Press a button get a beer. This is how I became a killer. Press a button get a beer. I realize that there are many reasons that I found myself emerging from the output of the machine pressing out killers but those were my own reasons for showing up. I was romancing the idea of world travel when I arrived on deck and boastfully fell into the hopper. I did receive a lifetime's worth of travel. Was I hardened after bootcamp? Not at all and unexpectedly not. With my orders delayed and the rest of my shipmates travelling off to their respective schools or commands, I remained behind. For two weeks I was left on my own and this is where I slowly felt the programed robotic numbness fade. Bootcamp won't make you hard, it only makes robots. It is designed to empty you of thought and into the void is a small opening to fill with the technical knowledge required to perform as a professional sailor or soldier. As my window began to close and I regained the ordinary senses of the world, ...
Dear Sun, Too many days of rain. I dread this abominable rain upon rain. Too many weeks of dreariness and gutters overflowing with the rubbish of humanity. A deluge of memories dilutes my soul and pours me into the dinge to translucently consort with the world. Too easily is my patina tarnished and I sulk into an opaque worm halfheartedly contorting above a soggy demise. Too many rainy days and so many worms unearthed and then plunged to their deaths. Hurry Sun! Come--recede this morbid river from my eyes and dry my memories into the deepest wormholes of regret. Sincerely, Grey Worm
I didn't expect to enjoy spinning a top as much as I did and for now--am. There is a simple satisfaction of separating this balanced object from my surprisingly matched fingers. I've only spun this top about twenty times over a few days but as I watched this last spin I teetered at the threshold of what simpleness meant to me. I immediately crafted a fantasy of the perfect and everlasting spin and that seeing this would feel magically pleasureable. It quickly became clear that it was the unexpected quirky spins and movements I enjoyed. Each dance depended on the moment and manner of release from my meat-mitt grip. I studied this machined wooden toy and realized it wasn't as perfect as the others strewn across the display. My eyes followed the rings that had been dissected from the massive tree it was plucked from as they wandered throughout. This tree must have grown against nature as it pressed them during deficient conditions and during abundance grown wider. This s...
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