There is the nothing. Fear of losing what. It is a loss of the unknown of the immaterial. Terrifying.
A passport gone into the either. Object, or Identity? Who? What?
We define ourselves by the objects of our desires. One and the same. Objentity.
xcx
The object of marriage is to commit to a life of love and a building of a life together, where there is trust, friendship, and a forever bond between two.
The object was in her hands. It was finally hers. She could rule the world and she would. This was what she always wanted.
She would bring all of her enemies to their knees. After years of letting them ruin her, she would finally have her revenge. She was going to destroy them, all of them.
I’m shrink-wrapped and vacuum sealed, boxed up and hid away
you swear to me you’ll let me down; another time, a better day.
my painted lips await your kiss; my fairy tale is now a nightmare
my plastic heart beats madness, lungs breathe dreams instead of air.
The object was no bigger than a thumbnail. Had to be in order to fit inside of a fist. Chris jumped up to wrestle it away from his 6’2 brother, who just laughed and held it out of his reach. It was fun at first. He hadn’t seen his brother in over a year. And now he was home on military leave, still in his Army fatigues. But after ten minutes of jumping, Chris grew frustrated and just stopped trying. He folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “Aww, don’t be like that,” his brother cooed with an adoring smile, opening his hand. Chris tried in vain not to cry as he stared at the small, silver Afghani pendant.
As he searched through the wilderness, he looked for what was in his mind. There was a piece to the puzzle that he had not yet found, and he did not know what the object looked like in the first place. The search might have lasted for hours before he saw the glitter.
She couldn’t believe it. The one thing she feared, the one malady staring her right in the face. The spectacle came from the corner of the room. It was as she feared, a mirror reflecting her disturbing actions she had done to others.
Leah
The object leans silent, serene
From afar looking like slate against wood
Not an object, a person.
It was there. Across the room. I felt it looking at me. It was alive; it made me feel alive. Who did it belong to? What did it belong to? All I knew was, I had to touch it.
Luke Parr
“I object!” Maria Santiago leapt to her feet, dark eyes flashing. “in the name of all that is blessed in this forsaken country, I object!”
“Sit down, woman!” The General hissed. His face had grown red even though he struggled to project a look of outward calm. “This is not the time or the place for your hysterical-”
Those accusing dark eyes turned to him, fixed on his reddening face, a new strain of emotion visible on her face. “I warned you,” she said, lowly. “I warned all of you–and you won’t listen. This time, you’ll pay for your actions and I won’t be your scapegoat.”
“Grab her!” the lawyer cried, directing the courtroom officers to where she’d already climbed atop the courtroom bench. “Don’t let her-”
But Maria had already stripped out of her suit jacket and shirt, dark red scales rippling along the surface of her skin. “You had your warnings,” she rasped, voice more of a hiss than tone at this point. “And this was my final one.”
The guards reached for her as the transformation completed itself.
In a flicker of movement, a royal red dragon stood perched atop the bench’s rail. Angry yellow eyes clouded over and sharp teeth gaped from the open mouth.
An open mouth that screamed a volley of flame.
She looked at it as if it was completely foreign to her. The ring on her finger set her hand apart from itself. It was both attached to her and thousands of miles away, practically the other side of the world. But shouldn’t it feel closer than her own heart? She was glad he couldn’t see her, asleep beside her, his breath softly grazing her ear in rhythmic pulses.
llwja;othaoeihalnv;lasdkjhagpoeiha;slgdna;sldhjf[a[obic’lasdkn;ldsn;lzcknlsdkjf;lsdjf;alsjdf;asldkfj;lsadjfsdlkfja;sldjkfsldjfsdfl It was maddening. The contempt crowd broke out in a chaotic cacophony of gasps and gossip. But no one ran to her aid. No one tried to stop the scuffle. The looks on their faces actually seemed pleased. How could this be?
Leah
The slipper was smashed into a fine shards of crystal. The malicious attack was not expected. But who ever speculated the jealous frog would lash out in such a way?
Leah
I take it in my hand. I hold it up close. I hold it far away. I put it in my pocket. I carry it around for several days. I pull it back out. It has pocket lint on it but it is no less compelling, no less mesmerizing.
I immediately thought about grammar when I read the word object.
There are accusative, dative and genitive objects.
Bluered
Feeling like you aren’t a person. The feeling of being a completely inanimate object. He loved it. Being released from all of one’s worldly worries and being reduced to an object. This was the only time that he could escape from the confines of his world and just be. If he had to give it words, it was liberating.
Seannie
I have to object to this kind of word, becuase it often means something negative. Like, I object to what you are doing. I object to this food. I object to the tv show that is on. However, it could also be a noun, as in an object. Objects are all over the place – this keyboard I am typing on is an object.
JM
I get so sick of being treated like an object. I’m more than my body. I’m more than my looks.
I’m funny, I’m loving, I’m kind.
I have so much more to offer than sex.
I can cook, I love to workout, and I can sit for hours laughing and watching funny tv shows.
Rebecca
An item in the house that holds a special meaning. When held, you find it difficult to let go of, to put in the giveaway box. The thought rips your heart out. It holds sentimental value beyond the ordinary.
Sue
I object! I object to cynicism. Probably since I am a cynic. If you you are looking at someone who looks at a cup half full, I am probably carrying it in my hand. I need to have more people who have humor in my life then maybe they will rub off on me.
she thought of me rarely
a need to fulfill
a blank space painted over
a lost soul in a sea of fisheye lenses
an object to reject
a frown curled ever so slightly upside down
and when i came to mind
i came to her.
matt
“I’m thinking of stopping by the drugstore for some candy bars and some smokes,” said Dale, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Wanna come along?”
I didn’t object to a mini-adventure, especially when it meant the drop dead gorgeous Melissa was accompanying us. Throwing on my favorite worn out gray hoodie, I followed Dale out of his house and into his driveway, where Melissa’s red pick-up awaited us.
Belinda Roddie
The object of the game is to be the happiest one. Easy thing to do when you can’t watch your ex doing better than you.
a object is a thing that everything have in your home or job because is necessary for the life and
BRENDA
I don’t belong to you. I’m not yours. You can’t claim me. Take back your stupid bribes and your gifts, and let me be on my own. I don’t rely on you, I’m powerful myself. I don’t need your support, I’m strong too.
Elle
If someone doesn’t treat you well, let’s say, treats you like an object, object. That’s right. Don’t see this word as hey, you are this thing. See this word as, Hey, get the hell out of my face and my life if you’re going to treat me like this. Okay, so it goes way beyond object to fight the hell back. Stand your ground, stare the bastard down, tell him that you don’t need to be talked to like an object; treated like an object. You don’t need to, you know. You just don’t need to.
nyla
if every thing were an object of the sky
where would you fall and dig from
to get that extra mile
if every shine were a matter of the night
could you ever forgive
a man who would not cry
if you were to die
if all that could be false
where would you go tonight
It was lopsided. It bothered him how it was so … uneven. The thing was that he had obviously seen something like it before, but this one was … unique? He couldn’t say different, per se, because it wasn’t. It was just an object.
chi
There’s an object to my left but I can’t tell what it is. Where did it come from? I think back to last night. There is a strange man who keeps looking at me. Where am I? I remember that he showed up the night before but never gave me his name. Then I remember that he was the one who left this object. But what is it?
There is the nothing. Fear of losing what. It is a loss of the unknown of the immaterial. Terrifying.
A passport gone into the either. Object, or Identity? Who? What?
We define ourselves by the objects of our desires. One and the same. Objentity.
The object of marriage is to commit to a life of love and a building of a life together, where there is trust, friendship, and a forever bond between two.
i don’t desire to be the object of your affections. i have, and never will be an object. i think and feel and love. do you?
The object was in her hands. It was finally hers. She could rule the world and she would. This was what she always wanted.
She would bring all of her enemies to their knees. After years of letting them ruin her, she would finally have her revenge. She was going to destroy them, all of them.
I’m shrink-wrapped and vacuum sealed, boxed up and hid away
you swear to me you’ll let me down; another time, a better day.
my painted lips await your kiss; my fairy tale is now a nightmare
my plastic heart beats madness, lungs breathe dreams instead of air.
The object was no bigger than a thumbnail. Had to be in order to fit inside of a fist. Chris jumped up to wrestle it away from his 6’2 brother, who just laughed and held it out of his reach. It was fun at first. He hadn’t seen his brother in over a year. And now he was home on military leave, still in his Army fatigues. But after ten minutes of jumping, Chris grew frustrated and just stopped trying. He folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “Aww, don’t be like that,” his brother cooed with an adoring smile, opening his hand. Chris tried in vain not to cry as he stared at the small, silver Afghani pendant.
Objects object objectively to objections of objective objects
better as an discarded object instead of experimental subject
As he searched through the wilderness, he looked for what was in his mind. There was a piece to the puzzle that he had not yet found, and he did not know what the object looked like in the first place. The search might have lasted for hours before he saw the glitter.
She couldn’t believe it. The one thing she feared, the one malady staring her right in the face. The spectacle came from the corner of the room. It was as she feared, a mirror reflecting her disturbing actions she had done to others.
The object leans silent, serene
From afar looking like slate against wood
Not an object, a person.
It was there. Across the room. I felt it looking at me. It was alive; it made me feel alive. Who did it belong to? What did it belong to? All I knew was, I had to touch it.
“I object!” Maria Santiago leapt to her feet, dark eyes flashing. “in the name of all that is blessed in this forsaken country, I object!”
“Sit down, woman!” The General hissed. His face had grown red even though he struggled to project a look of outward calm. “This is not the time or the place for your hysterical-”
Those accusing dark eyes turned to him, fixed on his reddening face, a new strain of emotion visible on her face. “I warned you,” she said, lowly. “I warned all of you–and you won’t listen. This time, you’ll pay for your actions and I won’t be your scapegoat.”
“Grab her!” the lawyer cried, directing the courtroom officers to where she’d already climbed atop the courtroom bench. “Don’t let her-”
But Maria had already stripped out of her suit jacket and shirt, dark red scales rippling along the surface of her skin. “You had your warnings,” she rasped, voice more of a hiss than tone at this point. “And this was my final one.”
The guards reached for her as the transformation completed itself.
In a flicker of movement, a royal red dragon stood perched atop the bench’s rail. Angry yellow eyes clouded over and sharp teeth gaped from the open mouth.
An open mouth that screamed a volley of flame.
She looked at it as if it was completely foreign to her. The ring on her finger set her hand apart from itself. It was both attached to her and thousands of miles away, practically the other side of the world. But shouldn’t it feel closer than her own heart? She was glad he couldn’t see her, asleep beside her, his breath softly grazing her ear in rhythmic pulses.
llwja;othaoeihalnv;lasdkjhagpoeiha;slgdna;sldhjf[a[obic’lasdkn;ldsn;lzcknlsdkjf;lsdjf;alsjdf;asldkfj;lsadjfsdlkfja;sldjkfsldjfsdfl It was maddening. The contempt crowd broke out in a chaotic cacophony of gasps and gossip. But no one ran to her aid. No one tried to stop the scuffle. The looks on their faces actually seemed pleased. How could this be?
The slipper was smashed into a fine shards of crystal. The malicious attack was not expected. But who ever speculated the jealous frog would lash out in such a way?
I take it in my hand. I hold it up close. I hold it far away. I put it in my pocket. I carry it around for several days. I pull it back out. It has pocket lint on it but it is no less compelling, no less mesmerizing.
I immediately thought about grammar when I read the word object.
There are accusative, dative and genitive objects.
Feeling like you aren’t a person. The feeling of being a completely inanimate object. He loved it. Being released from all of one’s worldly worries and being reduced to an object. This was the only time that he could escape from the confines of his world and just be. If he had to give it words, it was liberating.
I have to object to this kind of word, becuase it often means something negative. Like, I object to what you are doing. I object to this food. I object to the tv show that is on. However, it could also be a noun, as in an object. Objects are all over the place – this keyboard I am typing on is an object.
I get so sick of being treated like an object. I’m more than my body. I’m more than my looks.
I’m funny, I’m loving, I’m kind.
I have so much more to offer than sex.
I can cook, I love to workout, and I can sit for hours laughing and watching funny tv shows.
An item in the house that holds a special meaning. When held, you find it difficult to let go of, to put in the giveaway box. The thought rips your heart out. It holds sentimental value beyond the ordinary.
I object! I object to cynicism. Probably since I am a cynic. If you you are looking at someone who looks at a cup half full, I am probably carrying it in my hand. I need to have more people who have humor in my life then maybe they will rub off on me.
object permanence, early birth
stolen youth
sailing high into adulthood
unprepared, what’s there?
she thought of me rarely
a need to fulfill
a blank space painted over
a lost soul in a sea of fisheye lenses
an object to reject
a frown curled ever so slightly upside down
and when i came to mind
i came to her.
“I’m thinking of stopping by the drugstore for some candy bars and some smokes,” said Dale, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Wanna come along?”
I didn’t object to a mini-adventure, especially when it meant the drop dead gorgeous Melissa was accompanying us. Throwing on my favorite worn out gray hoodie, I followed Dale out of his house and into his driveway, where Melissa’s red pick-up awaited us.
The object of the game is to be the happiest one. Easy thing to do when you can’t watch your ex doing better than you.
a object is a thing that everything have in your home or job because is necessary for the life and
I don’t belong to you. I’m not yours. You can’t claim me. Take back your stupid bribes and your gifts, and let me be on my own. I don’t rely on you, I’m powerful myself. I don’t need your support, I’m strong too.
If someone doesn’t treat you well, let’s say, treats you like an object, object. That’s right. Don’t see this word as hey, you are this thing. See this word as, Hey, get the hell out of my face and my life if you’re going to treat me like this. Okay, so it goes way beyond object to fight the hell back. Stand your ground, stare the bastard down, tell him that you don’t need to be talked to like an object; treated like an object. You don’t need to, you know. You just don’t need to.
if every thing were an object of the sky
where would you fall and dig from
to get that extra mile
if every shine were a matter of the night
could you ever forgive
a man who would not cry
if you were to die
if all that could be false
where would you go tonight
It was lopsided. It bothered him how it was so … uneven. The thing was that he had obviously seen something like it before, but this one was … unique? He couldn’t say different, per se, because it wasn’t. It was just an object.
There’s an object to my left but I can’t tell what it is. Where did it come from? I think back to last night. There is a strange man who keeps looking at me. Where am I? I remember that he showed up the night before but never gave me his name. Then I remember that he was the one who left this object. But what is it?