The cathedral starts the mass and the masses starts to be controlled. The chief executive of this religious order, you call them priests, stands at the center of a elevated stage with a throne behind it and you can bet that he can see the rest as he preach what he don’t practice. The monitor is just another window on this
Staring at this monitor… wondering what to write about. This is oneword.com after all. It’s all about thinking. Being under pressure. Whatever comes to mind. Type it. You’ll make something beautiful without trying. Someone, somewhere will love it.
With dawn eyeing through the slats
I took to borrowed drill to the wall
screwed through the brick and concrete
the plaster board and deco wallpaper
cracked the frame, magazine cut out,
Silent glass, until I could easily eyeball
easily see you seated, relieving, wiping
But there was that shadow over her shoulder, the thing that crept into her head and killed the thought before it reached her lips. Some call it a conscience. She calls it a murderer.
I saw her while being marched to my sterile cell. Gray hair, in a bun. White, plain, formidable clothes. Exactly what you would expect from the head warden if such prestigious prison. I could swear that when she looked at me, that disgust in her eyes was not the required kind, but the personal kind. Well, woopie. How grand of a time I will hve
What was my deal…as a fourth grader, I had the biggest crush on my sixth grade lunch monitor. I wonder what she’s doing now. It’s been over thirty five years ago. I hope she had a good lunch.
As I watch the screen, waiting for something to happen, something catches my eye on the monitor on the other side. What was that? Probably just seeing things. Wait, there is it on that one…or was it there at all. I can’t tell, there has been a lack of sleep in my life. My eyes surely playing tricks on me. Now there it is again, looking straight at me. A mad hooded in black raises his hand and points at me. I feel it inside me, the heart attack coming on. There is no one here to save me. The reaper through the monitor.
She didn’t know why she was selected to be the hall monitor. She was quiet, and kept to herself, and quiet too often got lost in the sea of people she went to school with. The bright orange vest didn’t make her any less lost in the sea of her peers. She realized at that moment that she could do whatever she wanted, and no one would notice. She was invisible.
its the large screen in front of me. Size does matter when it comes to computer monitors. Because the bigger it is the better you can see and as a designer that it very important. I love having this 24 in screen in front of me.
What im staring at right now. A magical fantastical screen that i can’t understand but i use every day for everything. I wonder how the world could’ve survived without computers and the colorful pixels on the screen. My life pretty much depends on it, for my school work, my friends, my interactions. That’s a scary truth.
I’m not shure if there’s a difference between a monitor and a screen. if I had to guess, a monitor would use an electron gun and magnetic coils, but a creen runs current through different materials.
I feel like the world is turning into 1984’s big brother sometimes. At least with the internet. Everything we do now is being monitored. What sites we access, what we search for…etc. It’s really disappointing when our freedoms are being stepped on like this.
I stare at the monitor like i’m in a spacial daze. That just means i’m deep in concentration about nothing. I need headlines like i need a fucking hole in my stomach. I start to throw up on the page. That’s how writers get it out right? Not necessarily verbal diahrea but ‘wordal.’
There are just times when you are ON and there are other times when you are waaay off. It depends on the time of day, the mood your in, what music you last listened to, the last book you read, the last inspirational quote you thought you said, the most interesting article you found on Flovorwire, etc. Luckily, i’ve found nothing today. It isn’t one of those ON days.
monitor the heart beat. isn’t it amazing how the body works? how all the seemingly simple processes can happen at once to create something as majestic as a human being?
The heart-rate monitor continued to beep–and I continued to stare at your dying body. You’ll become a corpse in a few minutes but I can’t find it in me to reveal my secrets to you. I’m sure you can’t hear anything I’m saying, yet I still want to tell all.
I stare at the blank screen in front of me, the computer monitor, and it glares back at me. It is a menacing force, a corrupt little devil, empty. The words do not flow as easily as I had hoped for. It begs me to fill it, this monitor. Watching me, it is a monitor in more ways then one.
Sitting and observing it makes your mind to go blank. Almost like a page which did not loaded properly … The tabula rasa of our mind, but in this case we cannot make it full with what we want. It just seems to be empty but it’s full of dumb ideas, useless junk and stupidity.
I like to monitor my surroundings. My relationships. My everything. In other words, I have control issues. However, because I spend so much time monitoring my surroundings I’m usually always right in situational debates. I also might have a big ego.
I like to monitor everything. To be in the know. Sure, that might be my control issues, but whatever. Because I monitor everything around me I am generally always right in a situational debate. I also might be have a huge ego.
Zwei Os, ein m, ein n. Moni. Moni guckt in den Monitor. Ein Tor sieht sie dort, ein Tor schaut sie an, ein Tor, der aus einem Tor schaut und sagt: “Moni, was willst denn du vor dem Moni-Tor?” “Ach klar”, antwortet er sich selber. “Wer soll denn sonst vor dem Moni-Tor stehen?”
Mister Rivera had to closely monitor his sugar intake after seeing the doctor the other day. He had first gone in for a simple check-up on a rather nasty sunburn on the top of his ear – the skin on the lobe had bubbled up somewhat into a strange, lightning bolt-shaped blister, and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to get worse. Instead, after a very precarious blood pressure reading, he was being given pamphlets on diabetes.
The word monitor could describe a couple of different things. Like for instance a computer monitor or someone who watches something. Or like the monitor of a child like a parent or baby sitter.
I’m just staring at this computer monitor. Not knowing what i’m doing. Nor what i’m thinking. Maybe the answers would come flashy before me. Maybe. I hope. I really hope. That this monitor tells me what I want to hear.
mother don’t leave me behind
in this empty rotting shell
the wood is splintered and
the foundation is cracked
the baby monitor has fallen on the floor
flickering as its batteries wear thin
Monstrosity confection through the
oral fixation of the mastery in such
nonexistence. The thought of
involuntarily breaking my
troubles for the simple perception
one brings to the light. How can we
remember the world when it dies?
tired from hard work but thrilled by lack of monitoring. oh, to play my music and push, scrub, heave until the floor is swept and all cleaned dishes put away. the relief of not having to explain myself– or the world around me– but only to BE myself, playing music, sweeping.
Recently I have gained the aspiration to have an alligator as a pet. However, they are illegal in the current state that I am in. I do believe that monitors are allowed in California, so I was considering one of those as a pet. I just don’t want a normal pet, but I will settle for a dog someday.
I stared at the monitor. Waiting and praying that the rest of the day would go by fast. I couldn’t wait to see him and just simply be with him. No working. No distractions. Just me and him. Nothing and no one else. At that moment, the world would stop and I would simply be with him. It didn’t matter where or what we were doing, I just wanted to see him and stay by his side. We definitely belong together, and being with him brings me the greatest feeling in the world.
See the two “o”s in “monitor”? They are eyes looking at you, looking through you, monitoring your every move. Don’t move. You’re being surveilled by camera monitors right now. Smile.
I knew he wanted to monitor my every move. Like I was his possession, under his charge, direction and constant scrutiny. It wouldn’t happen. I was done. No more control.
“It’s a fascinating effect. Laid out in front of me are seventy eight black squares, all of varying widths and sizes. Inside these squares are inscribed runes in white, all in different shapes. Pressing one of these squares elicits a response from the other end of this large affixed mirror, powered by lightning inside of this box.” He pauses a moment to adjust his glasses. They are scratched, as if he doesn’t take very good care of them. He’s a quack, I decide. A loon. What kind of educated man fails to care for his glasses? Lightning in a box, indeed.
“So what exactly is the purpose of this box, Doctor?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue!”
Madman.
“Isn’t it exciting though? The implications are enormous!”
She stared back into the monitor and finally saw that it was watching her back. The wooden floor creaked under someone else’s weight, and she turned to see the darkness envelope the mirror before her. She never wanted this–no one did. She was trapped before a crowd of eager viewers, but she would make sure that the door got kicked in to make for a narrow exit. They wouldn’t get the best of her, and she was no longer afraid to let everyone know the secret.
The monitor observed them closely as they took the tests, small heads bent to their work. Her eyes were cold and distant, a cool grey as they swept over the rows. The slight lines from the corner of her mouth to her chin showed her true nature in addition to the puppet lines around her joints. They were clear to those who looked, but could also be ignored well enough.
I stare at the monitor, wondering what the email will say this time. This is not the first time I’ve received a note from this unidentified stranger from the future. Usually, I take her advice. This time, though, I’m happy.
The cathedral starts the mass and the masses starts to be controlled. The chief executive of this religious order, you call them priests, stands at the center of a elevated stage with a throne behind it and you can bet that he can see the rest as he preach what he don’t practice. The monitor is just another window on this
computer screen ruling my life. Does it breath. Where can we see them. Helpful, hindrance, helpful, hindrance…..
Staring at this monitor… wondering what to write about. This is oneword.com after all. It’s all about thinking. Being under pressure. Whatever comes to mind. Type it. You’ll make something beautiful without trying. Someone, somewhere will love it.
With dawn eyeing through the slats
I took to borrowed drill to the wall
screwed through the brick and concrete
the plaster board and deco wallpaper
cracked the frame, magazine cut out,
Silent glass, until I could easily eyeball
easily see you seated, relieving, wiping
computer watcher one electric black keep an eye out guard
And she wanted to open her mouth.
And she knew what she should say.
But there was that shadow over her shoulder, the thing that crept into her head and killed the thought before it reached her lips. Some call it a conscience. She calls it a murderer.
I saw her while being marched to my sterile cell. Gray hair, in a bun. White, plain, formidable clothes. Exactly what you would expect from the head warden if such prestigious prison. I could swear that when she looked at me, that disgust in her eyes was not the required kind, but the personal kind. Well, woopie. How grand of a time I will hve
What was my deal…as a fourth grader, I had the biggest crush on my sixth grade lunch monitor. I wonder what she’s doing now. It’s been over thirty five years ago. I hope she had a good lunch.
As I watch the screen, waiting for something to happen, something catches my eye on the monitor on the other side. What was that? Probably just seeing things. Wait, there is it on that one…or was it there at all. I can’t tell, there has been a lack of sleep in my life. My eyes surely playing tricks on me. Now there it is again, looking straight at me. A mad hooded in black raises his hand and points at me. I feel it inside me, the heart attack coming on. There is no one here to save me. The reaper through the monitor.
She didn’t know why she was selected to be the hall monitor. She was quiet, and kept to herself, and quiet too often got lost in the sea of people she went to school with. The bright orange vest didn’t make her any less lost in the sea of her peers. She realized at that moment that she could do whatever she wanted, and no one would notice. She was invisible.
its the large screen in front of me. Size does matter when it comes to computer monitors. Because the bigger it is the better you can see and as a designer that it very important. I love having this 24 in screen in front of me.
the monitor went off in my house because someone broke in.he monitor was very anojing.
What im staring at right now. A magical fantastical screen that i can’t understand but i use every day for everything. I wonder how the world could’ve survived without computers and the colorful pixels on the screen. My life pretty much depends on it, for my school work, my friends, my interactions. That’s a scary truth.
I’m not shure if there’s a difference between a monitor and a screen. if I had to guess, a monitor would use an electron gun and magnetic coils, but a creen runs current through different materials.
I feel like the world is turning into 1984’s big brother sometimes. At least with the internet. Everything we do now is being monitored. What sites we access, what we search for…etc. It’s really disappointing when our freedoms are being stepped on like this.
I watched the monitor for her to reply.
After ten minutes, my eyes started to hurt. What happened? She never took this long to answer.
I stare at the monitor like i’m in a spacial daze. That just means i’m deep in concentration about nothing. I need headlines like i need a fucking hole in my stomach. I start to throw up on the page. That’s how writers get it out right? Not necessarily verbal diahrea but ‘wordal.’
There are just times when you are ON and there are other times when you are waaay off. It depends on the time of day, the mood your in, what music you last listened to, the last book you read, the last inspirational quote you thought you said, the most interesting article you found on Flovorwire, etc. Luckily, i’ve found nothing today. It isn’t one of those ON days.
monitor the heart beat. isn’t it amazing how the body works? how all the seemingly simple processes can happen at once to create something as majestic as a human being?
The heart-rate monitor continued to beep–and I continued to stare at your dying body. You’ll become a corpse in a few minutes but I can’t find it in me to reveal my secrets to you. I’m sure you can’t hear anything I’m saying, yet I still want to tell all.
I stare at the blank screen in front of me, the computer monitor, and it glares back at me. It is a menacing force, a corrupt little devil, empty. The words do not flow as easily as I had hoped for. It begs me to fill it, this monitor. Watching me, it is a monitor in more ways then one.
Sitting and observing it makes your mind to go blank. Almost like a page which did not loaded properly … The tabula rasa of our mind, but in this case we cannot make it full with what we want. It just seems to be empty but it’s full of dumb ideas, useless junk and stupidity.
my computer has a smallish monitor well knot really that small its OK sized
I like to monitor my surroundings. My relationships. My everything. In other words, I have control issues. However, because I spend so much time monitoring my surroundings I’m usually always right in situational debates. I also might have a big ego.
I like to monitor everything. To be in the know. Sure, that might be my control issues, but whatever. Because I monitor everything around me I am generally always right in a situational debate. I also might be have a huge ego.
Zwei Os, ein m, ein n. Moni. Moni guckt in den Monitor. Ein Tor sieht sie dort, ein Tor schaut sie an, ein Tor, der aus einem Tor schaut und sagt: “Moni, was willst denn du vor dem Moni-Tor?” “Ach klar”, antwortet er sich selber. “Wer soll denn sonst vor dem Moni-Tor stehen?”
i monitor my emotions
seeking any change
praying for improvement
you monitor my movements
seeking to limit me
preying on my heart
there is no good result to this examination
no pleasant end
no happy result
there is only frustration and anger
sadness and pain
Mister Rivera had to closely monitor his sugar intake after seeing the doctor the other day. He had first gone in for a simple check-up on a rather nasty sunburn on the top of his ear – the skin on the lobe had bubbled up somewhat into a strange, lightning bolt-shaped blister, and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to get worse. Instead, after a very precarious blood pressure reading, he was being given pamphlets on diabetes.
The word monitor could describe a couple of different things. Like for instance a computer monitor or someone who watches something. Or like the monitor of a child like a parent or baby sitter.
I’m just staring at this computer monitor. Not knowing what i’m doing. Nor what i’m thinking. Maybe the answers would come flashy before me. Maybe. I hope. I really hope. That this monitor tells me what I want to hear.
mother don’t leave me behind
in this empty rotting shell
the wood is splintered and
the foundation is cracked
the baby monitor has fallen on the floor
flickering as its batteries wear thin
Monstrosity confection through the
oral fixation of the mastery in such
nonexistence. The thought of
involuntarily breaking my
troubles for the simple perception
one brings to the light. How can we
remember the world when it dies?
tired from hard work but thrilled by lack of monitoring. oh, to play my music and push, scrub, heave until the floor is swept and all cleaned dishes put away. the relief of not having to explain myself– or the world around me– but only to BE myself, playing music, sweeping.
Recently I have gained the aspiration to have an alligator as a pet. However, they are illegal in the current state that I am in. I do believe that monitors are allowed in California, so I was considering one of those as a pet. I just don’t want a normal pet, but I will settle for a dog someday.
I stared at the monitor. Waiting and praying that the rest of the day would go by fast. I couldn’t wait to see him and just simply be with him. No working. No distractions. Just me and him. Nothing and no one else. At that moment, the world would stop and I would simply be with him. It didn’t matter where or what we were doing, I just wanted to see him and stay by his side. We definitely belong together, and being with him brings me the greatest feeling in the world.
See the two “o”s in “monitor”? They are eyes looking at you, looking through you, monitoring your every move. Don’t move. You’re being surveilled by camera monitors right now. Smile.
I knew he wanted to monitor my every move. Like I was his possession, under his charge, direction and constant scrutiny. It wouldn’t happen. I was done. No more control.
“It’s a fascinating effect. Laid out in front of me are seventy eight black squares, all of varying widths and sizes. Inside these squares are inscribed runes in white, all in different shapes. Pressing one of these squares elicits a response from the other end of this large affixed mirror, powered by lightning inside of this box.” He pauses a moment to adjust his glasses. They are scratched, as if he doesn’t take very good care of them. He’s a quack, I decide. A loon. What kind of educated man fails to care for his glasses? Lightning in a box, indeed.
“So what exactly is the purpose of this box, Doctor?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue!”
Madman.
“Isn’t it exciting though? The implications are enormous!”
She stared back into the monitor and finally saw that it was watching her back. The wooden floor creaked under someone else’s weight, and she turned to see the darkness envelope the mirror before her. She never wanted this–no one did. She was trapped before a crowd of eager viewers, but she would make sure that the door got kicked in to make for a narrow exit. They wouldn’t get the best of her, and she was no longer afraid to let everyone know the secret.
The monitor observed them closely as they took the tests, small heads bent to their work. Her eyes were cold and distant, a cool grey as they swept over the rows. The slight lines from the corner of her mouth to her chin showed her true nature in addition to the puppet lines around her joints. They were clear to those who looked, but could also be ignored well enough.
I stare at the monitor, wondering what the email will say this time. This is not the first time I’ve received a note from this unidentified stranger from the future. Usually, I take her advice. This time, though, I’m happy.