And fabrication was what brought us all together. If we were not fabricated, we would not exist. We were fabricated by our perfect creator and together we fabricate our world.
the entirety of most people’s lives are fabricated. we tend to become not who we are but, rather, who we think the world wants us to be. we design a character that we dutifully slide on each morning. if we are very lucky, we get to take off this character when we come home but rarely does this happen. instead, we wear this character so diligently we slowly lose more and more of ourselves until we are not truly ourselves and not truly our character, either. when we meet a new person, we meet them not as ourselves but as our fabricated character and there is very little chance that this will somehow bloom into a relationship where you can now be wholly yourself, different from the character and false pretenses the relationship is founded on. fabrication for mass appeal is dangerous in that as we lose ourselves, we lose our moral compass and sense of self worth.
the entirety of most people’s lives are fabricated. we tend to become not who we are but, rather, who we think the world wants us to be. we design a character that we dutifully slide on each morning. if we are very lucky, we get to take off this character when we come home but rarely does this happen. instead, we wear this character so diligently we slowly lose more and more of ourselves until we are not truly ourselves and not truly our character, either. fabrication for mass appeal is dangerous in that as we lose ourselves, we lose our moral compass and sense of self worth.
It was all fabricated. All of the evidence. But no one believed him. No one truly knew him and so they had no trouble believing this drifter had killed those small children and their mother. But he was just the scapegoat. No one would ever know that it was He who had done it all. It was He who had orchestrated the whole event.
TO fabricate. That’s like when you dress yourself in the morning and you don’t know what face to wear that day. Woah that’s deep. Like how you look in the mirror and think to yourself, what would people think of me if they actually knew how crazy I was? Would anyone talk to me? That’s a question no one can answer
We had to fabricate a new plan. The one we were going to do would no longer work, because of their mole. He knew what we looked like, and he knew what we were up to. Unfortunately, we were all out of dynamite, and that was part of every new plan we thought of.
I was walking through the hallways before I noticed it–a small piece of paper that jutted from a locker. I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I shouldn’t have stepped forward to grasp it…but I did. Although I didn’t feel anything as I lifted it up to my eyes, I knew something inside of me had changed.
When I read the words, I knew without a doubt that I had accepted a mission without knowing it. That no matter what lie I fabricated, it was my duty to carry out the note’s message. I knew that this mission would change my life forever.
Fabricated and jury-rigged from thousands of old airplanes and vehicles, the Monument was to be the “Glory of the West” – a shining beacon to the east, to show what the west could do. It was a zombie, a put-together mashup of various things, but it /looked/ good, and that was the whole idea.
It was fabricated, in her mind. It had to be. She didn’t want to sound crazy, but her relationships were all about fighting, like that was what she was attracted to.
he fabricated the idea of her long before he met her. tip-top sunday morning she would come, legs swinging into view and before he knew it he would be swept up in a mix of cheap perfume and bright red lipstick.
Fake. People are fabricated. By themselves, by others. Sometimes by accident. I think it’s getting worse and worse in this day and age. Even in of Mice and Men, you can see the beginning of the fabrication of humans– everyone putting on a front to appear how they want to be. People put up guards, and it’s unnecessary.
All that we are, everything we know, past, present and future is all fabricated~ we know not by who or how, but everything is manufactured in some shape or form, from the zygotic dawn of life, to the towering edifices of our cities and the probes we send into the cosmos, searching for further evidence of our creator.
“Surely, surely you know that all of this…it’s fabricated,” I said, dropping to my knees. “You know I couldn’t have…I NEVER could have…”
She didn’t meet my eyes and I knew, even as my words hung in the air, that she heard not one of them.
“You don’t believe me,” I said, the words heavy on my tongue.
She blinked and looked at me then, her face drawn and sad. “I don’t know what to believe, Cyra,”
I shook my head. “How could you doubt me?”
Had she fabricated the facts? Why did her story sound make believe? She had always walked with confidence and conviction. Now she was trying to pass on a different line. What were we all to believe. She was anything but shy. People always picked her out to be the life of the party. Groups of people and service talked seem to make her more then tired. Was she sick? What happened to the girl I once knew?
I woke up one morning and found a way to stay up. It was a world that I not longer wanted to be living in. I fabricated a new one. I quit that shit job, walked out my room, and moved to another state.
The sound of her voice fluttering around fabricated words was intoxicating. Her mouth would curve graciously around each syllable, the crooked perk of her lips relishing in the secrets she was too reluctant to speak aloud.
The fluent sound of her voice uttering those strings of litanies made me teeter on acceptance, but her words were false and turned to ash on her tongue. She was a liar.
He turned the corner, taking one final glance over his shoulder. The weight of the lies told pushing him from the village, out into a new life. Perhaps a freer life, one of truth and honour and respect and love. Not fabricated. He lived to learn.
By fabricating one’s personality, the true nature of the inner self is hidden from the world. Nothing that is real, that is emotion, that is truth can be seen from the outside… The only way to see that which is really oneself is by tearing the fabric of lies off and seeing what spills out.
Stamped metal. Molded plastic. Carbon fiber. These are the things that we build our world from. The things we build our lives from, our Gods from. We live in a post industrial world, and the very fabric of creation is putty in our hands.
he pulled his arms up infront of me and spoke loudly about his business plans. Those big tattoos and that hat that really should have belonged to a child were right in my face. it was offensive, to say the least. My thoughts were that this was a complete fabrication
it was complete and utter fabrication of the truth, he was a cynical liar – pathological, some may say. it started in his childhood. No story could be true. Some, then, may have thought it was figments of glorious imagination but the older he got the worse the lies became.
The trees bent down so low, he thought they were going to tie his shoes for him. Then he realized they were giving him a present: a robot, made entirely of twigs, with a tiny wooden face and the cutest pair of bark underpants.
you are not who you say you are. You are not who you tell other people i am. You are not who you say you are. Come and gose like the went. Your easy as sunday morning. You are not who you say you are. YUps and downs and round a round. You are not who you say you are. Late nights unanwsered phone calls you are not who you say you are
one world is the only way to go. That’s the ticket Baby. Bring me to the dotted line so I can sign. See most people are scared of this thought because of all the on going brainwashing that comes along with the system at hand. Hmm maybe that’s why nothing much has changed and we live the scared life’s we do, “keep them in fear.” Who knows maybe we are on are way there only to find we where living a lie all along because the ones at power have just been a handful of people. Hmmm maybe Just maybe thats why the system is set up like it is out of their fear of us.
The world is fabricated only to make reality nothing more than an illusion . A system does exsist behind all the chaos around us . The chaos is nothing more than a distraction from what is real and what is not .
it’s made up, all in my mind, my stream of consciousness leads me down some unsued alleways in my head. and i like it because the fabric of my thoughts han changed over the years, it has beomce bleak in some places and shining with use in others. there are no other things i need than the building blocks of the things i have experienced and the toopls i need to recreate them.
The lie that I had just fabricated burned a hole in my mind. It was a terrible feeling. “Oh Lord Jesus!” I cried silently, “I need help. I’m a liar. I’m lost. Save me! Save me completely, Father!”
It’s fake. All of it. I thought I was a real person. I feel, I eat, I breathe. But I’m not real. That’s what they tell me. I’m sorry, honey, it was an experiment. Please forgive us. They don’t know what it’s like, being me. I’m not human. Neither are they.
Ii fabricated my life in a way so that things didn’t simply mesh together, but they fell apart in a continuous string of unfortunate events. I didn’t mean to make it this way; but it seems it’s just the way things were meant to be.
there was only one thing that she was sure of. Only one. The issue: her one certainty was completely and entirely fabricated. They played with her, they tricked her, they messed with her mind. Now she believed only one completely untrue truth.
With a flick of her wrist a small pouch appeared. A sly smirk crossed her face as she showed the fabricated bag to the guard. “See, I told you. Quick as you like, I can make money appear,” she said waggling it in front of his face.
She fabricated that story she told you. Many people believe her lies, but I have long since stopped paying attention to anything she says. She is so good at fabricating, that I can’t tell fact from fiction, so I just dismiss her entirely!
Jeg er fabrikeret – af diverse hændelser og historier. Fabrikeret til ukendelighed af sår og ar og had og kærlighed. Hvordan det iøvrigt er kommet for sig ved jeg ikke men lige nuskriver jeg bare og der er ikke så meget tid
My mother’s couch. It was a thing of mystical, mythical -ness. Cream, burnt sienna, brown, black. Plaid. Ugly. I hated that couch. Well not full on hate, but really did not like. My mother loved it. Sentimental to it. She lent it to my aunt who somehow broke it. How do you break a couch? I don’t know. My mom was very sad. I was cercretly not at all. I felt bad that I didn’t feel bad. That was it.
And fabrication was what brought us all together. If we were not fabricated, we would not exist. We were fabricated by our perfect creator and together we fabricate our world.
the entirety of most people’s lives are fabricated. we tend to become not who we are but, rather, who we think the world wants us to be. we design a character that we dutifully slide on each morning. if we are very lucky, we get to take off this character when we come home but rarely does this happen. instead, we wear this character so diligently we slowly lose more and more of ourselves until we are not truly ourselves and not truly our character, either. when we meet a new person, we meet them not as ourselves but as our fabricated character and there is very little chance that this will somehow bloom into a relationship where you can now be wholly yourself, different from the character and false pretenses the relationship is founded on. fabrication for mass appeal is dangerous in that as we lose ourselves, we lose our moral compass and sense of self worth.
the entirety of most people’s lives are fabricated. we tend to become not who we are but, rather, who we think the world wants us to be. we design a character that we dutifully slide on each morning. if we are very lucky, we get to take off this character when we come home but rarely does this happen. instead, we wear this character so diligently we slowly lose more and more of ourselves until we are not truly ourselves and not truly our character, either. fabrication for mass appeal is dangerous in that as we lose ourselves, we lose our moral compass and sense of self worth.
It was all fabricated. All of the evidence. But no one believed him. No one truly knew him and so they had no trouble believing this drifter had killed those small children and their mother. But he was just the scapegoat. No one would ever know that it was He who had done it all. It was He who had orchestrated the whole event.
TO fabricate. That’s like when you dress yourself in the morning and you don’t know what face to wear that day. Woah that’s deep. Like how you look in the mirror and think to yourself, what would people think of me if they actually knew how crazy I was? Would anyone talk to me? That’s a question no one can answer
We had to fabricate a new plan. The one we were going to do would no longer work, because of their mole. He knew what we looked like, and he knew what we were up to. Unfortunately, we were all out of dynamite, and that was part of every new plan we thought of.
I was walking through the hallways before I noticed it–a small piece of paper that jutted from a locker. I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. I shouldn’t have stepped forward to grasp it…but I did. Although I didn’t feel anything as I lifted it up to my eyes, I knew something inside of me had changed.
When I read the words, I knew without a doubt that I had accepted a mission without knowing it. That no matter what lie I fabricated, it was my duty to carry out the note’s message. I knew that this mission would change my life forever.
Fabricated and jury-rigged from thousands of old airplanes and vehicles, the Monument was to be the “Glory of the West” – a shining beacon to the east, to show what the west could do. It was a zombie, a put-together mashup of various things, but it /looked/ good, and that was the whole idea.
It was fabricated, in her mind. It had to be. She didn’t want to sound crazy, but her relationships were all about fighting, like that was what she was attracted to.
he fabricated the idea of her long before he met her. tip-top sunday morning she would come, legs swinging into view and before he knew it he would be swept up in a mix of cheap perfume and bright red lipstick.
Fake. People are fabricated. By themselves, by others. Sometimes by accident. I think it’s getting worse and worse in this day and age. Even in of Mice and Men, you can see the beginning of the fabrication of humans– everyone putting on a front to appear how they want to be. People put up guards, and it’s unnecessary.
All that we are, everything we know, past, present and future is all fabricated~ we know not by who or how, but everything is manufactured in some shape or form, from the zygotic dawn of life, to the towering edifices of our cities and the probes we send into the cosmos, searching for further evidence of our creator.
“Surely, surely you know that all of this…it’s fabricated,” I said, dropping to my knees. “You know I couldn’t have…I NEVER could have…”
She didn’t meet my eyes and I knew, even as my words hung in the air, that she heard not one of them.
“You don’t believe me,” I said, the words heavy on my tongue.
She blinked and looked at me then, her face drawn and sad. “I don’t know what to believe, Cyra,”
I shook my head. “How could you doubt me?”
Had she fabricated the facts? Why did her story sound make believe? She had always walked with confidence and conviction. Now she was trying to pass on a different line. What were we all to believe. She was anything but shy. People always picked her out to be the life of the party. Groups of people and service talked seem to make her more then tired. Was she sick? What happened to the girl I once knew?
I woke up one morning and found a way to stay up. It was a world that I not longer wanted to be living in. I fabricated a new one. I quit that shit job, walked out my room, and moved to another state.
The sound of her voice fluttering around fabricated words was intoxicating. Her mouth would curve graciously around each syllable, the crooked perk of her lips relishing in the secrets she was too reluctant to speak aloud.
The lies that I told were not all fabricated. The hints of truth hidden behind the shadows cast a light too bright to see with bare eyes.
I tend to fabricate a lot of untruths in my mind.
The fluent sound of her voice uttering those strings of litanies made me teeter on acceptance, but her words were false and turned to ash on her tongue. She was a liar.
He turned the corner, taking one final glance over his shoulder. The weight of the lies told pushing him from the village, out into a new life. Perhaps a freer life, one of truth and honour and respect and love. Not fabricated. He lived to learn.
As she sat at her desk she thought hard to write a story. One that would sound true to life, not fabricated in some fantasy world.
By fabricating one’s personality, the true nature of the inner self is hidden from the world. Nothing that is real, that is emotion, that is truth can be seen from the outside… The only way to see that which is really oneself is by tearing the fabric of lies off and seeing what spills out.
Stamped metal. Molded plastic. Carbon fiber. These are the things that we build our world from. The things we build our lives from, our Gods from. We live in a post industrial world, and the very fabric of creation is putty in our hands.
he pulled his arms up infront of me and spoke loudly about his business plans. Those big tattoos and that hat that really should have belonged to a child were right in my face. it was offensive, to say the least. My thoughts were that this was a complete fabrication
it was complete and utter fabrication of the truth, he was a cynical liar – pathological, some may say. it started in his childhood. No story could be true. Some, then, may have thought it was figments of glorious imagination but the older he got the worse the lies became.
The trees bent down so low, he thought they were going to tie his shoes for him. Then he realized they were giving him a present: a robot, made entirely of twigs, with a tiny wooden face and the cutest pair of bark underpants.
you are not who you say you are. You are not who you tell other people i am. You are not who you say you are. Come and gose like the went. Your easy as sunday morning. You are not who you say you are. YUps and downs and round a round. You are not who you say you are. Late nights unanwsered phone calls you are not who you say you are
one world is the only way to go. That’s the ticket Baby. Bring me to the dotted line so I can sign. See most people are scared of this thought because of all the on going brainwashing that comes along with the system at hand. Hmm maybe that’s why nothing much has changed and we live the scared life’s we do, “keep them in fear.” Who knows maybe we are on are way there only to find we where living a lie all along because the ones at power have just been a handful of people. Hmmm maybe Just maybe thats why the system is set up like it is out of their fear of us.
The world is fabricated only to make reality nothing more than an illusion . A system does exsist behind all the chaos around us . The chaos is nothing more than a distraction from what is real and what is not .
it’s made up, all in my mind, my stream of consciousness leads me down some unsued alleways in my head. and i like it because the fabric of my thoughts han changed over the years, it has beomce bleak in some places and shining with use in others. there are no other things i need than the building blocks of the things i have experienced and the toopls i need to recreate them.
The lie that I had just fabricated burned a hole in my mind. It was a terrible feeling. “Oh Lord Jesus!” I cried silently, “I need help. I’m a liar. I’m lost. Save me! Save me completely, Father!”
Amen.
It’s fake. All of it. I thought I was a real person. I feel, I eat, I breathe. But I’m not real. That’s what they tell me. I’m sorry, honey, it was an experiment. Please forgive us. They don’t know what it’s like, being me. I’m not human. Neither are they.
What does fabricated mean? No really, I don’t know what it means. Pause real quick, and I’ll find out what it is. I’ll be back!
Ii fabricated my life in a way so that things didn’t simply mesh together, but they fell apart in a continuous string of unfortunate events. I didn’t mean to make it this way; but it seems it’s just the way things were meant to be.
there was only one thing that she was sure of. Only one. The issue: her one certainty was completely and entirely fabricated. They played with her, they tricked her, they messed with her mind. Now she believed only one completely untrue truth.
With a flick of her wrist a small pouch appeared. A sly smirk crossed her face as she showed the fabricated bag to the guard. “See, I told you. Quick as you like, I can make money appear,” she said waggling it in front of his face.
She fabricated that story she told you. Many people believe her lies, but I have long since stopped paying attention to anything she says. She is so good at fabricating, that I can’t tell fact from fiction, so I just dismiss her entirely!
Jeg er fabrikeret – af diverse hændelser og historier. Fabrikeret til ukendelighed af sår og ar og had og kærlighed. Hvordan det iøvrigt er kommet for sig ved jeg ikke men lige nuskriver jeg bare og der er ikke så meget tid
I fabricated a story for this website, really what is this? I’m board and really don’t care for it
My mother’s couch. It was a thing of mystical, mythical -ness. Cream, burnt sienna, brown, black. Plaid. Ugly. I hated that couch. Well not full on hate, but really did not like. My mother loved it. Sentimental to it. She lent it to my aunt who somehow broke it. How do you break a couch? I don’t know. My mom was very sad. I was cercretly not at all. I felt bad that I didn’t feel bad. That was it.