i moniter his progress every week, watch him from a side wall every day.One day I waited for him to pass but he was late, and suddenly someone called my name from behind.
He asked innocently what was you doing here, though his playful eyes glinted with pleasure which was enough to tell me that he knew, what I was doing. This way it started up and ended and only at my deathbed
The cursor blinked on the screen she stared at the blank space on the monitor. Wracking her brain for the words to tell her that she was making a mistake that this was not what it seemed but nothing would come out. No words could soften the harsh truth she knew she had to share.
I couldn’t get the motor running on this machine they called Isla. Our ship was stranded and the enemy was on our tail. Maya’s protection spell would only last as long as she can stay awake. It’s been 36 hours and she’s yet to show signs of fatigue. I try to work as fast as possible, but deciphering these codes has proven to be harder than I thought. I pray I can get this motor on before Maya begins to lose her mind.
The monitor above his bed kept a steady beep, beep. His color seemed much improved. She stood over him, thankful he had been spared, and cried that she hadn’t.
monitor your language or loose your ability to express upon others your true thoughts on matters, rather than simply spewing forth the random filth of your mind.
Staring aimlessly at a wealth of potential new lives, new places to live and new things to wear. Everything to improve your life, have a new life, do whatever you want with your life. Reality is stripped away and imagination takes form.
I’m writing on one right now and it gives me headaches, wait no im not I have a laptop. It still gives me headaches. But I stay on. I want to write and be creative. I feel if I absorb all this iformation I’ll be creative. I’ll be new, but it makes me old. I miss people, and that’s why
I stare at the monitor ungrasping
Of what I see in front of me. Why is is I can pour my heart and soul
Into a poem and the person who list the colors of the rainbow
Or how they cut all with bad grammer and cliche recycled ryhme
Get notice, or even worse when a camera phone shot of breasts and
Butts are raved about. I don’t want fame, not really, but sometimes
A little credit and respect would be nice.
surprise of all surprises, the hall monitor was caught in a scandal that shocked even the most accomplished in the world of petit thieves and adulterers and chronic drug abusers. and no one even knew her name: this girl had no name, no essence. just a split personality, two of them: one covering what the other was afraid of.
The monitor was too close to his face. He knew that now, but after making such a big fuss in the office about getting it positioned just right, he couldn’t admit that it was wrong. All wrong. He was going to go either blind or cross-eyed, but it was better than admitting he was wrong. Being a man is hard.
My dad says if I use the computer too much, he’s going to have to monitor me :/ Doesn’t sound a bit fun to me. He says if he has too he’ll install a program that will monitor my time on the computer and the maximum time will be only 1 hour D;
T am sitting in front of the monitor, wonder if i got something better to do. Oh, I actually am. The stupid me got so many assignment to do, but somehow i prefer sitting here and would be rushed in the end. I know, i know, i actually got plenty time. but lack of management.. Silly, eh?
She could almost feel its dark, beady eyes on her as she watched it through the glass. Its thick tail swept the ground as it continued to eat its prey, stretching out in reptilian contentment underneath the orange glow of the suspended heat lamp. She was close to it–far closer than she wanted to be–and was able to make out every scale, every rippling muscle of its throat as it gulped down the disintegrating remains of what had once been a rabbit. Almost transfixed by the sickening display, she leaned in to get a better look. It turned to her in a rapid flash of movement and showed her a mouthful of sharp teeth, snapping the air to warn her not to come too close to its meal. A tuft of fur clinging to its scaly lips wavered in a hissing blast of rotten breath.
She quickly moved further away from the glass. The monitor regarded her with half-lidded eyes, then turned back to its slowly digesting rabbit.
So much pain in the world, I don’t want to monitor it. But there’s no escaping the cascades – all those reactions. Every time I blink, I wish these things would stop happening.
The general monitors were trained to handle this sort of thing. Trained to take in stacks of unpredictable data and make predictions from it. An accident was unfathomable. No perception of such a thing had ever existed and when it occured it became a miracle. A religion born in accidental circumstances called miraculous. The monitors praised the mistaken monitor as an enlightened spirit.
After all the things I’ve seen, and all the places I’ve been, the games you play are like watching little pixels dance on a monitor. I know this rhythm, and I have heard this conversation before. I just don’t know what might break you, so I tread lightly, so lightly, and I gently press these buttons, wondering if this will maybe be the thing that makes you jump, jump.
when someone is watching you. what do you do differently? are you the same when you are being monitored, as when you think no one is watching? who are you? do you know? maybe you should start monitoring yourself, to try and see who you really are, and what you do when YOU are watching.
We watched as the space gladiators battled the zombie leagon saftely from the monitor. My father, Gram, says that it is safe to watch this battle from the monitor and we always root for the gladiators.
“keep your eyes on the monitor Kiirn, you might miss something important.” Said Gram with the pur look of emusmant on his face. =() minute’s up.
A computer screen flashing colors, sounds, and noise, all at once like a flash mob in a New York City subway station. It reflects life, not in it. It is what I want it to be, not what I want it to be. It is the reflection. The provocateur. But I watch it, and listen. Because I am the passive.
Haddison left me to monitor the strange chemical concoctions that he’d left on the high table in the lab. I often found that when I was left alone with these bubbling mixtures that I wondered what compounds had gone into creating them. I wished that I could shrink and float around inside the bubbles, dancing between the atoms.
These were the only moments I let foolishness enter my mind.
I have a computer monitor.
My mom monitored me as a little kid.
Monitor is a hard word to think of things.
My sister has a colored computer monitor.
The computer monitor is big.
the computer monitor was the only light glowing in the huge office building. slowly a shadow crossed in front of the screen and turned the screen off. at the same time a gunshot was fully audible in the office building.
Monitors; this word could be applied to so many things. I don’t think my brain is working, because I ate too much peanut butter for dinner. Monitor, monitor: keeping check on something, or computer screen… yes? I don’t feel too much towards this topic.
Beep beep beeeeeeeep. I think of heart monitors, brain monitors, all health monitors. Little devices that sit by your bedside and beep to your heartbeat. They keep up with your life and keep up with your death. They can see you. They can feel you.
everyone is dead. i am not sure what to do… I just left for a minute and now Shelby the secretary’s blood is creeping for my gucchi shoes across the marble floor.
Monotors are creepy(like the computer). They stare at you all the time and watch you sleep eat get dressed and ither stuff. They are like your personal stalkers. They can also be your best friend because the will never leave you. But they might break on you
I stare at the computer monitor and I try to think of something cute I could write.
But I’ve said it all. Or they’ve told me all, I suppose would be the more accurate way of explaining. There’s nothing left in their story for me to tell, nothing pertinent anyway. They’ve finished, and while they’ve loved their time talking to me, they regret to inform me that it’s come to its end at last.
I watch as you pass by. I watch you go about your business. You glance my way, I turn my head, but as soon as you’ve moved on I turn back. Every word every second, every habit and every breath I watch. I learn. I remember. I wait
He was monitoring her IV very carefully. Dripping. Dripping. Dripping. He focused on it like he had never focused on anything before. Because if he focused on her, he wouldn’t know what to do. His mind reeled imagining her gone. His best friend of 36 years. It couldn’t happen.
I am looking at a monitor right now.. wishing it was 17 inches instead of 14. Talking about monitors.. 60 seconds is a long time to think about a word like this. I haven’t a clue as to what else I should be writing.
Had I actually taken the time to monitor what was going on in my dear friends brain, I may have saved a life. Saved a human being. Saved my friend.
I don’t know why it was so hard for me to be open with my friend.
She had taken solace in me, and I simply ignored it.
What had I done?
Monitors are very bright if you stare at them in the face they won’t ever look away, unless you break it’s face then it becomes useless. I am talking about the animal that lives in water but it also works for this screen I’m writing on. I never stop thinking about the way monitors work so I stare at every rainbow pixel from my chair, I like that I can see the big picture.
I type quickly away,
Fingers, lithe and nimble, dance across keys of black and white
A cup of tea sits steaming by my elbow
I sip and smile, contemplating
My word is complete
I’m monitoring his every movement. He walks through town square, head above the crowd. Impressed, I slyly smile as he buys a muffin from a street vendor. Blending so well, no one can tell that he’s out of place…except me.
“He’s moving towards you, Amelia,” a voice crackles in my ears.
“Affirmative. I see him,” I say. He’s nearing the tower I am standing in.
Then I catch his face. Lifting it towards the sun, his eyes are closed and I can study him through my binoculars. Wavy brown hair carasses his forehead, dimples are shining. He is tall with broad shoulders and a lean torso. I can picture his green eyes with flecks of gold that sparkle when he sees…
Slowly, I lower my binoculars. I know him. Somehow I regonize his face, though I can’t remember anything but what people have told me.
Did I know him before I had amnesia? I bite my lips, he’s walking inside the tower.
“Get out of there now!” someone yells in my ear. But if they know who the man is, why didn’t they tell me I was chasing someone I know?
I’m so shocked that I don’t move, even when the voice is almost deafening.
“I’m coming,” I finally whisper, turning around to do just that.
And run smack face into him.
“Mia?” he whispers.
Staring into his eyes, I see that they are green with golden specks that are highlighted by the sun.
“I…” I push back and run.
the computer monitor sits before me as i type away.
it stares at me, asking me why i can’t think of anything to write.
don’t mock me, i reply silently,
telepathically,
you can’t speak english.
meanwhile, i am not cured of my writer’s block.
it’s easy to blame the mac.
Sitting here staring at this monitor I wonder what others are seeing are they looking at the same thing I am hoping for a friend or lover to talk to them or losing there troubles in a world of fantasy like me. I wish I had more of a life then this stupid monitor and that people would stop monitoring me. They think I am crazy and unhappy while that is true I am not a danger to myself or others.
I always wanted to be a hall monitor. I wanted to be the one that would save the day by catching the one kid skipping class. Too bad schools generally DON’T have hall monitors. Hall passes have no purpose without the monitors… so then why do some teachers still have them?
i moniter his progress every week, watch him from a side wall every day.One day I waited for him to pass but he was late, and suddenly someone called my name from behind.
He asked innocently what was you doing here, though his playful eyes glinted with pleasure which was enough to tell me that he knew, what I was doing. This way it started up and ended and only at my deathbed
The cursor blinked on the screen she stared at the blank space on the monitor. Wracking her brain for the words to tell her that she was making a mistake that this was not what it seemed but nothing would come out. No words could soften the harsh truth she knew she had to share.
It’s not unusual in an edit suite to hear “It’s just the monitor” when someone makes a critique of picture or audio.
I couldn’t get the motor running on this machine they called Isla. Our ship was stranded and the enemy was on our tail. Maya’s protection spell would only last as long as she can stay awake. It’s been 36 hours and she’s yet to show signs of fatigue. I try to work as fast as possible, but deciphering these codes has proven to be harder than I thought. I pray I can get this motor on before Maya begins to lose her mind.
The monitor above his bed kept a steady beep, beep. His color seemed much improved. She stood over him, thankful he had been spared, and cried that she hadn’t.
monitor your language or loose your ability to express upon others your true thoughts on matters, rather than simply spewing forth the random filth of your mind.
Staring aimlessly at a wealth of potential new lives, new places to live and new things to wear. Everything to improve your life, have a new life, do whatever you want with your life. Reality is stripped away and imagination takes form.
I’m writing on one right now and it gives me headaches, wait no im not I have a laptop. It still gives me headaches. But I stay on. I want to write and be creative. I feel if I absorb all this iformation I’ll be creative. I’ll be new, but it makes me old. I miss people, and that’s why
I stare at the monitor ungrasping
Of what I see in front of me. Why is is I can pour my heart and soul
Into a poem and the person who list the colors of the rainbow
Or how they cut all with bad grammer and cliche recycled ryhme
Get notice, or even worse when a camera phone shot of breasts and
Butts are raved about. I don’t want fame, not really, but sometimes
A little credit and respect would be nice.
surprise of all surprises, the hall monitor was caught in a scandal that shocked even the most accomplished in the world of petit thieves and adulterers and chronic drug abusers. and no one even knew her name: this girl had no name, no essence. just a split personality, two of them: one covering what the other was afraid of.
The monitor was too close to his face. He knew that now, but after making such a big fuss in the office about getting it positioned just right, he couldn’t admit that it was wrong. All wrong. He was going to go either blind or cross-eyed, but it was better than admitting he was wrong. Being a man is hard.
My dad says if I use the computer too much, he’s going to have to monitor me :/ Doesn’t sound a bit fun to me. He says if he has too he’ll install a program that will monitor my time on the computer and the maximum time will be only 1 hour D;
T am sitting in front of the monitor, wonder if i got something better to do. Oh, I actually am. The stupid me got so many assignment to do, but somehow i prefer sitting here and would be rushed in the end. I know, i know, i actually got plenty time. but lack of management.. Silly, eh?
She could almost feel its dark, beady eyes on her as she watched it through the glass. Its thick tail swept the ground as it continued to eat its prey, stretching out in reptilian contentment underneath the orange glow of the suspended heat lamp. She was close to it–far closer than she wanted to be–and was able to make out every scale, every rippling muscle of its throat as it gulped down the disintegrating remains of what had once been a rabbit. Almost transfixed by the sickening display, she leaned in to get a better look. It turned to her in a rapid flash of movement and showed her a mouthful of sharp teeth, snapping the air to warn her not to come too close to its meal. A tuft of fur clinging to its scaly lips wavered in a hissing blast of rotten breath.
She quickly moved further away from the glass. The monitor regarded her with half-lidded eyes, then turned back to its slowly digesting rabbit.
So much pain in the world, I don’t want to monitor it. But there’s no escaping the cascades – all those reactions. Every time I blink, I wish these things would stop happening.
The general monitors were trained to handle this sort of thing. Trained to take in stacks of unpredictable data and make predictions from it. An accident was unfathomable. No perception of such a thing had ever existed and when it occured it became a miracle. A religion born in accidental circumstances called miraculous. The monitors praised the mistaken monitor as an enlightened spirit.
After all the things I’ve seen, and all the places I’ve been, the games you play are like watching little pixels dance on a monitor. I know this rhythm, and I have heard this conversation before. I just don’t know what might break you, so I tread lightly, so lightly, and I gently press these buttons, wondering if this will maybe be the thing that makes you jump, jump.
when someone is watching you. what do you do differently? are you the same when you are being monitored, as when you think no one is watching? who are you? do you know? maybe you should start monitoring yourself, to try and see who you really are, and what you do when YOU are watching.
We watched as the space gladiators battled the zombie leagon saftely from the monitor. My father, Gram, says that it is safe to watch this battle from the monitor and we always root for the gladiators.
“keep your eyes on the monitor Kiirn, you might miss something important.” Said Gram with the pur look of emusmant on his face. =() minute’s up.
A computer screen flashing colors, sounds, and noise, all at once like a flash mob in a New York City subway station. It reflects life, not in it. It is what I want it to be, not what I want it to be. It is the reflection. The provocateur. But I watch it, and listen. Because I am the passive.
Haddison left me to monitor the strange chemical concoctions that he’d left on the high table in the lab. I often found that when I was left alone with these bubbling mixtures that I wondered what compounds had gone into creating them. I wished that I could shrink and float around inside the bubbles, dancing between the atoms.
These were the only moments I let foolishness enter my mind.
I have a computer monitor.
My mom monitored me as a little kid.
Monitor is a hard word to think of things.
My sister has a colored computer monitor.
The computer monitor is big.
the computer monitor was the only light glowing in the huge office building. slowly a shadow crossed in front of the screen and turned the screen off. at the same time a gunshot was fully audible in the office building.
Monitors; this word could be applied to so many things. I don’t think my brain is working, because I ate too much peanut butter for dinner. Monitor, monitor: keeping check on something, or computer screen… yes? I don’t feel too much towards this topic.
Beep beep beeeeeeeep. I think of heart monitors, brain monitors, all health monitors. Little devices that sit by your bedside and beep to your heartbeat. They keep up with your life and keep up with your death. They can see you. They can feel you.
everyone is dead. i am not sure what to do… I just left for a minute and now Shelby the secretary’s blood is creeping for my gucchi shoes across the marble floor.
Monotors are creepy(like the computer). They stare at you all the time and watch you sleep eat get dressed and ither stuff. They are like your personal stalkers. They can also be your best friend because the will never leave you. But they might break on you
I stare at the computer monitor and I try to think of something cute I could write.
But I’ve said it all. Or they’ve told me all, I suppose would be the more accurate way of explaining. There’s nothing left in their story for me to tell, nothing pertinent anyway. They’ve finished, and while they’ve loved their time talking to me, they regret to inform me that it’s come to its end at last.
I watch as you pass by. I watch you go about your business. You glance my way, I turn my head, but as soon as you’ve moved on I turn back. Every word every second, every habit and every breath I watch. I learn. I remember. I wait
He was monitoring her IV very carefully. Dripping. Dripping. Dripping. He focused on it like he had never focused on anything before. Because if he focused on her, he wouldn’t know what to do. His mind reeled imagining her gone. His best friend of 36 years. It couldn’t happen.
I am looking at a monitor right now.. wishing it was 17 inches instead of 14. Talking about monitors.. 60 seconds is a long time to think about a word like this. I haven’t a clue as to what else I should be writing.
Had I actually taken the time to monitor what was going on in my dear friends brain, I may have saved a life. Saved a human being. Saved my friend.
I don’t know why it was so hard for me to be open with my friend.
She had taken solace in me, and I simply ignored it.
What had I done?
It’s never anything I expect. Cool eyes, serene, watching me. They watch to see how I’m fitting in. It’s as if they like it.
Monitors are very bright if you stare at them in the face they won’t ever look away, unless you break it’s face then it becomes useless. I am talking about the animal that lives in water but it also works for this screen I’m writing on. I never stop thinking about the way monitors work so I stare at every rainbow pixel from my chair, I like that I can see the big picture.
I type quickly away,
Fingers, lithe and nimble, dance across keys of black and white
A cup of tea sits steaming by my elbow
I sip and smile, contemplating
My word is complete
I’m monitoring his every movement. He walks through town square, head above the crowd. Impressed, I slyly smile as he buys a muffin from a street vendor. Blending so well, no one can tell that he’s out of place…except me.
“He’s moving towards you, Amelia,” a voice crackles in my ears.
“Affirmative. I see him,” I say. He’s nearing the tower I am standing in.
Then I catch his face. Lifting it towards the sun, his eyes are closed and I can study him through my binoculars. Wavy brown hair carasses his forehead, dimples are shining. He is tall with broad shoulders and a lean torso. I can picture his green eyes with flecks of gold that sparkle when he sees…
Slowly, I lower my binoculars. I know him. Somehow I regonize his face, though I can’t remember anything but what people have told me.
Did I know him before I had amnesia? I bite my lips, he’s walking inside the tower.
“Get out of there now!” someone yells in my ear. But if they know who the man is, why didn’t they tell me I was chasing someone I know?
I’m so shocked that I don’t move, even when the voice is almost deafening.
“I’m coming,” I finally whisper, turning around to do just that.
And run smack face into him.
“Mia?” he whispers.
Staring into his eyes, I see that they are green with golden specks that are highlighted by the sun.
“I…” I push back and run.
the computer monitor sits before me as i type away.
it stares at me, asking me why i can’t think of anything to write.
don’t mock me, i reply silently,
telepathically,
you can’t speak english.
meanwhile, i am not cured of my writer’s block.
it’s easy to blame the mac.
Sitting here staring at this monitor I wonder what others are seeing are they looking at the same thing I am hoping for a friend or lover to talk to them or losing there troubles in a world of fantasy like me. I wish I had more of a life then this stupid monitor and that people would stop monitoring me. They think I am crazy and unhappy while that is true I am not a danger to myself or others.
Monitor your moniker with the monkeys of Monday.
I always wanted to be a hall monitor. I wanted to be the one that would save the day by catching the one kid skipping class. Too bad schools generally DON’T have hall monitors. Hall passes have no purpose without the monitors… so then why do some teachers still have them?
Thank God I’m graduating soon.