I have always been covert in most of the things I do. When I dated, I never wanted to share it with anyone. When I had my baby, I did not want to share the news until a very long time. Heck, I do not even share my feelings to the closest of people.
in the covert operation, special agent James T. Maclroy is assigned to the project. the assassination of professional gambler, Gerode bong requires absolute stealth. sneaking through the sewer line, he is able to squeeze into position, rifle in hand, he aims down his sight at the target. he then feels the all too familiar cold touch of a gun pressed to his head. the stranger speaks behind him slowly, “lay down the gun and hug the wall!” scared by the situation, he obeys. the brief sound of a shot is fired and Maclroy is dead, ending the mission.
The agent was stealthy, quiet. The mission was simple, kill the woman before she hurt one of them. He was part of a special, elite division of the government, a covert and unknown division.
cia covert affairs, spies, subtle racism. i’m thinking about things that aren’t out in the open, that are mysterious, subtle, not openly available, maybe also the subconscious, sneaking around corners, darkness and shadows and fog, things that we don’t want others to know and maybe that we don’t even want ourselves to know. the process of slowly unfolding and finding things out about ourselves.
“Well”, he said, a small grin creeping across his face, “I guess you’re down to your last chance Mr. Jones.” He lifted one thin, ringed finger and pressed down on the table. A small rectangular section of the tabletop popped up, revealing a button.
I have no idea what covert means, perhaps jealousy. jealousy may be the single cause of the destruction he has put me through. In which, covert has a very bad meaning to me and I don’t want to write about it because the thoughts of my mind are dark and upsetting. They always are without him. I think the word I was thinking about was covet. oh well.
For the purpose of this post, the word will be expressed as a noun-
She hid for a long time, away from the scorching house. How he’d managed to light it on fire, she did not know. It had happened somewhere in his range. The throwing of bottles, the chasing her throughout the room, the incoherent screaming threats, the beating, the pounding -the dripping of liquid thunder. Somewhere in the blur of it all, the chaos broke for a moment.
Then there were the flames. And while she watched the burning house, she was too shocked to think. Only one guilty thought entered her head: a crippling hope that he was still in there.
the religion sometimes can be a covert of crime. in the name of religion, some racialist may urge people to burn themselves to protect their so called right.
people may fail to punish them because their free right entitled to them to have free religion and free belif.
The boy tried to covertly slip past the movie attendant, and almost managed, until a girl who seemed his age noticed and asked her mother, “Mommy, why cant we get one of the tickets he has?” pointing in the direction of the culprit. Overheard by the attendant, he looked toward the direction of the young boy and barked, “Hey you!” The two’s eyes connected a moment before the boy jolted toward the emergency exit for a quick escape, if he could make it outside he’d be able to flee to the woods behind the theater. He figured nobody would search from him, after all he technically hadn’t stolen anything. But if he had been caught, the police would surely bring him to child services, he had everything to loose, he needed to move with haste.
When the word covert appeared on the top of the page I was forced to write for sixty seconds about it. I am listening to a Jenna Marbles video about some idiot while I am writing about covert.
She sat in the bathtub, the water long since cold. Her body shivered but her mind was lost, digging through brambles and shadows of memory. Hunting for the elusive moment, when the sun was pouring through the open window in a patchwork quilt of light, the doves attempting to hide on the windowsill, and covert footsteps echoed up through the cobbled streets and stone buildings. The church bells rang and she sat, exposed but liquid warm, and wondered when it was exactly he had stopped making her feel this sacred.
The men snuck into the camp through a broken part of the fence. “Our men are trapped in there” said the seargent. As they snuck past guard patrols between buildings, the kept an eye out for the building were thir men were stuck. They piled up on the door and yanked it open. Looks of shock came upon all of them.
Covert missions were a bitch. Seriously. All the secrecy and mumbo-jumbo was a pain in his ass. He wished for the missions that were straightforward: in-and-out, shoot the motherfucker, and head on home. When espionage was required, when he had to pick a side and shoot someone on the sly, when no one else knew why you were shooting that piece of shit humanity…those were the worst. He grumbled and checked his sight again, then signaled his team to move in.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers to me, in my head. He has the deepest eyes and the sweetest smile and so much, so much of me wants to walk up to him and know him and be his friend and say hi, but no, I can’t. The special thing he and I have is limited to my head. He doesn’t even know I exist.
He is my little secret.
The three men watching the apartment passed a flask of coffee between themselves. Little did they know they were being watched themselves. A separate, covert operation was going on, waiting for them to make a mistake.
I like to be in the CIA one day and if I am, it will be so much fun. I will be a covert agent and work for the Presidents and shoot so many bad guys and give no fucks. They will be dead and as a covert agent, I will be awarded with plenty of money, bitches, and food. It will be sweet and I will polish my gun everyday because it’s cool
This was a strictly covert operation. No wonky strategies. No embellished “secret agent” attire. No sour attempts at exaggerated camouflage. We needed to act naturally. Like civilians. Normal human beings, more accurately. And we got to work.
We produced driver’s licenses, passports, and fake social security cards. I came up with my own pseudonym. Attire. Age. Attitude. And a very scruffy upper lip.
i surpassed my fathers’ talent in photography
at the age of fourteen
when he consequently told me
the technology was bringing forth the obsolescence of its practitioners
but i am o.kay with a new guerrilla market
in which we all in the end agree
our own photos look the best on our own walls
and the starving artists are restored to their starving state
my father whose photos never won
I have no idea what this word means. The first thing that pops into my head is covet, and then cover. So, don’t covet your neighbors wife and if you do cover it up? Lmao, I’m great with words I really should know what this means. And the 60 seconds just seems to drag on and on and on and on and on. I think the blue line is about done. Oop, here we go
I saddely have no idea what this short six letter word means. It could mean something like hide or sneak or maybe it means to stuff your mouth with frogs. I have no clue.
I want many things from life, covertly. I think many things about people, covertly. I make grand and impossible plans, covertly. And I am happy only covertly.
under the cover, runs thoughts, sometimes dashing at the speed of a bullet train, other times strolling with care to notice the singing birds-in-trees. from under the cover, comes an aroma swirling. is it sweet? strong? nemseng?
An operation, something to do with the military. It will be secret and you will not be allowed to discuss any of the happenings as a result. It can be very exciting and very dangerous at the same time. You will be undercover. Do not be afraid. Trust in your training. Get set. GO!
“We’re undercover!” I shouted. This new partner thing really wasn’t working out. He had no ideas about anything that had to do with police work. It’s like he had never even heard the word “covert” before. Come to think of it though, I’m not even sure I know what it means. We’ll just use secret instead.
Covert ops. Like secret, right? A disguise. There was this movie I knew when I was young master of disguise or something like that. With Dana Carvey. I used to think he was a girl, but he is most definitely a man. Isn’t there a cop or detective show with the name covert in it too?
“We need to work with this. It is not going away,” he said.
“Are you crazy? I am not going on a covert operation, spooking for you, just because you are frightened of shadows. This is really close to stalking and I don’t know that I trust you. What are you planning to do with this?”
The overt, the explicit lie, held a truth as its shield and in doing so made a bitter cry at fortitude. There was never a falseness, just a truth present implicitly as such, a truth that hid itself in unmediated presentation.
Around and about, I was walking to the top. Turning to the thick underbush, I pushed through to discover a covert. Pulling back the branches I entered the secret place and began to explore.
To be covert, sheltered, in a safe place. Like human beings we are we all need a little covert to hide what we hate the most about us from others and sometimes from ourselves as well. Everyone has the loner facet of themselves that prefers the covert places and situations.
covert, i have no idea what this word means, so im going to make it up. maybe its a mix between coven and pervert? i like that idea, i think that should become its new definition.
There was once in every child’s fantasy in his unfortunately modern short term youth that he would want to become a spy. Who never stopped being in the mood for a little game of enigmatic mystery. Looking around the usual surrounding in a different way as someone who seems to have been sent to a distant land of mysterious settings.
Covert is being in the shadows, figureatively and literally. It is a whispered secret, a quiet message to your friends saying “I know. But i’m not going to be forthright with it.”
It is silence, it is terrifying. It is the definition of being subversive when the more honorable and truthful man would be open.
I have always been covert in most of the things I do. When I dated, I never wanted to share it with anyone. When I had my baby, I did not want to share the news until a very long time. Heck, I do not even share my feelings to the closest of people.
in the covert operation, special agent James T. Maclroy is assigned to the project. the assassination of professional gambler, Gerode bong requires absolute stealth. sneaking through the sewer line, he is able to squeeze into position, rifle in hand, he aims down his sight at the target. he then feels the all too familiar cold touch of a gun pressed to his head. the stranger speaks behind him slowly, “lay down the gun and hug the wall!” scared by the situation, he obeys. the brief sound of a shot is fired and Maclroy is dead, ending the mission.
The agent was stealthy, quiet. The mission was simple, kill the woman before she hurt one of them. He was part of a special, elite division of the government, a covert and unknown division.
cia covert affairs, spies, subtle racism. i’m thinking about things that aren’t out in the open, that are mysterious, subtle, not openly available, maybe also the subconscious, sneaking around corners, darkness and shadows and fog, things that we don’t want others to know and maybe that we don’t even want ourselves to know. the process of slowly unfolding and finding things out about ourselves.
“Well”, he said, a small grin creeping across his face, “I guess you’re down to your last chance Mr. Jones.” He lifted one thin, ringed finger and pressed down on the table. A small rectangular section of the tabletop popped up, revealing a button.
“…or should I say, Mrs. Jones!” he exclaimed.
They’re on to me!
He pressed the button…
I have no idea what covert means, perhaps jealousy. jealousy may be the single cause of the destruction he has put me through. In which, covert has a very bad meaning to me and I don’t want to write about it because the thoughts of my mind are dark and upsetting. They always are without him. I think the word I was thinking about was covet. oh well.
For the purpose of this post, the word will be expressed as a noun-
She hid for a long time, away from the scorching house. How he’d managed to light it on fire, she did not know. It had happened somewhere in his range. The throwing of bottles, the chasing her throughout the room, the incoherent screaming threats, the beating, the pounding -the dripping of liquid thunder. Somewhere in the blur of it all, the chaos broke for a moment.
Then there were the flames. And while she watched the burning house, she was too shocked to think. Only one guilty thought entered her head: a crippling hope that he was still in there.
Covert means secret which hide form the others.
in my life i have not covert anything to anyone.
the religion sometimes can be a covert of crime. in the name of religion, some racialist may urge people to burn themselves to protect their so called right.
people may fail to punish them because their free right entitled to them to have free religion and free belif.
Covert coveting of coves covers the covenant.
secret.
hidden
conceal
what else. . . .
next word please… haha
The boy tried to covertly slip past the movie attendant, and almost managed, until a girl who seemed his age noticed and asked her mother, “Mommy, why cant we get one of the tickets he has?” pointing in the direction of the culprit. Overheard by the attendant, he looked toward the direction of the young boy and barked, “Hey you!” The two’s eyes connected a moment before the boy jolted toward the emergency exit for a quick escape, if he could make it outside he’d be able to flee to the woods behind the theater. He figured nobody would search from him, after all he technically hadn’t stolen anything. But if he had been caught, the police would surely bring him to child services, he had everything to loose, he needed to move with haste.
When the word covert appeared on the top of the page I was forced to write for sixty seconds about it. I am listening to a Jenna Marbles video about some idiot while I am writing about covert.
She sat in the bathtub, the water long since cold. Her body shivered but her mind was lost, digging through brambles and shadows of memory. Hunting for the elusive moment, when the sun was pouring through the open window in a patchwork quilt of light, the doves attempting to hide on the windowsill, and covert footsteps echoed up through the cobbled streets and stone buildings. The church bells rang and she sat, exposed but liquid warm, and wondered when it was exactly he had stopped making her feel this sacred.
Covert affairs are what get people in trouble. Do not be secretive, be honest and true, to yourself and everyone else too.
The men snuck into the camp through a broken part of the fence. “Our men are trapped in there” said the seargent. As they snuck past guard patrols between buildings, the kept an eye out for the building were thir men were stuck. They piled up on the door and yanked it open. Looks of shock came upon all of them.
Covert missions were a bitch. Seriously. All the secrecy and mumbo-jumbo was a pain in his ass. He wished for the missions that were straightforward: in-and-out, shoot the motherfucker, and head on home. When espionage was required, when he had to pick a side and shoot someone on the sly, when no one else knew why you were shooting that piece of shit humanity…those were the worst. He grumbled and checked his sight again, then signaled his team to move in.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers to me, in my head. He has the deepest eyes and the sweetest smile and so much, so much of me wants to walk up to him and know him and be his friend and say hi, but no, I can’t. The special thing he and I have is limited to my head. He doesn’t even know I exist.
He is my little secret.
The three men watching the apartment passed a flask of coffee between themselves. Little did they know they were being watched themselves. A separate, covert operation was going on, waiting for them to make a mistake.
I like to be in the CIA one day and if I am, it will be so much fun. I will be a covert agent and work for the Presidents and shoot so many bad guys and give no fucks. They will be dead and as a covert agent, I will be awarded with plenty of money, bitches, and food. It will be sweet and I will polish my gun everyday because it’s cool
This was a strictly covert operation. No wonky strategies. No embellished “secret agent” attire. No sour attempts at exaggerated camouflage. We needed to act naturally. Like civilians. Normal human beings, more accurately. And we got to work.
We produced driver’s licenses, passports, and fake social security cards. I came up with my own pseudonym. Attire. Age. Attitude. And a very scruffy upper lip.
i surpassed my fathers’ talent in photography
at the age of fourteen
when he consequently told me
the technology was bringing forth the obsolescence of its practitioners
but i am o.kay with a new guerrilla market
in which we all in the end agree
our own photos look the best on our own walls
and the starving artists are restored to their starving state
my father whose photos never won
I have no idea what this word means. The first thing that pops into my head is covet, and then cover. So, don’t covet your neighbors wife and if you do cover it up? Lmao, I’m great with words I really should know what this means. And the 60 seconds just seems to drag on and on and on and on and on. I think the blue line is about done. Oop, here we go
I saddely have no idea what this short six letter word means. It could mean something like hide or sneak or maybe it means to stuff your mouth with frogs. I have no clue.
I want many things from life, covertly. I think many things about people, covertly. I make grand and impossible plans, covertly. And I am happy only covertly.
under the cover, runs thoughts, sometimes dashing at the speed of a bullet train, other times strolling with care to notice the singing birds-in-trees. from under the cover, comes an aroma swirling. is it sweet? strong? nemseng?
It was a covert operation. We we’re supposed to be silent and deadly. I wasn’t. It was my fault. We were seen. We got the job done, but it was sloppy.
An operation, something to do with the military. It will be secret and you will not be allowed to discuss any of the happenings as a result. It can be very exciting and very dangerous at the same time. You will be undercover. Do not be afraid. Trust in your training. Get set. GO!
“We’re undercover!” I shouted. This new partner thing really wasn’t working out. He had no ideas about anything that had to do with police work. It’s like he had never even heard the word “covert” before. Come to think of it though, I’m not even sure I know what it means. We’ll just use secret instead.
“This has be a secret!” He was such a doofus.
Covert ops. Like secret, right? A disguise. There was this movie I knew when I was young master of disguise or something like that. With Dana Carvey. I used to think he was a girl, but he is most definitely a man. Isn’t there a cop or detective show with the name covert in it too?
“We need to work with this. It is not going away,” he said.
“Are you crazy? I am not going on a covert operation, spooking for you, just because you are frightened of shadows. This is really close to stalking and I don’t know that I trust you. What are you planning to do with this?”
The overt, the explicit lie, held a truth as its shield and in doing so made a bitter cry at fortitude. There was never a falseness, just a truth present implicitly as such, a truth that hid itself in unmediated presentation.
Around and about, I was walking to the top. Turning to the thick underbush, I pushed through to discover a covert. Pulling back the branches I entered the secret place and began to explore.
To be covert, sheltered, in a safe place. Like human beings we are we all need a little covert to hide what we hate the most about us from others and sometimes from ourselves as well. Everyone has the loner facet of themselves that prefers the covert places and situations.
covertly, i look at you and i write to you and i don’t know if i’m lying to myself
but that’s not even important
since you
don’t ever look back
covert, i have no idea what this word means, so im going to make it up. maybe its a mix between coven and pervert? i like that idea, i think that should become its new definition.
There was once in every child’s fantasy in his unfortunately modern short term youth that he would want to become a spy. Who never stopped being in the mood for a little game of enigmatic mystery. Looking around the usual surrounding in a different way as someone who seems to have been sent to a distant land of mysterious settings.
Covert is being in the shadows, figureatively and literally. It is a whispered secret, a quiet message to your friends saying “I know. But i’m not going to be forthright with it.”
It is silence, it is terrifying. It is the definition of being subversive when the more honorable and truthful man would be open.
What the freaky devilish hells is this covert behavior about? R-E-S-P-E-C-T it’s all i want to shove down your throat.
That woman is converted. Nothing will stop their love. Nothing at all. My hopes feel cold and lost.