and thus he did look into the periscope, and he beheld the mighty leviathan, long hidden from the eyes of any gods or humans, and in those inky black eyes, the man saw not his future but his eternal undoing as it opened its apocalyptic maw
I have images of my own esophagus and stomach and upper intestine because I recieved a GI scope one time. I think that’s pretty cool. I like seeing inside of me, but I don’t think I wanna scope isnide of other people. I never wanna work in the medical field actually. I would be too queasy.
I don’t want to talk about this word. I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about my psychiatrist who I just found out killed himself. And he didn’t just kill himself; he did it almost four years ago. So I can’t even mourn or be shocked with other people because they already did that and they’re already past that and they’re going on with their lives and remembering him the way they want to instead of the way that I’m remembering him or thinking about him which is this way: Why the hell did you do this? I know you left a note and said something which I won’t say here in case somebody tries to look it up on Google because this is all true, but what the hell, you planned the whole damned thing out, as a matter of fact, I was reading where you told one of your patients that you were ‘going away.’ You hated euphemisms and bullshit and you were a pretty straight shooter so this ‘going away’ thing is really annoying–can you tell how angry I am at you? I even called someone who used to know you to try and talk about it but in the middle of doing that I thought Well, she’s been through this already and she’s getting better and you’re not such a bad memory any more, maybe she even thinks she kind of thought you weren’t too bad, so I’m not going to jerk her out of that and slam her into my present, which is my grief for what’s happened here. Okay, I’ll put scope in here just for the fucking hell of it.
the sacred secret
retreated within heart beats of beats and
bustled meanings within alleways hobos stray from
a maladay
can happen any day
fall down stairs
and boom, time to get up wheel out of there
and joust towards repair,
failure isnt so empty wasnt crippled hairs rejunivate,
after feeling the scorhcing cement they made met.
My brother is a science nerd and he loves telescopes. A telescope is what you use to study space and planets. Every night, when it’s clear outside and not raining, he goes up to the roof and looks in his telescope.
The scope of the rifle was focused on her face. Only her face. My entire world.
I took a breath, I clenched my teeth, and my finger made the slightest motion.
And then my world was gone.
The sheer size of it was hard to take in. She craned her neck upwards, getting dizzy as her eyes traveled over the branches to the patches of sky through the trees. She inhaled. The smell of the forest seemed to flood her soul, calming her almost instantly. She carefully lowered her gaze, coming back down to earth.
i like to think i’m wider than i am.
i like to hope that i will become wider than i am.
yet there’s so much to do
when you’re only so young.
so to make myself greater, i try breaking myself
into ruby shards.
i’m sure you can guess at how well that’s going for me.
Startled, he looked through the crosshairs one more time. There was a child. The man he had been sent to kill was there with his two-year-old daughter. A flood of unfolding potentialities rushed his mind.
The scope of my activities is so vast sometimes it is overwhelming. Sometimes I want to be a cat. Just see whatever is in front of me and breathe. sometimes I enjoy and thankful for the vastfulness of my mind and life. I am in love with the opportunities I have today to click on everything that interested me and read or educate myself about it
The scope of a project cannot really be evaluated until you understand it. Until you understand the expectations as well as requirements of it. Then you can put forth your best foot, always – unless you’re Severus Snape.
There it is again- the ruffling of the skin between my eyebrows, and I know within ten years they’ll be a permanent fixture to my face. It is accompanied with a sigh that have replaced my normal breathing patterns with frustration and defeat. It always comes down to one word. It took longer than it should have to locate the readings for the characters, and then since the sounds had no meaning to me, I had to send them through a dictionary as well. Multiple layers of hell in a language I must have chosen out of masochism. ‘yoyu.’ Long ‘o,’ so more like ‘youyu.’ Or ‘yooyu.’ The list of ways to write it in English is the least of my problems. After the several hurdles I stand before a definition, one that is not helpful in the least. Example sentences seem to contradict each other, and so do my coworkers. There are no tidy translations, not a single word to stuff another into, when one is a triangle and one is a circle. But it’s hard to adjust to all the angles when you’ve been surrounded in curves your whole life. A bastardization of a western children’s song plays out, and I have to suppress and audible whimper. I know I’ve just been spoiled and it’s ruining me; the smallest things leave me overwhelmed. Even the good mornings feel like a lump in my dry throat, stuck why I try to make plans before I get a cup of tea or take my jacket off. Like someone is behind you and ready to give you a fright instead of ask you to do your job. I am thankful for my patience, which I have taken care to bring to unhealthy levels, because it’s kept a thin layer between exhaustion and biting words in any language. I ready my things, my tenth and final check, and see I’m missing papers for the next class. I’m late, and I forgot dice, too, so another jog across several floors. There are smiles, little hands grabbing at mine, others chasing and running for fun, and I wish I could spread the feelings of those moments a little longer like butter on burnt toast. On my phone, a sharp word piercing through the nice ones; in my mind, uncalled for gloom; in my hands, a word stares at me. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ I think, to all of it, and suddenly I understand.
“Well?” growled Toby. “WELL? Now you understand what we’re dealing with?”
Henry frowned. He scratched at his grizzled gray beard, looking increasingly more uncomfortable in his tailored blue suit. “Okay,” he confessed. “So maybe I didn’t understand the exact scope of the incident…”
“Scope…? Motherf***er, we’re doomed! Our airline’s NEVER gonna recover from this!”
and thus he did look into the periscope, and he beheld the mighty leviathan, long hidden from the eyes of any gods or humans, and in those inky black eyes, the man saw not his future but his eternal undoing as it opened its apocalyptic maw
The scope to see things out of perspective is art. Scope is a beautiful idea. A vision into the future. A picture of the present.
I have images of my own esophagus and stomach and upper intestine because I recieved a GI scope one time. I think that’s pretty cool. I like seeing inside of me, but I don’t think I wanna scope isnide of other people. I never wanna work in the medical field actually. I would be too queasy.
I don’t want to talk about this word. I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about my psychiatrist who I just found out killed himself. And he didn’t just kill himself; he did it almost four years ago. So I can’t even mourn or be shocked with other people because they already did that and they’re already past that and they’re going on with their lives and remembering him the way they want to instead of the way that I’m remembering him or thinking about him which is this way: Why the hell did you do this? I know you left a note and said something which I won’t say here in case somebody tries to look it up on Google because this is all true, but what the hell, you planned the whole damned thing out, as a matter of fact, I was reading where you told one of your patients that you were ‘going away.’ You hated euphemisms and bullshit and you were a pretty straight shooter so this ‘going away’ thing is really annoying–can you tell how angry I am at you? I even called someone who used to know you to try and talk about it but in the middle of doing that I thought Well, she’s been through this already and she’s getting better and you’re not such a bad memory any more, maybe she even thinks she kind of thought you weren’t too bad, so I’m not going to jerk her out of that and slam her into my present, which is my grief for what’s happened here. Okay, I’ll put scope in here just for the fucking hell of it.
the sacred secret
retreated within heart beats of beats and
bustled meanings within alleways hobos stray from
a maladay
can happen any day
fall down stairs
and boom, time to get up wheel out of there
and joust towards repair,
failure isnt so empty wasnt crippled hairs rejunivate,
after feeling the scorhcing cement they made met.
there is a scope more than one i used to have. ertainly i didnt know what to do but it is amazing to wait for ir and comprehend every single thing.
As Anne puts it: “scope for the imagination”. I feel just like her, looking for optimal places to be alone with myself. I am very similar to her.
360 NO SCOPE!!!!
My brother is a science nerd and he loves telescopes. A telescope is what you use to study space and planets. Every night, when it’s clear outside and not raining, he goes up to the roof and looks in his telescope.
The scope of the rifle was focused on her face. Only her face. My entire world.
I took a breath, I clenched my teeth, and my finger made the slightest motion.
And then my world was gone.
The sheer size of it was hard to take in. She craned her neck upwards, getting dizzy as her eyes traveled over the branches to the patches of sky through the trees. She inhaled. The smell of the forest seemed to flood her soul, calming her almost instantly. She carefully lowered her gaze, coming back down to earth.
i like to think i’m wider than i am.
i like to hope that i will become wider than i am.
yet there’s so much to do
when you’re only so young.
so to make myself greater, i try breaking myself
into ruby shards.
i’m sure you can guess at how well that’s going for me.
Startled, he looked through the crosshairs one more time. There was a child. The man he had been sent to kill was there with his two-year-old daughter. A flood of unfolding potentialities rushed his mind.
The scope of my activities is so vast sometimes it is overwhelming. Sometimes I want to be a cat. Just see whatever is in front of me and breathe. sometimes I enjoy and thankful for the vastfulness of my mind and life. I am in love with the opportunities I have today to click on everything that interested me and read or educate myself about it
The scope of a project cannot really be evaluated until you understand it. Until you understand the expectations as well as requirements of it. Then you can put forth your best foot, always – unless you’re Severus Snape.
There it is again- the ruffling of the skin between my eyebrows, and I know within ten years they’ll be a permanent fixture to my face. It is accompanied with a sigh that have replaced my normal breathing patterns with frustration and defeat. It always comes down to one word. It took longer than it should have to locate the readings for the characters, and then since the sounds had no meaning to me, I had to send them through a dictionary as well. Multiple layers of hell in a language I must have chosen out of masochism. ‘yoyu.’ Long ‘o,’ so more like ‘youyu.’ Or ‘yooyu.’ The list of ways to write it in English is the least of my problems. After the several hurdles I stand before a definition, one that is not helpful in the least. Example sentences seem to contradict each other, and so do my coworkers. There are no tidy translations, not a single word to stuff another into, when one is a triangle and one is a circle. But it’s hard to adjust to all the angles when you’ve been surrounded in curves your whole life. A bastardization of a western children’s song plays out, and I have to suppress and audible whimper. I know I’ve just been spoiled and it’s ruining me; the smallest things leave me overwhelmed. Even the good mornings feel like a lump in my dry throat, stuck why I try to make plans before I get a cup of tea or take my jacket off. Like someone is behind you and ready to give you a fright instead of ask you to do your job. I am thankful for my patience, which I have taken care to bring to unhealthy levels, because it’s kept a thin layer between exhaustion and biting words in any language. I ready my things, my tenth and final check, and see I’m missing papers for the next class. I’m late, and I forgot dice, too, so another jog across several floors. There are smiles, little hands grabbing at mine, others chasing and running for fun, and I wish I could spread the feelings of those moments a little longer like butter on burnt toast. On my phone, a sharp word piercing through the nice ones; in my mind, uncalled for gloom; in my hands, a word stares at me. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ I think, to all of it, and suddenly I understand.
“Well?” growled Toby. “WELL? Now you understand what we’re dealing with?”
Henry frowned. He scratched at his grizzled gray beard, looking increasingly more uncomfortable in his tailored blue suit. “Okay,” he confessed. “So maybe I didn’t understand the exact scope of the incident…”
“Scope…? Motherf***er, we’re doomed! Our airline’s NEVER gonna recover from this!”