i wake up every day and i am on automatic, that thing that pushes me forward, stumbling down the hill to work, in a daze, the crust of my eyes falling into my mouth as i walk.
Something that happens on it’s self. Something that can be set to turn on, or something that you can’t control. When a screensaver on a computer turns on, it’s automatic because you haven’t touched or bothered any part of the computer screen. When you are scared you scream, that’s automatic. You brain tells it’s self what it knows.
click clack open smash the clothes, sheets, spill on the floor. folds upon folds upon folds. yellow, red. soft and scratchy, cold hard concrete fingernails scraping against a dirty chalk board. dust, in to the laundry basket.
This is when something happens and you just do it, go for it, it happens without even thiking. You might brush your teeth atoumatically, eat breakfast without ecven thinking. Then again,we’re all tired in the morning so that’s not exactly atoumatic.
It was automatic. Her arm flew upwards, blocking the stealthy attempt to steal her cheese on toast. Her face bearing a snarl, she crouched over her lunch.
Love is automatic.
The lights flicker with satisfaction.
Your love is a desire.
I cant live without your attire.
When i see you i dream of amazement.
What would i do without your automatic love?
So many things nowadays are automatic. Automatic cars, toasters, TVs, phones. Where did the world that we knew, loved, and grew up in go? Where is the sentiment of reading? But now we have Nooks and Kindles. No more sweet smell of book, or the rustling of pages when you turn the page. It’s all automatic.
I automatically smile when you walk into the room. I hate and live the feeling that you give me. My love for you is automatic…I cannot stop it. I don’t even know that I would want to. I love you and you just can’t accept our potential perfection.
it’s automatic for me… to wake up, sit on my sofa, sip my coffee, read a bit, then face the rest of the day. it’s automatic for my spouse to talk during this time, nudge me to do some odd chores she thinks need doing and i feel are find left alone. i have my agenda–and she has one for me. the twain do not meet.
so, i changed my agenda a bit to accommodate her. now, when i’m sitting sipping reading, if she forgets that change, and falls back on giving me her version of my day, it’s automatic for me to back hand her across the face. i’ve found it makes my life far more enjoyable in a variety of ways.
Automatic.
Is there such a thing as instant gratification? Possibly, on a superficial level.
Then my mind skips along and I think; Autonomy. How long does it take to free ones mind? Years of practice? Could it be done in a day?
One thing I can always count on to be automatic is a feeling. Any feeling. Whether it be fear, or love, or anger… even indifference, I know I will always feel SOMETHING (Immediately) {Automatically}
Im growing fond of listening to how I feel for once.
Everything in life is automatic. Beginning from our birth to our death, everything is automatic. We may try to make things happen as per our wish, but in the end the automatic switch is in the hands of our maker.
Don’t think they say to me. Just do it. Just do it and make a difference. It’s automatic, hands to keyboard, thoughts to words, pictures to memories.
What if nothing is that simple any more? What if humans need endless deliberation time to make decisions and remake decisions and change their mind and drink a cup of tea and take a few pills and press a blade to their wrists and spend a few precious worthless minutes apologising to themselves and to everything else.
Just open your mind. Just do it. Just do it just do it justdo it justdoit justdoit justdoitjustdoit
this story i am writing is automatic, because on the previous page i was instructed to “just write, don’t think.” now where do you think that sort of behaviour will take us? off into the wild unknown? or down the rabbit hole of chaos?
the van is an automatic transmission. i like to listen to a radio show that talks about cars can be fixed and there are more manual than automatic transmissions.
This is automatic to me anymore. Turn on the computer and tap out some letters on the keyboard, hoping in the end they make sense to someone—- but I forget myself- readers don’t like this melodrama going on between the author and his work, it’s unsanitary, it’s messy, and they don’t like to think about the author that much. His mess should be outside of his work, in the gossip magazines.
Readers prefer to think that the author is neat, orderly, even hygienic. How cute! Well, this bastard hasn’t even bothered to shave since his wife died.
How’s that for neat and hygienic? I just took my wife’s blood and smeared it all over the pages of your novel! The only orderly in that story is the one in the hospital that called the doctor in a panic because he hadn’t seen one die yet and he didn’t know what to do.
In reply to his franticness, the doctor mumbled, “What can anybody do when someone dies? Just get me the paperwork and quit rambling, would you?”
And indeed, the author wondered what anyone can do in the face of death. He decided shaving did not make the list, and so he would not do it. The only order he kept was that of eschewing the useless practices of life in order deal with death. And he could not think of any useful actions…
So he quit trying to write a rant about his wife over the background of the novel his readers expected and used the razor to slit his throat.
automatic reflexive i sneeze when i look at the sun, sometimes i sneeze when i look at you, sometimes i smile when i see you. it’s automatic, a habit–instinctive and necessary as breath. I am a pilot with my elbows winged behind my head and my legs, ankles crossed, up on the console
your love is automatic
wow, that’s an old song
childhood
coming back to me
automatically
Without a doubt, it’s Zenon, Girl of the 21st Century.
I miss Kirsten Storms on General Hospital
automatic, something which happens right away, sort of simultaneously or something like that. I automatically love gardening, it’s in my life. My car is automatic. My kinship with loving pets, birds, is automatic, a lovely attribute. Automatic is just automatic .. as is my love of life.
i wake up every day and i am on automatic, that thing that pushes me forward, stumbling down the hill to work, in a daze, the crust of my eyes falling into my mouth as i walk.
Something that happens on it’s self. Something that can be set to turn on, or something that you can’t control. When a screensaver on a computer turns on, it’s automatic because you haven’t touched or bothered any part of the computer screen. When you are scared you scream, that’s automatic. You brain tells it’s self what it knows.
click clack open smash the clothes, sheets, spill on the floor. folds upon folds upon folds. yellow, red. soft and scratchy, cold hard concrete fingernails scraping against a dirty chalk board. dust, in to the laundry basket.
This is when something happens and you just do it, go for it, it happens without even thiking. You might brush your teeth atoumatically, eat breakfast without ecven thinking. Then again,we’re all tired in the morning so that’s not exactly atoumatic.
i just want it to be me. something i do. something i’m trained to do. the reaction must come. it cannot wait.
this is what you want, isn’t it? the reaction you want- the knee-jerk, right on the second, on the dot, action.
oh how i can’t be there for you. i can’t be this. i can’t be you. and i don’t react.
i love you. but not automatically. this isn’t me. this isn’t for you…
It was automatic. Her arm flew upwards, blocking the stealthy attempt to steal her cheese on toast. Her face bearing a snarl, she crouched over her lunch.
I’m so ecstatic to see your automatic.
Your eyes are bright just like a light.
My hearts beats with panic.
Your body is large and white.
Love is automatic.
The lights flicker with satisfaction.
Your love is a desire.
I cant live without your attire.
When i see you i dream of amazement.
What would i do without your automatic love?
So many things nowadays are automatic. Automatic cars, toasters, TVs, phones. Where did the world that we knew, loved, and grew up in go? Where is the sentiment of reading? But now we have Nooks and Kindles. No more sweet smell of book, or the rustling of pages when you turn the page. It’s all automatic.
horses cowboys monkeys adam me.
I automatically smile when you walk into the room. I hate and live the feeling that you give me. My love for you is automatic…I cannot stop it. I don’t even know that I would want to. I love you and you just can’t accept our potential perfection.
it’s automatic for me… to wake up, sit on my sofa, sip my coffee, read a bit, then face the rest of the day. it’s automatic for my spouse to talk during this time, nudge me to do some odd chores she thinks need doing and i feel are find left alone. i have my agenda–and she has one for me. the twain do not meet.
so, i changed my agenda a bit to accommodate her. now, when i’m sitting sipping reading, if she forgets that change, and falls back on giving me her version of my day, it’s automatic for me to back hand her across the face. i’ve found it makes my life far more enjoyable in a variety of ways.
MOVE BY SELF GO GO POWER
Automatic.
Is there such a thing as instant gratification? Possibly, on a superficial level.
Then my mind skips along and I think; Autonomy. How long does it take to free ones mind? Years of practice? Could it be done in a day?
One thing I can always count on to be automatic is a feeling. Any feeling. Whether it be fear, or love, or anger… even indifference, I know I will always feel SOMETHING (Immediately) {Automatically}
Im growing fond of listening to how I feel for once.
Everything in life is automatic. Beginning from our birth to our death, everything is automatic. We may try to make things happen as per our wish, but in the end the automatic switch is in the hands of our maker.
IT COULD BE AUTOMATIC TRUCKS AND CARS.(:):!!!!!!!!!!!
fast,quick, go as quickly as you can it happens right away you are doing something right that second like going swimming in a pool
Automatic vehicle,
cars boats trucks,
SUV Mortar vehicle,
Fast things….
Automatic is when u don’t have to do anything from driving to talking..
Don’t think they say to me. Just do it. Just do it and make a difference. It’s automatic, hands to keyboard, thoughts to words, pictures to memories.
What if nothing is that simple any more? What if humans need endless deliberation time to make decisions and remake decisions and change their mind and drink a cup of tea and take a few pills and press a blade to their wrists and spend a few precious worthless minutes apologising to themselves and to everything else.
Just open your mind. Just do it. Just do it just do it justdo it justdoit justdoit justdoitjustdoit
something that can so something all on itself. it can also
cars,shoots when ever,some candy makers a lot of muchen guys,some bass balll muchens that spit out balls over and over
Something that is automatic does not need the help of starting or doing its job. An automatic thing is like a baseball pitch in a batting cage.
automatic machine guns, coffee makers, cars, candy machines, motorcycles.
this story i am writing is automatic, because on the previous page i was instructed to “just write, don’t think.” now where do you think that sort of behaviour will take us? off into the wild unknown? or down the rabbit hole of chaos?
semi automatic cars, machines.
automatic makes me think of a car because of the auto part. i like cars, but they are not that cool if you know what i mean.
the van is an automatic transmission. i like to listen to a radio show that talks about cars can be fixed and there are more manual than automatic transmissions.
the light automatically turned on when she walked into her bedroom.
very hard
She switches gears rapidly, legs moving faster, her breath coming faster in the still night air. She had not anticipated that it would be this tiring.
This is automatic to me anymore. Turn on the computer and tap out some letters on the keyboard, hoping in the end they make sense to someone—- but I forget myself- readers don’t like this melodrama going on between the author and his work, it’s unsanitary, it’s messy, and they don’t like to think about the author that much. His mess should be outside of his work, in the gossip magazines.
Readers prefer to think that the author is neat, orderly, even hygienic. How cute! Well, this bastard hasn’t even bothered to shave since his wife died.
How’s that for neat and hygienic? I just took my wife’s blood and smeared it all over the pages of your novel! The only orderly in that story is the one in the hospital that called the doctor in a panic because he hadn’t seen one die yet and he didn’t know what to do.
In reply to his franticness, the doctor mumbled, “What can anybody do when someone dies? Just get me the paperwork and quit rambling, would you?”
And indeed, the author wondered what anyone can do in the face of death. He decided shaving did not make the list, and so he would not do it. The only order he kept was that of eschewing the useless practices of life in order deal with death. And he could not think of any useful actions…
So he quit trying to write a rant about his wife over the background of the novel his readers expected and used the razor to slit his throat.
self-shifting transmission. I used to like manual but now i’m more lazy and like automatics
i am going to have an automatic pick-up truck when i’m older!!! the truck is the Toyota Tundra, YEAH!!! GO TUNDRA!!!!!
automatic reflexive i sneeze when i look at the sun, sometimes i sneeze when i look at you, sometimes i smile when i see you. it’s automatic, a habit–instinctive and necessary as breath. I am a pilot with my elbows winged behind my head and my legs, ankles crossed, up on the console
your love is automatic
wow, that’s an old song
childhood
coming back to me
automatically
Without a doubt, it’s Zenon, Girl of the 21st Century.
I miss Kirsten Storms on General Hospital
automatic, something which happens right away, sort of simultaneously or something like that. I automatically love gardening, it’s in my life. My car is automatic. My kinship with loving pets, birds, is automatic, a lovely attribute. Automatic is just automatic .. as is my love of life.
automatic can be a firing mode or a transmission.
Most military branches use automatic weapons.
The plastic car was automatic. The robot was automatically doing my homework.
The sign to go is automatic
When you see me it’s no holds bard
go go
don’t stop
it’s an automatic drop
my stomach
my insides
alive
automatic cars are lame grow a stick shift and get on the road;) hahahahaahah idk some guns can be smi- or fully automatic.