppery shrubbery that poured from the back of my head.




I lifted my hands and walked onto the gangplank. Strobe Lights led the way from the helicopters that hovered above and on the steel floor, pairs of little fluorescent bulbs did same. The volume of the electro-music was turned up to match the fever of the moment.


“Colder than steel, faster than light, hydraulic strength, laser precision. The mind-blowing explosion. You don’t wanna mess wiiiiiiiiiitthhh….”




An explosion followed and a hellish fire filled the arena – wild flames dancing in the crowd in synchronisation with the deafening music.


I walked and then jogged and then ran towards the elevated stage, forward flipping over seven feet of electric caging and landing perfectly with the last note of my summons music.




The crowd cheered as I walked the space confidently with my machine enhanced body reflecting the many lights shone on me. Strategically placed Red Light Emitting Diodes began to simulate a racing whirlwind from my legs to my neck and then the fiery hologram was put out. Everything suddenly went black and quiet. Everything except the red whirlwind on my naked hybrid form.


Twenty seconds.




The crowd roared again and another version of keygen music began, more violent.


I saw him skate onto the gangplank at the other end of the arena, arms out at his side, body leaning to the left now and to the right later. A hologram of rain and evil blue lightning enveloped the arena as he approached the stage. The lights would dim and explode with a wicked clap of thunder now and then.


“Nightmare. He cuts through steel and bone with his teeth. He’s never known defeat. From the west to the east, all hail the king”


Another clap of thunder.


“Of doom!”




Violent music burst forth again as my opponent flipped onto the stage.


I looked at my son and I didn’t know he was my son. He didn’t know that I was his father too. The only consciousness we had is that which was provided us by the martial software running in our brains.


Blue diodes simulated a race around his body in shock patterns and he lifted his hands up. He was only five feet tall – even with lifted hands – and lithe as screwdriver. That was the boy wonder, the killing machine – his brain could run the latest martial software with ninety eight percent efficiency. The best of us could only manage previous versions of the same artificial intelligence to the sixtieth percentile.


“Xeeee… Naaahhhhx!”


The cheering exploded.


If I had still been human, I wouldn’t have begun to appraise his form for weaknesses that I could not find; I’d have knelt before him and asked him to execute me.


If he had still been human, he would have ran to me and cried in my arms like he had done they day they came to take him away from me because of my gambling debts.


They had come for me the following week when I had gambled away my last possession to get him back.


I had been the last thing I owned.




Deep in the cortex of the nascent consciousness of the warrior robot boy, there appeared suddenly a throbbing glow so profound that it could not be seen by the human eye. It died immediately the embedded software in his brain was made aware of it by very alert listeners; neutralization agents were dispersed immediately by the artificial intelligence that was seated in his psyche and the tears that would have been were not.

But the glow glowed again.




Android May 16, 2011

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 2:33 pm
Tags: , ,

Remember that gong? That one with an electrifying sound? The one with speakers and MIDI sequencers instead of bells and whistles? It’s here again! I alight from a flying clay saucer, silvery coifed ‘fro, tight whites, black stripes, ikira on vocoder.

Headphones on, AfroSays:


Cigarette smoke clung to the air like a visitor from the other. Her cigarette smoke.
Even the smoke she blew was beautiful; men would kiss it if no one was there. Through the smoke, I could see her eyes. Black like her Mascara. Her hair was black too. Long, curled and black. Her short dress, her clutch on the table, her heels. Black.
She was seated at the far end of the bar desk, sipping on something bright red. Deliberately. And smoking too – with a purpose.
That mystical smoke. It just hung there. It looked like a wise man’s thoughts if one could ever visualize them. Latent. Powerful. Enigmatic.
He studied the cigarette stick. It was white, extra long and extra slender. He must have studied it for two hours and gotten curious when it didn’t burn out.
He must have been curious as to where she got her drink from. It wasn’t any cocktail that they offered and apart from the extra bright glow of it, he would have noticed that despite her periodic sipping, the cocktail hadn’t diminished.
He served other customers and continued to observe her. A high profile gentlemen’s club like this usually didn’t entertain that many comers so he wasn’t really busy. She would pout, drag and blow every few minutes. Take a sip too. And then just be.
He wouldn’t really be able to comprehend her being because he couldn’t really study her features; he would perceive no details. Just a lady, a cocktail, a cigarette and forever smoke. She was there like she wasn’t.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity peaked and his started towards the lady in black. Then the phone rang.
By the time he was done answering my diversion she was gone and I was sitting in her place. He looked mildly puzzled but quickly exchanged the look for a pretend smile. I smiled back and ordered for a whisky.
People couldn’t really tell the difference between a laser hologram and a real image till they got close enough to notice the absence of details in the rendering. I was field testing this technology for the SSS. It would help keep important government officials from high exposure situations while also eliminating the need for look-alikes. Rumors in the bureau speculated that the final versions of these hologram projections would talk, run around, feel and be felt. Way more detail.
Now I was to report that those details had to include the holograms finishing their cigarettes, emptying their drinks and not covering themselves with so much dream smoke. Maybe using an ashtray too.
As I finished my drink, I checked my mental list of other test spots I had been assigned for the night. My next stop would be an all night prayer service. Somewhere with just enough people and space for us to blend right in without attracting attention.
Forty five minutes later, we were part of an open crusade. I shook my head at the sight of her in an oversize sweater, sweeping skirt and a non-matching scarf, praying just like everyone else.
I’d love to know what she was telling God. But then, I’m sure he would be mad at her because in a few seconds, she began to smoke her bible.

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