smrudin
Sweltering beams of sunlight hit my brow and I'm forced to wipe it again and again with my red bandana to keep the salt out of my eyes.
The sudden blinding light, and the sound of dust falling from the fans, just turned on, wake me from my doze on the library table. My arms have wrinkles from my face and my face has wrinkles from my arms. It must be 6 AM.
A great wave of sound swept through the highlands. The voices of a soulful chorus imparting their joy.
Lock,stock, no entry. Us only. You got it. It's us versus you in the war for the world and we'll pull this deadbolt firm across any door we get through.
Dragged along behind the truck, it's got everything stored inside. If that insubstantial piece of metal failed, a life's worth of precious junk would spill out along the highway.
A cross-roads where two friends pause to talk, just to say hello. But the sun is bright and the park is nearby, so they take a stroll down the shadowed path arm in arm.
She stared at the blank grid of boxes, some black, most not, and their beautiful geometric symmetry, and wondered: why? Why can't I figure out this simple word puzzle? And what hope is there for me unraveling the knot that is my world? Religion is just too puzzling.
Strong and confident and sweating, she forces the bit of the drill into the dented head of the screw. She can do this, no problem. She's Rosie.
Automated and emotionless creations of wire and metal plates. But our brains are just a series of circuits too, albeit more mysterious, more fragile. why do our circuits give us 'life' and a 'mind' and theirs give them 'function' a 'skill set'.
acoustic music is the food of love. it's true and honest, easy list'ning. but sometimes i find it boring, so contrite and pale without much spirit. what's that say about me?
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