Comments Posted By Kybard
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A hand extended in the ether, and with it the full intentions to grasp and carry and lift and drag and pull or to be grasped, carried, lifted, pulled, torn from the comfortable seat of the status quo and thrown headlong into whatever acceptance means, whatever consent implies; a hand extended means an object at which to extend, another person, another universe, two pinned together for an instant of need, a cry for empathy.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.21.2017 @ 11:59 am
Float high into the stratosphere, where mountains and oceans become flecks of paint on the perceptible canvas; become an astronaut and view the world from the perspective of the gods and the satellites. Become distanced and encounter distance, feet dancing so far from the ground that fires cannot burn you, so that warmth cannot reach you.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.18.2017 @ 11:48 am
Echoing across hallways too narrow to dampen the sound, a concordance of volume increasing on its own accord; she had never heard anything like it before, the dance becoming more and more frantic as the music threatened to swallow her whole and keep on going, throwing the whole world into its cacophonous gullet.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.17.2017 @ 7:50 am
I already did this one, jeez
The system by which we measure is the system by which we understand; that is to say, the rules by which we define the universe shape that universe, as the observation of molecules fundamentally alters their very being. The utterance of the inch divides our world into inches; but what is the inch without the utterance, except the notion of a pattern in a world of arbitrary measurement and cut-off?
» Posted By Kybard On 12.16.2017 @ 7:41 am
Randomized and jumbled, his mind struggled to pierce its own veil, to gather from the rubble of what had shaken the very memory that had triggered the collapse. Perhaps better, then, to be ignorant by way of psychic burial; yet he could find no other memory any more clearly, could not navigate the waves of confusion, and despair pulled him only ever deeper through the currents.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.15.2017 @ 11:25 am
I already did “figure” oneword, come on
Sandwiched between the dry is the red, the blood in the green and the yellow, mound and pound and slab of ground, blackened and bloodied both if it’s done right, the layers different only before, molded into a singular unit by the act of consumption, the model of diversity as homogeneity, consumption as the king of identity
» Posted By Kybard On 12.14.2017 @ 10:24 am
Jigsaw cracks on the silhouette, inviting gaps in the frame; piece it together to complete the statue, to build from thought to action, vagary to concrete. Mold the joints if you have to, massage the edges, cut the figure from whole cloth if need be, to ensure your mind’s eye matches what catches the rays of the sun
» Posted By Kybard On 12.13.2017 @ 4:20 pm
Hollowed and massive, screaming for salvation within the center of the world’s empty conscience and hearing only yourself in reply. Hollow in layers, the echo bouncing in your own ears and within your other cavities, your ribs vibrating softly across each other.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.12.2017 @ 12:21 pm
A portal into the other side of a portal – entrance and exit both. Communication channels are doorways, all human connection is a doorway, requiring users to step through both sides to be of optimal use. An exit-only is a potential bottleneck; a closed door is an inaccessible space of the mind. Pathways can be closed and locked, but the reverse is true; closed doors can be opened.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.11.2017 @ 12:53 pm
Jarred out of place, the puzzle with an extra piece and one of the pieces you thought fit is just sitting there with gaps in its teeth, the crooked smile of a favorite painting hanging at an angle, maybe it’s the angle you always wanted on your wall, the misalignment acquired only through the slow accumulation of bumps and adjustments, alignment as new, its loss the register of time spent in a loving home
» Posted By Kybard On 12.10.2017 @ 8:32 am
Furrowing brow retreating into itself, wrinkles in the brain reflected on the forehead. “Where did you get that?” with the implication that any answer will be unacceptable; “Why?” without expecting a satisfying response. Concern is the precursor to anger, even in its sincerest most empathetic forms; concern is the brain attempting to meld with another brain and finding it wanting, and making a desperate scramble for answers before deciding upon wholesale rejection.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.09.2017 @ 7:22 am
Begging you please not to go, knees scraping the dirt and hands clutching at anything that’ll hold, so caught up in the desperation for one more second that I lose awareness of the moment itself, a sort of ironic drifting away from the point, or it would feel ironic if it weren’t so crushing, the weight of loss obliviating the senses at the very point where the need for those senses is most heightened, at the very point where those senses may only have another moment’s capture of the thing that matters
» Posted By Kybard On 12.08.2017 @ 6:58 am
Lounging in a puddle of one’s own stillness; content with one’s own content, that’s a cute idea, becoming complacent about one’s body of work. I’ve done enough for the day, I’ve done enough for one lifetime, said the child basking in the glow of a day’s lemonade sales. OR: contentment as the product of content, the never-ending cycle of anxiety to production to complacency with the undercurrent of anxiety building once again to production. content produces contentment, contentment denies content until it self-destructs and forces the reproduction of content
» Posted By Kybard On 12.07.2017 @ 6:12 am
“Aforethought” but no one needs to have forethought to hate; in fact, malice and hate (intentional, directed hate) are emotional qualities, instinctive valences of the human condition. With malice one makes snap decisions; crimes of passion are also crimes of malice. Malice is a flash in the eye, a glimmer not of recognition but of othering, a flash of alienation and defense of the isolated self.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.06.2017 @ 9:49 am
Hey I already did righteous! We’re gonna do “example” instead
Pulled from the pack, isolation by identification, even as the identification is intended to provide clarification on the pack itself; singling out the prototype, the inherent contradiction of wanting a singular to demonstrate the plural
» Posted By Kybard On 12.05.2017 @ 8:39 am
Fury and righteous adrenaline pumping, righteousness is a call to action, it’s the blood that pumps you into the morning, the fuel that fires a screech of victory before the victory’s been secured. Righteousness is its own dessert, which is often its failing — an ideology devoid of ideas, a simple call to keep the feet moving. Action for its own sake is destruction; righteousness is idealized havoc, the destruction of the world for the sake of one’s own need for mental amphetamine.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.04.2017 @ 11:35 am
Welcome to the jungle. Inviting hands into the spiraling depths, the arms like the rails of a roller coaster past the peak; pretty much everything in our world is like this, the advertisement and shock-and-awe of a movie trailer inviting you into a downward track of consumption and emptiness. With a smile on their face they’ll take your money and push you even further down the track, welcome, welcome inside, welcome down, there’s no way back up, no refunds.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.03.2017 @ 8:16 am
Oblivious to privilege, oblivious to history and context. Wandering through a forest without knowing what a tree even looks like. Everyone does it, because the definition of a tree changes with each step, but most of us are self-aware enough to identify and recognize patterns as we walk; others assume the trees will part on their behalf, or that trees are a construction of other peoples’ minds; they reshape reality around their inability to understand it.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.02.2017 @ 8:11 am
Entering into work like a tide pool, hitting it at the crest and falling deeper into it, you have to churn against it at first as you sink deep and fight the current — have to force words that don’t fit into place until suddenly a puzzle emerges from the mismatched blocks. That’s how you build something, misshapen at first until enough pieces exist to form shapes. All starts with a crash, like a big bang, a deep dive, a somersault and belly flop.
» Posted By Kybard On 12.01.2017 @ 8:24 am
Scraps of metal and food mixed into each other (like a thanksgiving dinner and the table setting all thrown into a slurry). Glint of the fork dulled at the edges by bits of spinach and sweet potato, like a rotten Christmas color study.
Or like that show involving the rapture, leftover as alone, isolation within the group.
» Posted By Kybard On 11.30.2017 @ 8:50 am
Really tall ones like the ones on the great wall of china. which i guess is just one wall.
giving you vertigo as you crane upwards to look at the bricks piled on each other like a mass of gray clouds, or a thick stack of pancakes without the syrupy drizzle of a ruptured dam
man you are out of practice with this
» Posted By Kybard On 10.05.2012 @ 8:41 am
He tried to strike a match on the side of the table as he watched her leave. He’d seen this done in movies a few times before; it wasn’t as easy as they made it seem. The match bent, he shuffled for another one, tried again a little more forcefully. By the time it was lit, she was gone, which made it easy to imagine that the intended effect had failed.
» Posted By Kybard On 08.14.2009 @ 4:59 pm
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His hair shone in the evening sky, car headlights and overhanging lights like stars and comets streaking past an overwaxed combover. His smile, too, was shining, like someone had shoved a lightbulb down his throat.
He had been smiling at me for fifteen seconds before I finally had to look in the other direction.
» Posted By Kybard On 08.12.2009 @ 1:57 pm