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Falling through the air feels a lot like swimming through syrup. There’s something dragging you down and you feel like you can’t breath. Struggling for breath as you try to reach the surface. Struggling cause you know that it wasn’t worth it.
By Katrina URL on 05.04.2016
I watched a short video of two Hal bots talking once. I’ll admit I have a child’s fascination with intelligence in all its weird forms and projections. But what stuck with me most about the whole exchange were the syrupy platitudes they heaped upon each other. For instance one would say: *takes your hand, gently squeezes, “it will be ok”* and sometimes they would become more suggestive with each other: *grabs you by the hips, pulls you in close for kiss. kisses you deeply.*
It’s the equivalent of watching two simulated parrots socially, yet awkwardly groom one another with mutual reassurance, but only done in the most perfunctory of ways. It so completely fails to capture the genuine smoothness found in an organic way of flowing. And maybe it felt a little strange to watch this play out and think on it as a parody of those among us for whom eloquence does not come naturally, it’s easy enough to laugh at non-beings until you realize for some communication is just that difficult. Therefore simple, randomly arranged words and responses must do the work demanded of actual lexicons attached to webs of complex feelings. And in that way those two bots made me feel sympathy for the plight of all. As if our talking into the void of all creation actually means something. AI generated non-sequiturs, aside, maybe on some level it all means something if nothing else than to prove there was for a time the existence of an event, a person, place, or thing and it was shared if only for a moment.
By Intuition URL on 05.04.2016
Syrup is sticky and golden. A lot of people like to pour it over there pancake so that it makes them moist, yummy and flavorist. This is what I have every Saturday morning. My favourite breakfast. Sometimes i will have it after school when i’m not doing anything
By Laila URL on 05.04.2016
The bucket was stuck to the tree; they hadn’t ever bothered to take it down; I don’t know how the whole thing works. But when we got to that part of the woods where they were collecting the maple syrup, we stopped to look at this stuck thing. “Do you know anything about how this works?” I asked him. He pulled me down to the ground, first to sit, then to roll around together, then to have sex on the leafy floor of the woods. I didn’t want to, but I always felt with him that if I said no, he would find someone else who’d say yes. He probably would have; he was only 17 so there was some truth to what I thought. When we were finished and smoking our cigarettes, he pointed up to this bucket, all rusty and really now pretty much glued to the tree. “That’s what I think it feels like to be married,” he said. “Which part? The rusty part or the stuck to the tree and can’t get away part?” He smiled. “They’re both the same. You rust and die right there, stuck to the same old person.” I didn’t think that way about it. But looking at him there, sitting with his back propped up against the tree, I couldn’t think of him as anything even close to a rusty bucket. Or myself. I got up and looked inside the bucket, just for the hell of it.
“There’s syrup in there!” He jumped up and looked and stuck his finger in, took it out and stuck it in my mouth. “How’s that taste?” I spit and spit and spit. It was the worst thing I’d ever tasted. “Told you,” he said. He put his shirt back on and took my hand. We had to go home, or somewhere where we wouldn’t rust.
By rubyluby on 05.04.2016
The way he talked was syrupy smooth, and enraptured my as if I was a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Julian’s voice was low and deep, and seemed to come from the sweet core of the Earth. I stared at the way his green eyes brightened as he talked and the way a shock of his black hair fell tentatively over his right eye. Now, as I drifted into another world, a world where he was smiling at me–had I just told a funny joke?–I was tapped impatiently on the shoulder.
Julian’s eyes now were narrowed in annoyance. “Astrid,” he said in a tone that told me that this was the second or third time he was saying it, “for our project, do you want to be the one to research the accomplishments of the Mayans, or do you want me to do it?”
I sighed, as I saw Julian’s repulsion of me flickering in his eyes. “I’ll to the research.” I told him. Then I stood up, shouldered my school bag, and walked out as the bell rang.
By Teeny Duckie URL on 05.04.2016
It is my best option for traveling comfortable and safe!
By Hugo on 05.04.2016
The molasses slipped off the table unto the floor. By the sticky puddle near the table was the shuttered remains of the container that once housed the sweet syrup. Now transformed into the shattered remains of a tool of matrimonial destruction.
By Javier Gayoso on 05.04.2016
it’s sticky and it reeks of childhood
is that why i’m afraid of it?
maybe it’s sweet and i can pour it on my adult pancakes
there’s someone named honey in my life
she’s showing me that syrup can be okay.
By molly on 05.04.2016
this year we started doing shots of maple syrup.
they say that manischevitz is like cough syrup,
cough syrup, nyquil, helps me sleep.
i have been persuading myself not to talk it unless i really have a cold.
syrup is a club in haifa. i went there with my cousin, S.
it was dark, we dance. it was loud, and i went outside, and stood.
By a on 05.04.2016
syrup on of course the pancakes but also on an inmates anus says chirs rock. Or jam i guess. other breakfast foods. Is this thing really going to turn off after 60 cause I haaven’t singed up for anything. Sing your little heart out you depressing little ass syrupy bitch. haha. that
By Clinch Finger on 05.04.2016
it’s sticky, tasty with waffles and pancakes. sometimes it is flavored like butter, strawberry, but mostly it’s known for being maple. also, syrup is good when you dip sausage in it.
By Ollie on 05.04.2016
This is the same word from the other day! Let’s get a little more imaginative please. I’ve been on here for three days and I get a repeat. What the hey hey? And now I want waffles but don’t have any. This is sadder than when you ask Siri what 0/0 is.
By SM on 05.04.2016
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.