I read things that make me feel stupid. I read things that crack the earth open and set me adrift. Once I was left alone with words for an ailment, but they are already withering. Memory is just an ugly vase full of old water. It holds the appearance of life, but not forever.
Author: Olavia Kite
I finished my job.
Hear my sigh of relief echoing miles away, and see me getting ready for all the exciting things to come.
Fragment (Useless)
Her sitting in at the desk was not a mere exercise of mouse-clicking. They —the ones upstairs— were expecting results. Results was another word for numbers that should grow like bamboo stalks. It was easy to imagine the ones upstairs waking up each morning in hopes of finding bigger numbers in their garden of data. Then they would pick them and arrange them in lovely bouquets, use them to garnish pie charts, and serve them to almost abstract entities on a level so high that it might as well transcend the rooftop.
She sat in front of the computer and tried to feed the numbers.
Intersection
green
agora
unleashed
pouring
from every corner
worlds with no orbits
random atoms
inexplicable attraction
ephemeral molecules
a tidal wave of voices
sharp gazes
first and last encounter
the biggest party
the briefest party
crisscrossing
multicolor tapestry
undone
deserted
red