Digisexuals?

I’m finishing a 300 page story that in one of its themes deals with a man creating and falling in love with a robot; but, one who acquires a real body. Some of the chapters are already here on this website, its called The Carneeg and it will be out this year…… it looks like I was a bit more prescient than I might have known! Its now a reality as reported by Breibart!

http://www.breitbart.com/tech/2017/11/27/professor-we-must-be-prepared-for-rise-of-digisexuals-who-prefer-sex-robots/

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Here is an interesting follow up from Breibart too:

In March, it was revealed that a Chinese chatbot had been told “I love you” nearly twenty million times, and in October, it was reported that sexual conversations with artificial intelligence were on the rise, with one A.I. CEO claiming that his virtual assistant “Robin” is used by “teenagers and truckers without girlfriends” for up to 300 conversations a day.

“This happens because people are lonely and bored,” said Robin Labs chief executive Ilya Eckstein. “It is a symptom of our society.”

Artificially intelligent sex robots are becoming increasingly more common, with new features and dolls frequently being announced.

In March, Breitbart Tech reported on a sex robot that includes a working artificial G-spot, and just a month prior, “RealDoll” also revealed their plans to create more realistic sex dolls with customizable personalities.

Earlier this month, a report was published that attempted to discuss the issues related with the rise of sex robots, including social isolation, love, prostitution, and pedophilia.

 

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Are Writing And Sleep Incompatible?

I just finished my new novel’s 1st draft, 300 pages!!  I thought I’d get some rest at last. Revisions aren’t that exciting, are they? Perhaps I’ve lost my mind or was that something just reserved for kids? Here I am up at Four in the Morning, excited about revising! I know how it starts, I know how it ends….. can repainting road signs be that exciting? I think however it’s the inspiration of friends I’ve found at Indie Writers…..

There is an addiction to the creative experience that is inspired by nothing but others. What is it I want to make certain I have done? What is to exciting to wait? I’m inspired by those  in my writing group, who I hope like me can’t wait for enough light to again be up and write!  This is how my sleep is undone…

  • Tease curiosity with Alvin Wander’s amazing technique for creating character
  • Create a culture bound to a knife held by a vulture as Walt Kuhlman does
  • Add some subtle but poetic phrases as inspired by Judy Moskowitz (or Billy Collins)
  • Add some heartfelt prose with the gentleness Evelyn Ross does
  • Every day I remember to read someone new as I learned from Gerrie Beck
  • Shine the hot spot light of stage like presence on my character’s speech- Isaac Asimov (I know he’s been here while I was asleep)
  • Or read something magical as from  John C Mannone?  (as close as the internet)
  • A a page of cruelty and violence in a very special way, inspired by Keith Darrel
  • What price can you put on such a thrill?  Authors who have have Disneyland In their backyard!  Maybe I’ve added too, by just catching fire?

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A Sexy Florida Morning

Lying in bed squeezing lids tightly closed, light seeps in under the leaky door
Filling more than the floor it splashes and thrashes washing away the dark sand of night
Spraying like a sprinkler through slices of shades, writing word rows of red marching ants.  Fresh squeezed sweet orange juice dripping, whispering memories of the evening’s passion
Covering the naked curves of sexy tanned night with strips of bright new clothes
Pulling open the shades like and old etch and sketch
Erases the wall and the Dream it did call
Warm days beyond the wall
beckon with no pall

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Why Not To Be A Doctor Or Spock –  A Prose Poem

When as a 36 year old doctor I had severe chronic back pain, Dr John Sarno took me on a journey of recalling all my childhood’s pain. The rain of old memory, cured my back pain by allowing my life’ new memory to peacefully reign. You’ll understand sooner or later, perhaps in this story.

baby-1178539_1920Remembering birth was tough, but time before it was easy. Life in the 1700’s was magnificent but that came from past life regression and this story is not about that journey, but the one after my current birth, not before. I never did manage to remember this more recent birth, perhaps because I really don’t care to or maybe can’t. I do recall however being about age one. It’s not that interesting other than for its wordless description. So I will save you a long recital by telling you it was about cycles. I recall the cycles of the sun behind my crib as day came and went through the window behind where I slept (I slept through most of it). The next interesting thing, perhaps from your viewpoint, was the periodic visitation of floating faces that made cooing noises. I knew they were “nice” as I could feel their happy thoughts. When I could stay awake, seeing them was entertaining.  By the next year, I now knew they were “people” and that with gifts of food or lack of care their visits seemed to bring joy or fear.

When I was about three sitting on the basement floor, I watched my sister assemble a puzzle and for the first time really knew disappointment. I insisted on trying but when I could not do it my mother laughed; it was the first time I ever felt abashed. I did not understand that my sister being nearly twice my age had an advantage. How I “viewed”my mother’s laugh shaped who I am forever – competitive, but mostly with myself. Mom was very creative and to this I was native. There was little TV, just building creative toys and dreams for me.

In kindergarten, the teacher told us to put on reindeer hats and parade in a circle to music and entertain our parents. I refused her, asking why I should do this?  She just got mad thinking that I dared need a reason! From then on I looked at her with derision for her very poor emotional decision. This event that day made me a father to Spock,  emotion free as a rock; though I suspect he was conceived in my mother’s laugh.  We were one and the same with just my name. 

In high school and college, sex I had to acknowledge; but joy for me was being so high on the curve that everyone else would fail. Calculus, Chemistry, Biology all the sciences, her laugh long ago determined how far I would go to leave them all in the dust. 

doctor-2337835_1920Fifty years later having joyfully invented a branch of Holistic Medicine, my patient’s pain had become dark rain. A body cooked long round the spit of the sun finally begins to fail, it ceases to run. My patients grew, old my joy grew cold, for even years after I could still hear her laughter.  It was time to leave!  After 45 years I’d earned that reprieve.

Here in Florida I met a lady who’d been my best friend 40 years ago when I had been painfully divorced.  Her eyes were failing and her surgeons flailing. I volunteered my services for a guided tour that the doctor, not Spock, should have known to abhor. Surgeons well selected, care well directed. But, years of life predicted age could not be interdicted.  Now I remember the reason to retire, watching life end inspires no great desire.

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But being a friend before life’s end is a gift of value that laughter can’t devalue.  As I sit here this morning enjoying the sun, I’m glad that from other’s pain, I chose not to run.  I cannot stop the end of life but with love and caring there is great opportunity for preparing.  

For much of my life I’m again married to a wife, who had been to many daring to be selflessly caring. Now I’m inspired, to be so desired, life’s too short to stay retired. Care given to a friend does spiritually help them mend. Her laughter faded in the ever after.