She picked up the coffee cup. It seemed like such an archaic mechanism now that everything could be ingested intravenously.
“What should we do today?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“We keep looking,” Doryet answered.
objects seem to move in this constructed way, yet never seem to experience that movement during our life experiences. Mechanics work in one way yet cannot seem to take on the none linear fashion life seems to take.
the robot had fallen for the shop owner’s daughter. he sat there motionless everyday, watching the beautiful girl clean the shelves and dust the counter- her glistening golden hair flowing around her. the small robot, with his gears and wind up heart could only wish for the day he would come to life and actually talk to her. but the most he could do is watch her and try to protect her from evil doers who may come into the store.
The next defense mechanism my brain leapt to was sheer, unadulterated aggression. The bastard didn’t even see what was hitting him – literally. I heard his left buttcheek wobble on the pavement as he fell, his tailbone audibly cracking as he clutched his mouth, which I’m sure was devoid of several teeth now.
“The fuck, Rowan?” he screamed through a stream of blood.
She struggles against the rope that binds, watching the pendulum like in her favorite poem. She wasn’t much for poems; that one was just her favorite.
Poetic justice, she supposed, for insulting pretty much every other besides.
Were I a catalyst for
his fingers -drawn to bone
and action- courage melting
with the snow in a minor heat;
malfunction.
..because that’s
all i’m capable of ‘inspiring,’
and because he always said my
fingers were glaciers atop ships..
sailing home to port in the
bay of salt clavicles.
It is so intresting to be witness of all this mechanism that runs your body. It’s hart is brain. But brain is not You. And hart that you have is not a hart of true You.
Mechanism. Everything working together. The way everything fits together. Just like them. They were that one couple nobody said would work out but knew they knew eventually they would get together. Even from the start. They had their differences, yes a lot of them, but they worked perfectly together. They fit.
It starts off as an average chemical reaction. Just a chlorine and a methane with a hydroxyl group and a tertbutyl. but the next thing you know you have a substitution reaction. and chemistry happens
CHEMISTRY WHAT WHAAAAT.
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is not my brain nor my heart
it’s something deeper, something that’s
not just me, but all
everything
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is the universe,
the universal oneness
There must be some sort of switch, some sort of lever in this reality, like in video games. I’m certain of it. Yet despite all my searching, I can’t seem to find a good cheat code. Also, the pixelization might be superior, but I find the plot lacking, and there isn’t nearly enough dramatic music to make for a compelling score. And what’s with all the downtime between action? Seriously? Reality … you’ve got some work to do.
I know not of the intentions of the mechanism that is polished as your word, but I crave it. Whenever you suggest we go eat at certain restaurants, or excitedly tell me about near-future prospects, I crave your need to tell me things.
She ran her fingers lightly over the mechanism, sharp eyes tracking the movement as an equally sharp mind interpreted exactly what it was she was feeling.
“Diagnosis?” I asked, growing impatient.
She didn’t answer for a long moment, so long I didn’t think she’d answer at all. In fact, I’d just opened my mouth to ask again when her voice rang out. “I can handle it,”
I nearly smiled my relief.
A mechanism is a thing for doing something, I think? I can’t even think of the actual definition of the word, and since I’m not sure exactly what it means, it’s difficult to write something relevant.
He reached into the mechanism, feeling slowly for the connectors, the pins that would monitor his own nerves and make it move as he wanted. He immediately felt sensation, like none ever felt before, clearer and more precise than his aging fingers could manage. Before he realised it, he was moving the arm like his own, almost sensing each molecule of air brushing against it. He hurriedly, but gingerly, cocooned himself in the rest of the shell; – his other arm, then his legs and torso; and his new body became complete. Now, he knew, he would lie forever!
Her heart was on her sleeve, so it made sense that it became very battered and bruised over time. It was easy to think of it as an entity, something real that she could show people — some part of her that actually made sense. It was only later that she saw what it was, staring hard with that clinical detachment only truly broken people can really achieve. She realized, in the end, that is was nothing more than a mechanism. She didn’t mind though. This made it easier not to care when her heart was shattered into a million pieces.
It took a lot of thought and work to mechanize this magnificent machine, But it has been born and it works like a charm! it stands here in it’s shimmering glory! tall and golden! this is the future!
just like you have i have become hard
hardened by a world
that had expectations.
for the mechanism
of the world.
redundant
bland and repetitive.
but softly did the woes go.
unbound by the freedom.
of the chains oppressed by society
I had taken out the door knob in preparation for painting the bedroom door but left the locking mechanism in. I didn’t think too much about it and was busy sanding and such. At one point I closed the door to get the proper angle for sanding. It was then that I realized I had locked myself IN the bedroom without any tools to get myself OUT. There I was… all alone, no cell phone, no tools. At least the window was open so I took the screen off, climbed up on my dresser and lifted a leg over, then straddled the window jam and let gravity do the rest! Not my finest day.
we are wound so tightly
I feel your fingers press each key
the air bows
like stalks of grass
in a spring paddock
this way, that
so many small hammers
sing for you
I wake each morning
falling backward
to the sound of pressed keys
as if each is my vertebra
and I am turning to
glass, china, chalk
my only remedy
is to stand in white sunlight
flower between thumb and finger
and scream
Churning sounds, loud in my ears. The mechanism whirring, never stopping, ever going. Peace and quiet is all I need, but cogs keep turning, wheels still yearning. Please, I beg, just let me be.
” Oh no! My car wouldn’t start”. Melody said. So, she contacted her friend Eric.
She told him the problem.
“You just have to heat it up.” He said.
” Thanks. I don’t know what to do without you.” She hugged him.
“It’s fine. It’s only mechanic, simple mechanism.”
“Thanks again.” Then Eric saw her most beautiful smile.
this mechanism
divided my soul in two
one part of me was aching
the other loving all of you
and frankly my dear
i don’t know what to say
besides the fact
that you my dear
cloud my thoughts all day
The thing about the mechanism is that it’s always jammed when you need it most. And those times when you could care less about your mechanism, it works like a charm
There is a chain of events, in an infinite regress that undermines their Truth, which makes up me and you and everything we know. Perspective determines if this threat to Truth tells you that we are all One, or that all is illusion. Or, as holds ascendance today, a comfortable middle way, easy to live with, but always disappointing.
She could smell the lilies. Her brown eyes widened. A gust of wind blew through the open windows, chilling her to the bone. For a second, all her body mechanisms froze. She froze. Time froze.
My heart is mechanism. I work it, I feel it. it makes me tired and happy. I wish I could throw it in the trash and give it a hearty dinner at the same time. I shape the world around me with it and my eyes expand at the beauty. I can feel it still. It beats fast. So very fast.
Ticking over and over-
Behind closed doors.
Whispers weaving plots against me,
Whispers that should not exist…
They click and they clack
But are they real-
Are they fact?
What is thr mechism of dispair? Of joy?…….god I sound emo….why do we try to analyze the root of our emotions instead of just trying to deal with them…..we like to think of our emotions as comming from outside ourselves….but they don’t…they as much a part of us as our fingers or toes. We need to deal with them the same way….I wish this was as easy to do as to say.
He leaned forward to snatch the device from Langon’s hand. He fiddled with the delicate mechanisms of the Mapmaker for a long moment. We held our breath.
“Done!” Morris declared with a grin, waving the Mapmaker like a great baton. “It’s fixed!”
Dishsjsbsjd
She picked up the coffee cup. It seemed like such an archaic mechanism now that everything could be ingested intravenously.
“What should we do today?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“We keep looking,” Doryet answered.
objects seem to move in this constructed way, yet never seem to experience that movement during our life experiences. Mechanics work in one way yet cannot seem to take on the none linear fashion life seems to take.
(Mechanism) Gears ground together, booming as the water which flowed over the wheel crashed across its course.
sometimes i try to figure out
what my mechanism is.
do you hear the rattling?
the clunking?
the metal scraping on bone?
most of the time, i realize
my mechanism is pretty fucked.
the robot had fallen for the shop owner’s daughter. he sat there motionless everyday, watching the beautiful girl clean the shelves and dust the counter- her glistening golden hair flowing around her. the small robot, with his gears and wind up heart could only wish for the day he would come to life and actually talk to her. but the most he could do is watch her and try to protect her from evil doers who may come into the store.
The next defense mechanism my brain leapt to was sheer, unadulterated aggression. The bastard didn’t even see what was hitting him – literally. I heard his left buttcheek wobble on the pavement as he fell, his tailbone audibly cracking as he clutched his mouth, which I’m sure was devoid of several teeth now.
“The fuck, Rowan?” he screamed through a stream of blood.
that thingamajiggit, the whatchamacallit. the gadget, the gadjet.. doohickey.. flange torc whatever
She struggles against the rope that binds, watching the pendulum like in her favorite poem. She wasn’t much for poems; that one was just her favorite.
Poetic justice, she supposed, for insulting pretty much every other besides.
Were I a catalyst for
his fingers -drawn to bone
and action- courage melting
with the snow in a minor heat;
malfunction.
..because that’s
all i’m capable of ‘inspiring,’
and because he always said my
fingers were glaciers atop ships..
sailing home to port in the
bay of salt clavicles.
I’m simply a mechanism
for heartbreak.
It is so intresting to be witness of all this mechanism that runs your body. It’s hart is brain. But brain is not You. And hart that you have is not a hart of true You.
Mechanism. Everything working together. The way everything fits together. Just like them. They were that one couple nobody said would work out but knew they knew eventually they would get together. Even from the start. They had their differences, yes a lot of them, but they worked perfectly together. They fit.
It starts off as an average chemical reaction. Just a chlorine and a methane with a hydroxyl group and a tertbutyl. but the next thing you know you have a substitution reaction. and chemistry happens
CHEMISTRY WHAT WHAAAAT.
All day long I use tools. Tools with triggers. Tools with releases tools with springs. These are tools that contain a mechanism.
Consider the multitude of mechanisms that we use on a daily basis to get from one step in the process to the next.
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is not my brain nor my heart
it’s something deeper, something that’s
not just me, but all
everything
the mechanism by which I write poetry
is the universe,
the universal oneness
There must be some sort of switch, some sort of lever in this reality, like in video games. I’m certain of it. Yet despite all my searching, I can’t seem to find a good cheat code. Also, the pixelization might be superior, but I find the plot lacking, and there isn’t nearly enough dramatic music to make for a compelling score. And what’s with all the downtime between action? Seriously? Reality … you’ve got some work to do.
It reached closer to me, the robotic arm. All I could see was the odd mechanism at the tip. It’s claw and cogs and flashing blades. What was it for?
I know not of the intentions of the mechanism that is polished as your word, but I crave it. Whenever you suggest we go eat at certain restaurants, or excitedly tell me about near-future prospects, I crave your need to tell me things.
She ran her fingers lightly over the mechanism, sharp eyes tracking the movement as an equally sharp mind interpreted exactly what it was she was feeling.
“Diagnosis?” I asked, growing impatient.
She didn’t answer for a long moment, so long I didn’t think she’d answer at all. In fact, I’d just opened my mouth to ask again when her voice rang out. “I can handle it,”
I nearly smiled my relief.
A mechanism is a thing for doing something, I think? I can’t even think of the actual definition of the word, and since I’m not sure exactly what it means, it’s difficult to write something relevant.
He reached into the mechanism, feeling slowly for the connectors, the pins that would monitor his own nerves and make it move as he wanted. He immediately felt sensation, like none ever felt before, clearer and more precise than his aging fingers could manage. Before he realised it, he was moving the arm like his own, almost sensing each molecule of air brushing against it. He hurriedly, but gingerly, cocooned himself in the rest of the shell; – his other arm, then his legs and torso; and his new body became complete. Now, he knew, he would lie forever!
Her heart was on her sleeve, so it made sense that it became very battered and bruised over time. It was easy to think of it as an entity, something real that she could show people — some part of her that actually made sense. It was only later that she saw what it was, staring hard with that clinical detachment only truly broken people can really achieve. She realized, in the end, that is was nothing more than a mechanism. She didn’t mind though. This made it easier not to care when her heart was shattered into a million pieces.
It took a lot of thought and work to mechanize this magnificent machine, But it has been born and it works like a charm! it stands here in it’s shimmering glory! tall and golden! this is the future!
This tiny thing needs only a cog to function properly. And a screw.
If they are missing, the wheels will not turn and all is lost.
just like you have i have become hard
hardened by a world
that had expectations.
for the mechanism
of the world.
redundant
bland and repetitive.
but softly did the woes go.
unbound by the freedom.
of the chains oppressed by society
I had taken out the door knob in preparation for painting the bedroom door but left the locking mechanism in. I didn’t think too much about it and was busy sanding and such. At one point I closed the door to get the proper angle for sanding. It was then that I realized I had locked myself IN the bedroom without any tools to get myself OUT. There I was… all alone, no cell phone, no tools. At least the window was open so I took the screen off, climbed up on my dresser and lifted a leg over, then straddled the window jam and let gravity do the rest! Not my finest day.
we are wound so tightly
I feel your fingers press each key
the air bows
like stalks of grass
in a spring paddock
this way, that
so many small hammers
sing for you
I wake each morning
falling backward
to the sound of pressed keys
as if each is my vertebra
and I am turning to
glass, china, chalk
my only remedy
is to stand in white sunlight
flower between thumb and finger
and scream
Churning sounds, loud in my ears. The mechanism whirring, never stopping, ever going. Peace and quiet is all I need, but cogs keep turning, wheels still yearning. Please, I beg, just let me be.
” Oh no! My car wouldn’t start”. Melody said. So, she contacted her friend Eric.
She told him the problem.
“You just have to heat it up.” He said.
” Thanks. I don’t know what to do without you.” She hugged him.
“It’s fine. It’s only mechanic, simple mechanism.”
“Thanks again.” Then Eric saw her most beautiful smile.
this mechanism
divided my soul in two
one part of me was aching
the other loving all of you
and frankly my dear
i don’t know what to say
besides the fact
that you my dear
cloud my thoughts all day
The thing about the mechanism is that it’s always jammed when you need it most. And those times when you could care less about your mechanism, it works like a charm
There is a chain of events, in an infinite regress that undermines their Truth, which makes up me and you and everything we know. Perspective determines if this threat to Truth tells you that we are all One, or that all is illusion. Or, as holds ascendance today, a comfortable middle way, easy to live with, but always disappointing.
She could smell the lilies. Her brown eyes widened. A gust of wind blew through the open windows, chilling her to the bone. For a second, all her body mechanisms froze. She froze. Time froze.
My heart is mechanism. I work it, I feel it. it makes me tired and happy. I wish I could throw it in the trash and give it a hearty dinner at the same time. I shape the world around me with it and my eyes expand at the beauty. I can feel it still. It beats fast. So very fast.
Ticking over and over-
Behind closed doors.
Whispers weaving plots against me,
Whispers that should not exist…
They click and they clack
But are they real-
Are they fact?
What is thr mechism of dispair? Of joy?…….god I sound emo….why do we try to analyze the root of our emotions instead of just trying to deal with them…..we like to think of our emotions as comming from outside ourselves….but they don’t…they as much a part of us as our fingers or toes. We need to deal with them the same way….I wish this was as easy to do as to say.
that’s what this is
this thing
it isn’t full of love
or even really affection
it’s a well oiled machine
i don’t care to look at
is feeling lonely just a defense mechanism to not living life to its fullest?
He leaned forward to snatch the device from Langon’s hand. He fiddled with the delicate mechanisms of the Mapmaker for a long moment. We held our breath.
“Done!” Morris declared with a grin, waving the Mapmaker like a great baton. “It’s fixed!”