The East Coast As A Robot

Her eyelashes grew from the fetid waters that had soaked into her cheeks. Her lips popped with a sugery wetness that made the air around her glisten and sparkle like the dying embers to a rocket or a fire. Her voice was a robot mimicry that fluttered through burning protozoan desires, to spread her heart, to divide and destroy. She laughed, for a split second, punctual, remedial, decisive. It was painless for the most part, there were bits that made me flinch, and there were parts that made me wish I were somewhere else, not sitting in silence waiting for the phone to drop and hit the floor. I'd kill for a dead reciever if that ment she'd be happy. I told her, "If you lived here, you'd be home now." There was a shortness of breath that made my fingers snap back into place, into a fist, into the size of my heart. It bled those beautiful colors that everyone wishes they've seen in real life. The colors you see up close, the ones you can kiss and hold. It's epicurism for the eyes, lovely red wine. Those waves in her skin were metal panels with rusty bolts. I pried them open to see her muscles, veins, bones and blood vessels, they were leaking oil and emotion. She was dry. This is the east coast as a robot, static snow, monochromatic, double zeroes, infinite numbers, decimals that mean nothing. This is the east coast as a robot, breaking down, rebuilding, breaking down, rebuilding, rebooting, breaking down, and repeat.

My eyes were lithium charged, glowing neon green. My breath was the color of pesticide and when we were stuck in this polite winter, it froze into blocks of food for the homeless. My palms were cut deep, with the wires that regulate my daily patterns, masturbate, eat, wash my hands, masturbate, brush teeth, wash my hands, go to the bathroom. I think they were fried. Kevlar vests, protect me from various enviromental dangers, falling branches, bullets, knifes, rocks, all explosives, nuclear radiation, gamma radiation, and exposure to the harmful energies of the sun. I'm wearing lava resistance boots. I'm ready to face the world, or some of it. This is the east coast as a robot. painless, boring, depressing to everyone but you. This is the east coast as a robot, mundane, overly protected, regular, knowing that you'll die like everything and not caring. This is the east coast as a robot...recharging...dying...recharging...batteries are low...there's a small crawl space where my head lies when I sleep, I'll go there now. It's cold, it's normal.

It's home.
Last edited by Something_Vague at Sep 3, 2006,
ive liked some of your work lately but to me this was just a bunch of boring imagery. nothing stands out. except maybe the last couple lines inthe 1st stanza and the 2nd.
otherwise it was a decent piece. the diction seemed well chosen, but very bland and boring. the best part of this id say was the flow.
It's kind of supposed to be bland and boring, that's the whole message, that's the entire point.
Well if its supposed to be bland and suck and whatever, then you went out with a bang you son of a bitch.

Im going to miss you on UG....quite a lot.

And Ill take over the comps and whatever else you are leaving by doing what you said.

Much love.

Stay safe.

And keep in touch.

-Nelson (The ONLY person on UG that you have not EVER beat in a 1v1 competition...and I was your teacher...so obviously that was an understood fact from the start)
Can You Fill In The Blanks?
Last edited by xArCaDiAx at Jul 25, 2006,
the last thing i said i was obviously kidding. and im sure matt knows that. and since when are you only allowed to post on peoples pieces that you like. what happened to negative criticism? it benefits a writer more than positive. anyways good bye matt. s&l is terrible now anyways so you wont be missing much.
Menry you gotta put a after otherwise I'll verbally own you.

I had a response typed up, and was going to rip you to shreds but saw your joking thing and decided against it.