bronzesouledgeorgewill
@gene-b.bsky.social
Philosophy; Ethics; and Fiction. Outdoorsy and a Critter. Reposts are rarely reactionary.
We’re up in a flash. The liftman reports that we’ve reached level three, then opens the lift gate. I don’t see her, and my stomach rumbles. It’s in knots. I lean out to look down the walkway.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
We’re up in a flash. The liftman reports that we’ve reached level three, then opens the lift gate. I don’t see her, and my stomach rumbles. It’s in knots. I lean out to look down the walkway.
He closes the gate as I pour water from my waterskin over the flower and wand, trying to wash some of the gunk off. They come pretty clean.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
He closes the gate as I pour water from my waterskin over the flower and wand, trying to wash some of the gunk off. They come pretty clean.
The liftman asks me which level. I usually tell him to shut up and pull the lever myself. He acts insulted and tut-tuts me. I remind him that illusions don’t have feelings. He “begs to differ,” but I know their emotions are phantoms. This time I say, “Third, please.”
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
The liftman asks me which level. I usually tell him to shut up and pull the lever myself. He acts insulted and tut-tuts me. I remind him that illusions don’t have feelings. He “begs to differ,” but I know their emotions are phantoms. This time I say, “Third, please.”
I look down at the flower. My welding wand is lying next to it, snuffed out ‘cause my concentration is blown. I look back up at her, and she gives me a thumbs up as she heads towards the lift. I look down at the flower again. It’s almost quittin’ time anyhow.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
I look down at the flower. My welding wand is lying next to it, snuffed out ‘cause my concentration is blown. I look back up at her, and she gives me a thumbs up as she heads towards the lift. I look down at the flower again. It’s almost quittin’ time anyhow.
It’s as if she knows I’m restricted to three down, but she’s a Sixie; there’s no way she knows me.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
It’s as if she knows I’m restricted to three down, but she’s a Sixie; there’s no way she knows me.
She’s on the walkover six levels up and shouting something down at me. I can’t hear her over the din. I throw up my hands and shout, “Whadaya want!” She can’t hear me either, so she points to the lift and waves three fingers at me. She wants me to meet her on the third level, I guess.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
She’s on the walkover six levels up and shouting something down at me. I can’t hear her over the din. I throw up my hands and shout, “Whadaya want!” She can’t hear me either, so she points to the lift and waves three fingers at me. She wants me to meet her on the third level, I guess.
I usually don’t look up when somethin’ drops on me–unless I hear them laughing. If they’re laughing, then I look and try to memorize their face just in case I bump into them someday. They won’t be laughing then. Still, it’s dangerous to look up, but I risk it.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
I usually don’t look up when somethin’ drops on me–unless I hear them laughing. If they’re laughing, then I look and try to memorize their face just in case I bump into them someday. They won’t be laughing then. Still, it’s dangerous to look up, but I risk it.
It’s a single long-stemmed yellow flower tied to a coinpurse-sized sandbag with a strap of red twine. The whole thing’s covered in the filth now. What a waste of life.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
It’s a single long-stemmed yellow flower tied to a coinpurse-sized sandbag with a strap of red twine. The whole thing’s covered in the filth now. What a waste of life.
Somethin’ heavy hits the steel rim of my hat, pushing it down over my eyes, then plops down into the sludge between my boots. I knudge my hat back in place with the knuckles of my heavy gloves to see what it is and if it’s worth pickin’ up. It’s not.
January 21, 2026 at 11:04 PM
Somethin’ heavy hits the steel rim of my hat, pushing it down over my eyes, then plops down into the sludge between my boots. I knudge my hat back in place with the knuckles of my heavy gloves to see what it is and if it’s worth pickin’ up. It’s not.
Through the false premise that childhood ends at puberty.
November 15, 2025 at 4:18 PM
Through the false premise that childhood ends at puberty.
Maybe he has internalized history? thesocietypages.org/socimages/20...
Irish Apes: Tactics of De-Humanization - Sociological Images
The Society Pages (TSP) is an open-access social science project headquartered in the Department of Sociology at the University of Minnesota
thesocietypages.org
September 30, 2025 at 9:01 AM
Maybe he has internalized history? thesocietypages.org/socimages/20...
Reposted by bronzesouledgeorgewill
