An object. That’s all they were to him. They smiled, twirling around his life like a thousand toy tops. He didn’t care about a single one of them. They were constantly around him; draped around the furniture after parties, curled around himself after a long night.
I would say that you’re the object of my affection, but it sound quaint and outdated, and well, objectifying. That isn’t my intent, so I’ll just say that I think about you all the time.
many people don’t understand life, myself included. but we all have an object, or something we have to get at. mine is hapiness. some might agree or disagree with me. but what would life be like without happiness. hapiness.
There is an object sitting on the table. How did it get there? How much is it worth? An object could really be worth a thousand words. No one said it had to be just a picture. Yes, it could be worth the world to someone.
Objects are things that we can only understand in our very narrow sense of space and reality. There are no “objects,” only things we perceive as such. Life is short. live for more.
An object can be a lot of things. Maybe you want to classify a person as an object, but it is not. A ball is an object, a plant too, but isn’t like a ball, a plant is alive, like a person.
the thing you hold. Inside or above or beside. To objectify, and see a person as a thing. To see a thing as a thing! I would objectify the hell out of you, you beautiful human being, but only for a moment. I want you to turn back then, and be you, but maybe I don’t actually want to objectify you at all.
I am a piece of porcelain. In a thousand years they’ll be digging through ancient burial sites and when they crack open my coffin they will find a thousands shards of white stone. Nothing more. Because I am cold and impenetrable and I will never truly die.
like an object, im use every day like one by you and by everyone around me. fake friends backstabbing me with their bullshit. trying to embarrass me in front of people.
The object is to object to the object because if the objection to the object is funny then we will never be objectionable but be practical but if the object is to be sad …
The object floated. Or did it dance? I saw it one moment, and it was gone the next. It’s memory lightly stayed inside my brain, as I processed it’s transient nature. What was this thing, this strange creature of the air?
the thing that rules society. people become one, women, men, all cold fake plastic objects. the reason for war, the keystone to success, the goals of lifetimes. too much power in such insignificance.
the thing in a sentence. what women become to many; what wars are fought over. too much priority. we’re all victims, we’re all the reason for this. too important, impossible to be rid of completely.
I had something to say but then you wanted me to stop. And I didn’t know how. So I said it anyway, here we go again, so now we’re in separate rooms. This is life and I object.
the object nessus held in his hand was small, much smaller than what he could have imagined for all the hard work that it took to acquire. months of traveling with companions he did not trust or care for. on many occasions if it were not for the powers manifesting in him he would surely have been dead. now that the artifact was his there was no need to continue on with these dangerous mercenaries he could now find his way to his destiny or what feels like inexorably drawing him towards the mountains of the gods away far to the east. few have been known to attempt the journey and none have returned.
It was pretty, I think. Sort of sitting there alone. The light danced off of it as she spun it in her hands. Yet I didn’t know what it was. I had never seen anything like it, really. The object she held was a mystery to me, yet I wanted it badly.
Objects don’t have to be disappointed. They just sit there, alone, waiting to be used as they were created. It is so much more frustrating to be sentient, to be conscious, to have to deal with the great disappointments that come along. But I suppose there is always consolation, and always something else to do/
it was huge. it looked like my aunt and grandma morphed together. i thought i was going to throw up. it looked sticky and slimy. i don’t know how it got there but i was scared and disgusted. what am i going to do? how will i get rid of this. i’m scared for my life.
Inanimate, animate, what does it matter? an object is an entity, filling space as a function of time. What is the purpose of an object, if at all? I object!
An object can be anything. A table, a pen, a bus. The “opposite” of object is subject.
I love more the subjective perspective. It is more humanly, intimate. It’s a problem I shall solve!
The object of the game was simple: win, nothing else. But how quickly the rules blur when hearts and minds get involved! I could no longer remember what was mine, or his, or anything else. I had lost all notion of my former self, not to mention the rules of the silly game.
Okay, sure he said reasurringly. I will do it.
But, you have to pay me. Even though I
Just can stop my self from doing it anyways.
Everyone knows that.
Can’t you see?
Tell every one.
The object on the pedestal glowed with a pulsing light, briefly illuminating the faces of the children huddled in a circle around it. I felt the light penetrate my mind, washing out all the memories I have ever had.
Such a simple, material thing. A tangible creation, meaningless in the scope of the mass of the world. But to me, ah, this object has great meaning. To me, it means anything and everything–it reminds me of you. Of those days we’d drive to the lake or stay in melting our brain cells with mindless television.
I object the idea that misanthropy is practical or acceptable. I once saw a guy in his early 20’s playing in a pile of leaves. He started to pretend to rake when he saw me. We both broke out laughing and then I continued walking and I will never see him again. I don’t know if people are inherently good or bad or if that even matters. I do know that loving is practical. I object the idea because you do yourself a great disservice by assuming people are shitty.
the object of my desire, I cannot object to your beauty, your good-natured cavorting, your denial of everything good and right and real in this world. My love, my heart, my all-time.
of my affection of my desire d’art is just an object I am not just an object don’t objectify me what lovely objects these are so unusual and small
not abject, object i don’t object to that I am rather agreeable
What is the object of my existence? Or is it objective? Oh, go a different way . . . The object of my attention changes from moment to moment. News to Pinterest to old movie to family to the doorbell. Not very focused, am I? It’s called multitasking.
An object. That’s all they were to him. They smiled, twirling around his life like a thousand toy tops. He didn’t care about a single one of them. They were constantly around him; draped around the furniture after parties, curled around himself after a long night.
there is an object on my shoe
something borrowed
something blue
not sure just what to do
with this object on my shoe
it goes away when i am sleeping
but comes right back when im awake
something
something
something to take
I would say that you’re the object of my affection, but it sound quaint and outdated, and well, objectifying. That isn’t my intent, so I’ll just say that I think about you all the time.
An object can be anything which is a solid substance, which can be handled.
Eg, A candle is an object, but water is not an object because it cannot be handled unless put in a cup, which IS an object.
objects can be foreign or domestic. countless objects get lost in space and are now known as space debris.
many people don’t understand life, myself included. but we all have an object, or something we have to get at. mine is hapiness. some might agree or disagree with me. but what would life be like without happiness. hapiness.
There is an object sitting on the table. How did it get there? How much is it worth? An object could really be worth a thousand words. No one said it had to be just a picture. Yes, it could be worth the world to someone.
I object your becoming the president
Objects are things that we can only understand in our very narrow sense of space and reality. There are no “objects,” only things we perceive as such. Life is short. live for more.
An object can be a lot of things. Maybe you want to classify a person as an object, but it is not. A ball is an object, a plant too, but isn’t like a ball, a plant is alive, like a person.
Those two words hold so much power to ruin her wedding, “I object,” I only hope she remembers this on the day and finds a way to keep them at bay.
the thing you hold. Inside or above or beside. To objectify, and see a person as a thing. To see a thing as a thing! I would objectify the hell out of you, you beautiful human being, but only for a moment. I want you to turn back then, and be you, but maybe I don’t actually want to objectify you at all.
I am a piece of porcelain. In a thousand years they’ll be digging through ancient burial sites and when they crack open my coffin they will find a thousands shards of white stone. Nothing more. Because I am cold and impenetrable and I will never truly die.
like an object, im use every day like one by you and by everyone around me. fake friends backstabbing me with their bullshit. trying to embarrass me in front of people.
The object is to object to the object because if the objection to the object is funny then we will never be objectionable but be practical but if the object is to be sad …
The object floated. Or did it dance? I saw it one moment, and it was gone the next. It’s memory lightly stayed inside my brain, as I processed it’s transient nature. What was this thing, this strange creature of the air?
the thing that rules society. people become one, women, men, all cold fake plastic objects. the reason for war, the keystone to success, the goals of lifetimes. too much power in such insignificance.
the thing in a sentence. what women become to many; what wars are fought over. too much priority. we’re all victims, we’re all the reason for this. too important, impossible to be rid of completely.
I had something to say but then you wanted me to stop. And I didn’t know how. So I said it anyway, here we go again, so now we’re in separate rooms. This is life and I object.
the object nessus held in his hand was small, much smaller than what he could have imagined for all the hard work that it took to acquire. months of traveling with companions he did not trust or care for. on many occasions if it were not for the powers manifesting in him he would surely have been dead. now that the artifact was his there was no need to continue on with these dangerous mercenaries he could now find his way to his destiny or what feels like inexorably drawing him towards the mountains of the gods away far to the east. few have been known to attempt the journey and none have returned.
It was pretty, I think. Sort of sitting there alone. The light danced off of it as she spun it in her hands. Yet I didn’t know what it was. I had never seen anything like it, really. The object she held was a mystery to me, yet I wanted it badly.
Objects don’t have to be disappointed. They just sit there, alone, waiting to be used as they were created. It is so much more frustrating to be sentient, to be conscious, to have to deal with the great disappointments that come along. But I suppose there is always consolation, and always something else to do/
it was huge. it looked like my aunt and grandma morphed together. i thought i was going to throw up. it looked sticky and slimy. i don’t know how it got there but i was scared and disgusted. what am i going to do? how will i get rid of this. i’m scared for my life.
it sat
quiet and still
until it drove me mad
chilling it froze
like winter in the fall
i stood in awe
Inanimate, animate, what does it matter? an object is an entity, filling space as a function of time. What is the purpose of an object, if at all? I object!
Object. This, that. Objectives. Goals. Points on the way to the end of everything. Everything has objectives.
An object can be anything. A table, a pen, a bus. The “opposite” of object is subject.
I love more the subjective perspective. It is more humanly, intimate. It’s a problem I shall solve!
love
is evrything i just want to find it and be happy
That to which we have no access as contingent cognizers in the world of appearances. That to which we feel as though we have complete understanding
The object of the game was simple: win, nothing else. But how quickly the rules blur when hearts and minds get involved! I could no longer remember what was mine, or his, or anything else. I had lost all notion of my former self, not to mention the rules of the silly game.
it’s a party with the dead
at a yodok prison camp
80’s music’s gloomy beat
is for hours, hours played
at this whorehouse
their souls so ill they start to rot
their bodies dancing to tunes
that never changes
the objects colored gray;
that life is colored black;
their friends already dead;
as everything will be in time
Such a simple object. Objection. Objectification. What changes a view.
Objects.
Every object tells a story. And just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.
Okay, sure he said reasurringly. I will do it.
But, you have to pay me. Even though I
Just can stop my self from doing it anyways.
Everyone knows that.
Can’t you see?
Tell every one.
The object on the pedestal glowed with a pulsing light, briefly illuminating the faces of the children huddled in a circle around it. I felt the light penetrate my mind, washing out all the memories I have ever had.
Such a simple, material thing. A tangible creation, meaningless in the scope of the mass of the world. But to me, ah, this object has great meaning. To me, it means anything and everything–it reminds me of you. Of those days we’d drive to the lake or stay in melting our brain cells with mindless television.
I object the idea that misanthropy is practical or acceptable. I once saw a guy in his early 20’s playing in a pile of leaves. He started to pretend to rake when he saw me. We both broke out laughing and then I continued walking and I will never see him again. I don’t know if people are inherently good or bad or if that even matters. I do know that loving is practical. I object the idea because you do yourself a great disservice by assuming people are shitty.
the object of my desire, I cannot object to your beauty, your good-natured cavorting, your denial of everything good and right and real in this world. My love, my heart, my all-time.
of my affection of my desire d’art is just an object I am not just an object don’t objectify me what lovely objects these are so unusual and small
not abject, object i don’t object to that I am rather agreeable
What is the object of my existence? Or is it objective? Oh, go a different way . . . The object of my attention changes from moment to moment. News to Pinterest to old movie to family to the doorbell. Not very focused, am I? It’s called multitasking.