Impressions from a Fortran Programming Course


Friday, Aug. 31.

Al spins his web all the while weaving a thread of experience. His top teeth never move. His effervescent grin controls his lips' wavelength. Stoney spider eyes focus on the prey. Kevin feeds Al's hunger and through himself is reflected on the board. KEVIN's algorithm. Al is pleased. He has won. The laurels of teaching crown him with shrubbery. His grin never changes.

Wednesday, Sept. 12.

He is gone. Wait, he appers. Around my right shoulder. Carbon copy with a switch of the shirt. He acts a few days older, but the bright insignia on the back of his tennis shoes contradict his age. His persona is simple.

Friday, Sept. 28.

Instruction is called a statement. The eyes are bloating of the fishes all drowned, their shiny silver skins having turned a pale grey, coat the room in a vacumous gloom. "vooo... vooo..." they chant. They are carried out the gate.

Monday, Oct. 1.

There is a second mind behind the face. Al still grins, but a crease must be crashing his face, disrupting his crevacial harmony.

Friday, Oct. 5.

Today he's one tough customer. New wranglers. Dark blue with sharp corners.

Friday, Oct. 12.

The room is screaming with quiet. We are dying. Passing the time.

Wednesday, Oct. 24.

The seasoned spider is overly spicey for the class. I am unprepared, quiet, and bored. I can't slouch enough to make life comfy.

Friday, Oct. 26.

I don't want to say I'm bored, but I think I changed width.

Wednesday, Nov. 7.

I am a dark red blazoned brown. Electric earth. But I move my mouth before my eyes.

Monday, Nov. 12.

The twig is reddened as a result of blindness.


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