a barber is someone with stripes. red and white and spinning. and someone who smells of shaving cream, white and fluffy. sharp like the end of a razor, clean, prickly. dry, needing moister. a male. a place to talk and converse. by my favorite antique store called round the corner.
the man walked into the dark shop, the floor dusty, the assistent wizened, the instruments gleaming in vague, smouldering light from translucent windows.
red and white, purple, old men, buzzer, leather swivel chairs, cut hair, shave faces, lavender and grey, or is it gray???? how do you spell that word?! why am i doing this? what’s going to happen at the end of 60 seconds??
its where people get their hair cut, and people talk. its all about gossip, and learning. in the fifties people would go there for fun, just to be somewhere. its history. people don’t go to barbers anymore. they go to get their hair done, and its some stupid impersonal thing. its not like it used to be.
hello. my name is nell. how are you? i dont go to barbers because im a girl and they would chop all my hair off. la dee daaaaaaa. i like to sing. do you? its fun. but im not actually singing right now. barber. barder. man. pan. barber shop quartets? yes, thats what i said. cool shit.
A quick trim off the top was all he asked for, and a quick trim off the top was all I gave him. As I looked at the banal creation I called a haircut, I sighed slowly, walking through the door in the back of the shop to sharpen my blades and dull my mind.
I just want you to be quiet and cut my hair. I want to sit here and stare into my own face in the mirror, watching the hair fall from your scissors. But you will not be silent. You chatter, tell me about your children, ask me about my wife. I am clenching my jaw.
i went to the barber this morning. always a way to get some good gossip. this time, the hairdresser told me that the preacher’s daughter was the girl down at the high school who went and got pregnant. kids these days. or it could just be gossip from the barber
red blue white, hairy, men, sopranos, italy. makes me think of jersey shore, or the barber in back of my old house. my best friend hannah, all the summer days we spent outside… good times. happiness. youth
I like going to the barber, I always end up leaving with a new hairstyle. Whether it’s a different color in my hair, or a different cut or something. I always feel so good when I leave the barber because I have a brand new hair style and I love it! :)
What is there to say about a barber?
I mean, really.
Barber’s ultimately don’t exist where I come from.
Why would they
when the finest haircut in town
comes from the Great Clips
next to the obtrusive
Walmart that reigns
on the isolated slab of
concrete.
Boy, do I love going to the barber. Every few weeks my momma pokes her head out from behind her books and yells at me, “GO GET YER HAIRCUT!” and then she gives me a nickel, and I run down there so so so fast. I walk in and just take in all that fresh smelling shampoo. Walking in I just feel clean and fresh already!
The barber shop is the place where men go to get their hair cut. It is the subject of a recent still life/landscape I painted. It reminds me of older men who have lived long, interesting lives, and who have great stories to tell.
He cuts and cuts and cuts as it grows and grows and grows. He thinks that I’ll have it forever – what a greedy bastard. I won’t. I know it, he knows it; the whole world knows it. They talk and quaff and jive and live but I sit and watch myself drift down in clumps and bunches, scorned and burned against my frozen linoleum hell.
cutting hair, lots of customers, can be a friend, down the street, someone you trust, a barber works at a barber shop where men meet to discuss current events.
The barber held the blade. Gently. Like a woman’s hand. Held it like he was going to wed it. Then sliced. His eyes lit up like the glint of the metal as it cut a fine line across the mirror. He left the solitude of his parlor and walked into the night.
I went to the barber today, it was fine. The barber, Henry I think, gave me the best trim of my life. He cut it smooth all around, and not patchy like most barbers new to the scene. I liked this place. Maybe I’ll go back.
At a shop. I stopped at a place that I did not think was special at all. I just stopped and I did not know when I had stopped before now. Maybe I have always been going and going and going. How many things have i missed and how many different opportunities always pass me by. Is this special? What is in this barber shop? maybe i should keep going…
they like to cut hair and they are sometime not very good at it. it doesnt seem as if it would take much skill but you’d be shocked that it actually does. just like cooking, not everyone can cook. or not everyone know hows to. but cooking is more simple that cutting hair because all you have to do is follow a recipe..how do u mess that up?! just what the recipe calls for, mix it up and then put it in the over for ever how long and DONE! boom, bam surprise now you’re eating good..
I remember I watched this one movie (lost of famous actors and actresses) about that barber that totally kills people and bakes them into pies. I’m pretty sure it was based on that opera “The Barber of Seville” but I don’t recall. Other barber stuff? Well, my brothers went to the same barber for most of their lives; he would always give us Tootsie Pops at the end of the visit.
did you ever wonder if they ever wanna screw someone’s hair up on purpose? maybe cause the guys a dousche and never leaves a good tip, or maybe cause some people are just straight up assholes. I wonder if they cut their own hair.. probably not cause how would you do the back? i don’t know much about them cause i’m a girl. oh well. whatever. bye.
classic shops and poles and beautiful four-part harmonies and barbasol and shaving lotion straight razors and classic men and everything I want
stuble oh god please let me have that
shaving cream, that blue stuffthey put combs in
it’s manly, so manly, only black capes, no hair cut books
he shines your shoes
it’s classic it’s beautiful barbers are fantastic sweeney todd? I don’t know
it’s wonderful and I love it please
They’re pretty awesome. I mean, they have to be the most social people in town. It’s like… They know so much because people LOVE talking about themselves. And barbers have to listen. So, they learn so much about people, their lives, and all of the things… It’s just like the outside looking in. But a barber. Hair’s also pretty cool. You know? It keeps growing…
I am my own barber. I swear, the last time I went to get my hair done was years ago. Barbers meet lots of people, they see lots of faces and of course, lots of hair. So do they remember me? Well, I’ll remember me. I hope.
All I want is for my hair to be long. The barber is my enemy. All he wants is to chop it all off. Bob. Layers. Bald. DEATH. Long luscious locks are all I want. So therefore I keep far away from the barber. Sorry, man.
The barber shop just sat there over across the street like an abanonded building. I knew that it was though because every once and while you’d see some man walk in or some old lady with a new perm walk out. But the way it looked always gave me the willies, with it’s chipping pain and all that.
The more he saw her the more she wore at is heart, etching away the coldness, the bitterness, like a barber, precisely removing the unwanted, leaving only soft perfection behind.
When I think of barber shops i think of those red and white poles outside the shop. They used to freak me out when I was a little kid, I didn’t like the way they spun. There is a barber shop down the street from my house, but its for ‘natural’ hair care, like for black people. It has a big mirror in the window, and I wish I had a reason to go o\in there to get my own hair done. I just want to sit in the big chair in the window and feel like I belong there.
He raised an eyebrow, but true to his word, said nothing. As always, he worked quickly–before long she was staring at her own reflection in the mirror, marveling at that bald head.
Barber? An interesting word. Barbers and hair stylists are a lot alike, but with wildly differing public images. I don’t really know what to make of it. Stylists are generally seen as feminine, I guess, with barbers the masculine equal. But in an increasingly metrosexual society, can barbers still be loved?
The music from the barber shop floated out through the open window. She sat on the curb, thinking, always thinking. She wished that she didn’t have to think anymore. Her mind ran around in circles, chasing one possibility and then the next. Thinking made everything so complicated. As she let the soft tunes from the barber shop flow over her, she got up and decided to think less and live more. She started walking. Her next stop was somewhere she hoped and wished she would be welcomed.
Red, white and swirling blue outside the shabby urban shop. It belonged in country, but obviously it was lost.
My dad came back from that barbershop once with a crooked haircut. It was buzzed at different lengths along the sides of his head.
My barber looks like Sweeney Todd. This makes me very scared. I could very well be made into pie. Or cake. Or chicken noodle soup. I run out of the barber shop, cringing at my ridiculousness.
there was a barber and his wife,,,and he was beautiful…
I love that musical. I want to play a character in it and die.
I have only been to a hairdresser’s once in my life, and they didn’t have the white and red barber’s striped pole thing that you always see in movies—it was kinda disappointing.
Every one knew about the shop. The shop that lies on mcgrove street. No one wanted to go in because when someone did, they never came back out. The shop was the barber shop. People would ask for a trim, but end up with their heads off.
the barber. Twisty and red and white thing with glass and metal. I walk down the stree, suburbia, and see the glimpse of sun off the metal, metal. The silver metal on the top of the swirly thing. What is it called? I dont know. How knows. Its a barber swirl.
a barber is someone with stripes. red and white and spinning. and someone who smells of shaving cream, white and fluffy. sharp like the end of a razor, clean, prickly. dry, needing moister. a male. a place to talk and converse. by my favorite antique store called round the corner.
the man walked into the dark shop, the floor dusty, the assistent wizened, the instruments gleaming in vague, smouldering light from translucent windows.
red and white, purple, old men, buzzer, leather swivel chairs, cut hair, shave faces, lavender and grey, or is it gray???? how do you spell that word?! why am i doing this? what’s going to happen at the end of 60 seconds??
A barber shop is where men go to get their hair cut. I can’t help but think about Johnny Depp and his musical.
its where people get their hair cut, and people talk. its all about gossip, and learning. in the fifties people would go there for fun, just to be somewhere. its history. people don’t go to barbers anymore. they go to get their hair done, and its some stupid impersonal thing. its not like it used to be.
hello. my name is nell. how are you? i dont go to barbers because im a girl and they would chop all my hair off. la dee daaaaaaa. i like to sing. do you? its fun. but im not actually singing right now. barber. barder. man. pan. barber shop quartets? yes, thats what i said. cool shit.
barber cuts my hair
snip, snip
and long black snow floats to the ground, warm and solid
never melting
old radio plays old radio songs
and outside, the blue, red, and white cane is spinning in the frosty air, possibly sporting a raven on top.
snip snip,
I spin in my revolving chair,
pumping myself up and down
While the man who knows the business
cleans his scissors
A quick trim off the top was all he asked for, and a quick trim off the top was all I gave him. As I looked at the banal creation I called a haircut, I sighed slowly, walking through the door in the back of the shop to sharpen my blades and dull my mind.
I just want you to be quiet and cut my hair. I want to sit here and stare into my own face in the mirror, watching the hair fall from your scissors. But you will not be silent. You chatter, tell me about your children, ask me about my wife. I am clenching my jaw.
i went to the barber this morning. always a way to get some good gossip. this time, the hairdresser told me that the preacher’s daughter was the girl down at the high school who went and got pregnant. kids these days. or it could just be gossip from the barber
red blue white, hairy, men, sopranos, italy. makes me think of jersey shore, or the barber in back of my old house. my best friend hannah, all the summer days we spent outside… good times. happiness. youth
I like going to the barber, I always end up leaving with a new hairstyle. Whether it’s a different color in my hair, or a different cut or something. I always feel so good when I leave the barber because I have a brand new hair style and I love it! :)
What is there to say about a barber?
I mean, really.
Barber’s ultimately don’t exist where I come from.
Why would they
when the finest haircut in town
comes from the Great Clips
next to the obtrusive
Walmart that reigns
on the isolated slab of
concrete.
Boy, do I love going to the barber. Every few weeks my momma pokes her head out from behind her books and yells at me, “GO GET YER HAIRCUT!” and then she gives me a nickel, and I run down there so so so fast. I walk in and just take in all that fresh smelling shampoo. Walking in I just feel clean and fresh already!
The barber shop is the place where men go to get their hair cut. It is the subject of a recent still life/landscape I painted. It reminds me of older men who have lived long, interesting lives, and who have great stories to tell.
He cuts and cuts and cuts as it grows and grows and grows. He thinks that I’ll have it forever – what a greedy bastard. I won’t. I know it, he knows it; the whole world knows it. They talk and quaff and jive and live but I sit and watch myself drift down in clumps and bunches, scorned and burned against my frozen linoleum hell.
cutting hair, lots of customers, can be a friend, down the street, someone you trust, a barber works at a barber shop where men meet to discuss current events.
The barber held the blade. Gently. Like a woman’s hand. Held it like he was going to wed it. Then sliced. His eyes lit up like the glint of the metal as it cut a fine line across the mirror. He left the solitude of his parlor and walked into the night.
I went to the barber today, it was fine. The barber, Henry I think, gave me the best trim of my life. He cut it smooth all around, and not patchy like most barbers new to the scene. I liked this place. Maybe I’ll go back.
At a shop. I stopped at a place that I did not think was special at all. I just stopped and I did not know when I had stopped before now. Maybe I have always been going and going and going. How many things have i missed and how many different opportunities always pass me by. Is this special? What is in this barber shop? maybe i should keep going…
they like to cut hair and they are sometime not very good at it. it doesnt seem as if it would take much skill but you’d be shocked that it actually does. just like cooking, not everyone can cook. or not everyone know hows to. but cooking is more simple that cutting hair because all you have to do is follow a recipe..how do u mess that up?! just what the recipe calls for, mix it up and then put it in the over for ever how long and DONE! boom, bam surprise now you’re eating good..
I remember I watched this one movie (lost of famous actors and actresses) about that barber that totally kills people and bakes them into pies. I’m pretty sure it was based on that opera “The Barber of Seville” but I don’t recall. Other barber stuff? Well, my brothers went to the same barber for most of their lives; he would always give us Tootsie Pops at the end of the visit.
did you ever wonder if they ever wanna screw someone’s hair up on purpose? maybe cause the guys a dousche and never leaves a good tip, or maybe cause some people are just straight up assholes. I wonder if they cut their own hair.. probably not cause how would you do the back? i don’t know much about them cause i’m a girl. oh well. whatever. bye.
Sweeney Todd is probably the most famous and only famous barber alive. There’s not much else to say about that.
There was a barber in the town where I grew up, and all the kids would drop by and see him almost everyday, and he would always give out lollipops.
classic shops and poles and beautiful four-part harmonies and barbasol and shaving lotion straight razors and classic men and everything I want
stuble oh god please let me have that
shaving cream, that blue stuffthey put combs in
it’s manly, so manly, only black capes, no hair cut books
he shines your shoes
it’s classic it’s beautiful barbers are fantastic sweeney todd? I don’t know
it’s wonderful and I love it please
They’re pretty awesome. I mean, they have to be the most social people in town. It’s like… They know so much because people LOVE talking about themselves. And barbers have to listen. So, they learn so much about people, their lives, and all of the things… It’s just like the outside looking in. But a barber. Hair’s also pretty cool. You know? It keeps growing…
I am my own barber. I swear, the last time I went to get my hair done was years ago. Barbers meet lots of people, they see lots of faces and of course, lots of hair. So do they remember me? Well, I’ll remember me. I hope.
All I want is for my hair to be long. The barber is my enemy. All he wants is to chop it all off. Bob. Layers. Bald. DEATH. Long luscious locks are all I want. So therefore I keep far away from the barber. Sorry, man.
The barber shop just sat there over across the street like an abanonded building. I knew that it was though because every once and while you’d see some man walk in or some old lady with a new perm walk out. But the way it looked always gave me the willies, with it’s chipping pain and all that.
The more he saw her the more she wore at is heart, etching away the coldness, the bitterness, like a barber, precisely removing the unwanted, leaving only soft perfection behind.
When I think of barber shops i think of those red and white poles outside the shop. They used to freak me out when I was a little kid, I didn’t like the way they spun. There is a barber shop down the street from my house, but its for ‘natural’ hair care, like for black people. It has a big mirror in the window, and I wish I had a reason to go o\in there to get my own hair done. I just want to sit in the big chair in the window and feel like I belong there.
“Take it all off.”
He raised an eyebrow, but true to his word, said nothing. As always, he worked quickly–before long she was staring at her own reflection in the mirror, marveling at that bald head.
Barber? An interesting word. Barbers and hair stylists are a lot alike, but with wildly differing public images. I don’t really know what to make of it. Stylists are generally seen as feminine, I guess, with barbers the masculine equal. But in an increasingly metrosexual society, can barbers still be loved?
The music from the barber shop floated out through the open window. She sat on the curb, thinking, always thinking. She wished that she didn’t have to think anymore. Her mind ran around in circles, chasing one possibility and then the next. Thinking made everything so complicated. As she let the soft tunes from the barber shop flow over her, she got up and decided to think less and live more. She started walking. Her next stop was somewhere she hoped and wished she would be welcomed.
Red, white and swirling blue outside the shabby urban shop. It belonged in country, but obviously it was lost.
My dad came back from that barbershop once with a crooked haircut. It was buzzed at different lengths along the sides of his head.
My barber looks like Sweeney Todd. This makes me very scared. I could very well be made into pie. Or cake. Or chicken noodle soup. I run out of the barber shop, cringing at my ridiculousness.
there was a barber and his wife,,,and he was beautiful…
I love that musical. I want to play a character in it and die.
I have only been to a hairdresser’s once in my life, and they didn’t have the white and red barber’s striped pole thing that you always see in movies—it was kinda disappointing.
Every one knew about the shop. The shop that lies on mcgrove street. No one wanted to go in because when someone did, they never came back out. The shop was the barber shop. People would ask for a trim, but end up with their heads off.
the barber. Twisty and red and white thing with glass and metal. I walk down the stree, suburbia, and see the glimpse of sun off the metal, metal. The silver metal on the top of the swirly thing. What is it called? I dont know. How knows. Its a barber swirl.