Children of the Program Read Online Free Page A
Author: Brad Cox
was edging closer to understanding self-love, a natural graduation of consciousness.
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No stranger to commencement, school came easy for one Programmer. Rand Backer’s life was stern, sterile and built upon the bricks of a harder time. The Bible took center stage and read like a childhood novel. It was forcefully served, swallowed and digested in his adolescence. His parents expected the highest level of respect, written therein. Given his father's orders, he would readily challenge the devil to a duel. His greatest attention was focused on the details of God's tragedy, called 'Life.' Pressed shirts and astute rhetoric set the stage for his silent soliloquy. To Rand, knowledge was greater than capital, because it could barter for wealth. It was a conscious stream of income.
His home was erected near the Fulda River in the town of Kassel after WWII. Plenty of neighboring parks and palaces consumed his view. These structures provided hope and refuge from the rituals of his deflated youth. Freedom was earned and hours were structured, mechanical and socially void. The daily pittance of porridge he consumed was a bland reminder of his uninspired surroundings. The walls were coated in flat and his heart a barren sheath. His parents were well-intended, but paving a highway to hell.
The exterior was inspired by the old cobblestone streets destroyed by the war. The furniture was a rickety cliché. All lavishes were earth born and kept far from the interiors of their grayscale sanctuary. Seated comfortably in the doorway, the tricolour flag was a subtle reminder that Germany reigned the domicile and its perimeter.
God offered them grace, but his affected parents were haunted and stubborn. He recognized their torment, but was challenged by the complexities of a vast cultural shift. Brainwashed, he would be their savior from a modest life and an endless penance. He would bring pride and peace back to his family and rebuild what the war had taken.
He had difficulty understanding abstract thinkers and free spirits. They were impulsive, perverse and lawless. Their homes were built on shaky ground and challenged the very core of his upbringing.
Without roots, how could a tree bear fruition?
The dreamers blew with the wind and would blow away for good, if God would grant him just one wish. Staring into the eyes of their nomadic souls generated disdain. He could see the shadowy reflection of a people destitute for harder times.
Rand knew his truth.
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No war compared to the cancerous battle being fought between middle school walls. Self-discovery, hormones and coupling brought the sheep face-to-face with vampire wolves. Teenage minds would hemorrhage on homework and drama alone. The intimidation and arrogance of the older classes only exasperated the need for a strong defense, cronies and a myriad of exit strategies. The short-lived reign of an 8 th grade bravado allotted them an excuse to spray paint their insecurities and retribution upon defenseless lockers, projecting immeasurable fear upon underlings.
Nervous, the song remained the same and shielded my virgin heart. Music was the key and my future peers, the gatekeepers. Hours of practice and the gluttonous ingestion of rock iconoclasts equipped me with the required vocabulary for initiation. Like-minded individuals found me and connected. Bullish sports were of no consequence. I dabbled. My immediate peer group consisted of: Punks, rockers, nerds and freaks.
As for love?
I had a mysterious and romantic interest in intelligent
+++
No stranger to commencement, school came easy for one Programmer. Rand Backer’s life was stern, sterile and built upon the bricks of a harder time. The Bible took center stage and read like a childhood novel. It was forcefully served, swallowed and digested in his adolescence. His parents expected the highest level of respect, written therein. Given his father's orders, he would readily challenge the devil to a duel. His greatest attention was focused on the details of God's tragedy, called 'Life.' Pressed shirts and astute rhetoric set the stage for his silent soliloquy. To Rand, knowledge was greater than capital, because it could barter for wealth. It was a conscious stream of income.
His home was erected near the Fulda River in the town of Kassel after WWII. Plenty of neighboring parks and palaces consumed his view. These structures provided hope and refuge from the rituals of his deflated youth. Freedom was earned and hours were structured, mechanical and socially void. The daily pittance of porridge he consumed was a bland reminder of his uninspired surroundings. The walls were coated in flat and his heart a barren sheath. His parents were well-intended, but paving a highway to hell.
The exterior was inspired by the old cobblestone streets destroyed by the war. The furniture was a rickety cliché. All lavishes were earth born and kept far from the interiors of their grayscale sanctuary. Seated comfortably in the doorway, the tricolour flag was a subtle reminder that Germany reigned the domicile and its perimeter.
God offered them grace, but his affected parents were haunted and stubborn. He recognized their torment, but was challenged by the complexities of a vast cultural shift. Brainwashed, he would be their savior from a modest life and an endless penance. He would bring pride and peace back to his family and rebuild what the war had taken.
He had difficulty understanding abstract thinkers and free spirits. They were impulsive, perverse and lawless. Their homes were built on shaky ground and challenged the very core of his upbringing.
Without roots, how could a tree bear fruition?
The dreamers blew with the wind and would blow away for good, if God would grant him just one wish. Staring into the eyes of their nomadic souls generated disdain. He could see the shadowy reflection of a people destitute for harder times.
Rand knew his truth.
+++
No war compared to the cancerous battle being fought between middle school walls. Self-discovery, hormones and coupling brought the sheep face-to-face with vampire wolves. Teenage minds would hemorrhage on homework and drama alone. The intimidation and arrogance of the older classes only exasperated the need for a strong defense, cronies and a myriad of exit strategies. The short-lived reign of an 8 th grade bravado allotted them an excuse to spray paint their insecurities and retribution upon defenseless lockers, projecting immeasurable fear upon underlings.
Nervous, the song remained the same and shielded my virgin heart. Music was the key and my future peers, the gatekeepers. Hours of practice and the gluttonous ingestion of rock iconoclasts equipped me with the required vocabulary for initiation. Like-minded individuals found me and connected. Bullish sports were of no consequence. I dabbled. My immediate peer group consisted of: Punks, rockers, nerds and freaks.
As for love?
I had a mysterious and romantic interest in intelligent
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