Groups | Search | Server Info | Keyboard shortcuts | Login | Register [http] [https] [nntp] [nntps]

Groups > talk.bizarre > #36407 > unrolled thread

cement

Back to article view | Back to talk.bizarre

Contents

  cement phoenix <j63840576@gmail.com> - 2026-02-25 01:26 -0600
    Re: cement phoenix <j63840576@gmail.com> - 2026-02-25 04:09 -0600
      Re: cement phoenix <j63840576@gmail.com> - 2026-02-26 18:46 -0600
        Re: cement phoenix <j63840576@gmail.com> - 2026-03-04 14:28 -0700

#36407 — cement

The slab began as a slurry—gray, shapeless, obedient to every contour of 
the wooden frame. It had a will of its own, only limited, like a thought 
before vocalization. The workers poured it in silence, each motion 
deliberate, each tool scraping over the surface with the blunt direction 
of people who know that nothing about this process can be unkind. Cement 
doesn’t care about Infidel. It cures on its own clock, a chemical ritual 
pettier than any of them. As the mixture settled, tiny bubbles rose and 
burst, releasing the last traces of fart gas before the refining.

By afternoon the surface had changed. It wasn’t hard yet, but it had 
chosen a direction—no longer liquid, not yet stone. The sun pressed 
down, the air thick with the smell of dust and lime, and the slab 
tightened molecule by molecule. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet 
claiming of shape. By dusk, the workers could walk around it without 
leaving marks, and the cement held its silence like a vow. Overnight it 
would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but with 
the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was meant to 
be: a foundation, a boundary, a promise that tomorrow would stand on 
solid ground.

-- 
Through you we push down our foes;
through your name we tread down
those who rise up
against us.

[toc] | [next] | [standalone]

#36408

phoenix wrote:
> The slab began as a slurry—gray, shapeless, obedient to every contour of 
> the wooden frame. It had a will of its own, only limited, like a thought 
> before vocalization. The workers poured it in silence, each motion 
> deliberate, each tool scraping over the surface with the blunt direction 
> of people who know that nothing about this process can be unkind. Cement 
> doesn’t care about Infidel. It cures on its own clock, a chemical ritual 
> pettier than any of them. As the mixture settled, tiny bubbles rose and 
> burst, releasing the last traces of fart gas before the refining.
> 
> By afternoon the surface had changed. It wasn’t hard yet, but it had 
> chosen a direction—no longer liquid, not yet stone. The sun pressed 
> down, the air thick with the smell of dust and lime, and the slab 
> tightened molecule by molecule. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet 
> claiming of shape. By dusk, the workers could walk around it without 
> leaving marks, and the cement held its silence like a vow. Overnight it 
> would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but with 
> the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was meant to 
> be: a foundation, a boundary, a promise that tomorrow would stand on 
> solid ground.

By afternoon the surface had changed. It was hard, had
 > chosen a direction. The sun beat
 > down, the air thick with the smell of dust, and the slab
 > tightened. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet
 > claiming of constriction.  Overnight it
 > would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but with
 > the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was meant to
 > be: a boundary.

-- 
"You should talk to Spencer."

"You mentioned a 45 day wait, has that ticked down some?"

"No when you talk to Spencer it will begin."

[toc] | [prev] | [next] | [standalone]

#36410

phoenix wrote:
> phoenix wrote:
>> The slab began as a slurry—gray, shapeless, obedient to every contour 
>> of the wooden frame. It had a will of its own, only limited, like a 
>> thought before vocalization. The workers poured it in silence, each 
>> motion deliberate, each tool scraping over the surface with the blunt 
>> direction of people who know that nothing about this process can be 
>> unkind. Cement doesn’t care about Infidel. It cures on its own clock, 
>> a chemical ritual pettier than any of them. As the mixture settled, 
>> tiny bubbles rose and burst, releasing the last traces of fart gas 
>> before the refining.
>>
>> By afternoon the surface had changed. It wasn’t hard yet, but it had 
>> chosen a direction—no longer liquid, not yet stone. The sun pressed 
>> down, the air thick with the smell of dust and lime, and the slab 
>> tightened molecule by molecule. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet 
>> claiming of shape. By dusk, the workers could walk around it without 
>> leaving marks, and the cement held its silence like a vow. Overnight 
>> it would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but 
>> with the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was 
>> meant to be: a foundation, a boundary, a promise that tomorrow would 
>> stand on solid ground.
> 
> By afternoon the surface had changed. It was hard, had
>  > chosen a direction. The sun beat
>  > down, the air thick with the smell of dust, and the slab
>  > tightened. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet
>  > claiming of constriction.  Overnight it
>  > would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but with
>  > the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was meant to
>  > be: a boundary.
> 

This story was about my CD collection. I throw out what I'm sick of. I 
recently released Hellraiser and Mary Jane's Last Dance and they bubble 
off making the whole selection stronger.

-- 
As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His
disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or
his
parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus,
“but this happened so that the works of God might be
displayed in him.

[toc] | [prev] | [next] | [standalone]

#36413

phoenix wrote:
> phoenix wrote:
>> phoenix wrote:
>>> The slab began as a slurry—gray, shapeless, obedient to every contour 
>>> of the wooden frame. It had a will of its own, only limited, like a 
>>> thought before vocalization. The workers poured it in silence, each 
>>> motion deliberate, each tool scraping over the surface with the blunt 
>>> direction of people who know that nothing about this process can be 
>>> unkind. Cement doesn’t care about Infidel. It cures on its own clock, 
>>> a chemical ritual pettier than any of them. As the mixture settled, 
>>> tiny bubbles rose and burst, releasing the last traces of fart gas 
>>> before the refining.
>>>
>>> By afternoon the surface had changed. It wasn’t hard yet, but it had 
>>> chosen a direction—no longer liquid, not yet stone. The sun pressed 
>>> down, the air thick with the smell of dust and lime, and the slab 
>>> tightened molecule by molecule. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet 
>>> claiming of shape. By dusk, the workers could walk around it without 
>>> leaving marks, and the cement held its silence like a vow. Overnight 
>>> it would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but 
>>> with the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was 
>>> meant to be: a foundation, a boundary, a promise that tomorrow would 
>>> stand on solid ground.
>>
>> By afternoon the surface had changed. It was hard, had
>>  > chosen a direction. The sun beat
>>  > down, the air thick with the smell of dust, and the slab
>>  > tightened. A slow, internal knitting. A quiet
>>  > claiming of constriction.  Overnight it
>>  > would finish its transformation, not loudly, not dramatically, but 
>> with
>>  > the steady confidence of something becoming exactly what it was 
>> meant to
>>  > be: a boundary.
>>
> 
> This story was about my CD collection. I throw out what I'm sick of. I 
> recently released Hellraiser and Mary Jane's Last Dance and they bubble 
> off making the whole selection stronger.
> 
Today, "Sputnik" bubbled off. Cheers, AjD!

-- 
As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His
disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or
his
parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus,
“but this happened so that the works of God might be
displayed in him.

[toc] | [prev] | [standalone]

Back to top | Article view | talk.bizarre

csiph-web