miserably clinging
to things not at stake
you deny your in the basement.
buried so deep
you cannot see
what you’ve never had
thinking
the flicker of your candles flame
is equal to my sun.
The basement has become my home. My solidarity beneath the world above. It is my hiding place, comfortably lying beneath lives being lived. And I’ll stay here, shying from the sun and shining in the night.
downstairs theres a place where its dark and musty. 2 inches of water covers the floor. mysteries are down there. old creations by your parents banished to the depths.
cold dark and damp. i’m here and i don’t know how to get out. it’s stifling. it’s scary. but i’m also not as terrified as i think i should be. somehow, it’s freeing, being here alone with my thoughts. somehow the darkness isn’t as dark as the one that i encounter above ground. with the people who don’t hear me screaming, although i’m screaming as loud as i can.
i have a basement. its dark, but i like going down there. it’s cold, but i like going down there. it makes me feel lonely though. it’s like hell, but its a frozen hell. i like my basement
The basement was dark and musty. It was filled with relics of a time gone by. Dolls that had been well-loved, rugs covered in dust, and silver picture frames that were tarnished with age.
the stairs seem to strech on for ever into a deep hell. Te blackness streches on forever I take two steps down the creaking stairs and run back up slam the door and swear never to enter the corridor to hell again.
We don’t have a basement. I’ve always wanted a basement, but at the same time I think I’d be terrified of them because of all the horror movies I watch. But still, it’s be pretty awesome to have a basement, as long as it wasn’t haunted or anything.
dark and deep. cold and wet. we ran to the basement and hid from the people trying to get us. it took a while for us to catch our breath. fear overcame our body. each sense stoood at attention waitng for the evil to come upon us. with every inhale and exhale my mind inflated
In my basement there are a number of different items with a single sliding glass door and attaching garage i store most of my stuff there and I really kind of consider it my domain
Ms. Potts welcomed her guest into the formal living room. They exchanged pleasantries and sipped hot tea. Little did her guest know that beneath the same floorboards where he rested his feet, a deranged woman sat trapped. In fact, the veneer of civility that Ms. Potts worked so hard to preserve depended on her ability to keep the hostage in the basement a secret from civil society.
basements hold secrets and lies and death. this is where many serial killers have committed their crimes. basements are also storage spots for families
they’re rooms
they serve lots of purposes.
bahhh 60 seconds is so short
base-baseball
ment-meant
baseball meant serial killers storage
as she opened the door and stared down into the intimidating darkness that laid beyond it, she thought to herself, theres no need to worry, theres always a light switch.
in the basement there lurked the dark. he’d been living there his whole life, but now at 37 it finally seemed like he might have overstayed his welcome. The furnace had always complained, and the mice didn’t get along with him, but all in all it was an ok place.
I came home from work when I heard a noise in my basement, I thought my dog had gotten in the basement again and was bumping into things. I entered the basement calling my dogs name when a man grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming.
There’s monsters in basements, I think. Like big green slimy ones. I think of like lots of dirt and dust and monsters, also. Just lots of monsters. We had a squirrel in our basement once. He was furry and squirrel-ish. Yup. I wanna have a party in my basement, but there’s too much dirt and like a dead mouse and stuff
The basement door creaked shut behind me as I continued to walk down the stairs. I felt along the wall as I walked down, for the switch. I found it, and switched it on, the bare bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling throwing all the tumble of junk that’s appreciated throughout the years in harsh lighting.
Sighing, I began rumbling. My old journal had to be in her somewhere, I’m sure. It just had to be, I’m sure I threw it down here last week.
those things we did in your basement, they’ll never leave my dreams. all those moments, all those tears, all those memories. all those things that happened in your basement, they’re with me for life. all those laughs all those videos all those random words. all the awkwardness all the hugs all the mysterious looks. with me for life, with me in your basement.
brad pitt says you should never pick a fight in a basement
in that tennessee accent
and the disturbing moustache
i want that cookie in the basement
moist and damp
not crispy
as it should be
crispy like diane kruger’s golden blond hair
fixed in place with hairspray
in that movie
that wonderful movie
inglourious basterds.
it started when i was a little kid. the basement.. the scariest place in the house. I would not step foot in there even if i was being chased by a 19 some foot octopus with knives and such. why??? because THEY are in there…
it was easily my greatest fear, the dark. completely understandable from the eyes of millions but completely irrational to my family. The basement was festering with this fear of mine. one that time and time again has controlled me.
the word basement is usually associated with bad things but basement makes me happy because i think of sleepovers with my best friends and being young and care free. I think of summers at lindsays, coming out of the pool, putting on plaid pj pants and watching hours of bad tv.
A basement is the sort of place wherein one puts such undesirable things as old laundry, giveaways, and other such things which most people simply do not like being around on the average basis. It is, however, also a place where one may put such invaluable things as priceless jewelry, family heirlooms, and things which they do not ever wish to lose.
Such a quandary produces a strange but essential paradox in terms of how we should think about the basement. It is a merger of the unwanted and the unforgettable, a time capsule if you will. And while it houses some things we wish to forget or to always remember, the basement is an interesting thing indeed.
some say cellar, i say basement. The NY Mets know the basement well, as Robert Mondavi knows the Cellar. My wife says things are “down cellar?” I don’t get it, things are in the basement, learn the language.
There was a creaking of light into the old basement as Stella walked down the rickety stairs. The door slamming shut by the wind behind her startled her and she spun around, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she then continued down the stairs in order to look for the switch to the light hanging in the centre of the room which she knew to be at the bottom of the stairs.
we dragged a shopvac across the basement floor, trying to drain some of the water seeping through the walls, the well, the ground, from the saturated earth in the rainstorm.
Dark, dingy, tasting like ash and cough syrup. The basement, door on the outside leading to the inside. Hate that basement, the light bulb doesn’t light nothing but the corners and everything else turns to shadows. Mysterious. There’s a lot to be said for a basement,I’m not sure what though.
I just checked the basement. Everyone else says it’s really disturbing – but I sort of like the creepy aesthetic. There’s something about the low-lit, concrete, open-pipe hallway that, while it seems like it could well be the set of a horror scene, is also appealing. Why, though? I don’t know.
my sister and I used to play in the basement as children all the time because it was the coolest place in the house. We had alot of arguments due to boredom nad child mannerisms. Still the nintendo 64 stand out most clearly next to the fire place down there.
i left a letter in the fuse box addressed to future tenants, and even through the carpet my floor was always cold. i covered the bare walls in magazine cutouts and i hung black fabric from the high, small window. i like the dark. i like sleeping with my window open, hearing the rain and the birds and the leaves dancing. i like the simplicity of night time, except when i can’t sleep.
She never went down into the basement. There she said it. She was scared. Not for what she didn’t know was down there but for what she knew was down there. Memories. And that was something that she could never face.
basment, um cold dark place, full of fun and adventure, Basment. Cold and wet damp scary failed place of adventure, what next. MOnsters under the stairs, i dont think so. not here not now, maybe another time. Basment.
the basement is cold and unfinished. there is wood to the furnace stacked in one corner, tools in the other, handmade cabinets. It smells distinct. Like my childhood. What some may describe as dank, I call peaceful.
a basement can be an adults own treasure chest. it can be full of many unexpected and forgotten objects. Maybe something one thought they lost, only to discover it was never actually gone, only hidden behind the cobwebs and dusty old books. Like losing a loved one, they’re only gone in the physical manor, remaining a memory stored in the back one’s mind, maybe hidden behind the memory of some other aspect of their life. These objects, foreseen as memories scattered in one’s basement are merely “buried” below the surface one walks on everyday, memories buried by the current moment one’s living in..
miserably clinging
to things not at stake
you deny your in the basement.
buried so deep
you cannot see
what you’ve never had
thinking
the flicker of your candles flame
is equal to my sun.
In the basement of my heart I keep a dark secret. I keep it locked away to keep my family and friends safe. It wants out.
The basement has become my home. My solidarity beneath the world above. It is my hiding place, comfortably lying beneath lives being lived. And I’ll stay here, shying from the sun and shining in the night.
Arizona doesn’t build houses with basements. Do you think it is because they are afraid of what they will find down there later?
…
downstairs theres a place where its dark and musty. 2 inches of water covers the floor. mysteries are down there. old creations by your parents banished to the depths.
cold dark and damp. i’m here and i don’t know how to get out. it’s stifling. it’s scary. but i’m also not as terrified as i think i should be. somehow, it’s freeing, being here alone with my thoughts. somehow the darkness isn’t as dark as the one that i encounter above ground. with the people who don’t hear me screaming, although i’m screaming as loud as i can.
i have a basement. its dark, but i like going down there. it’s cold, but i like going down there. it makes me feel lonely though. it’s like hell, but its a frozen hell. i like my basement
The basement was dark and musty. It was filled with relics of a time gone by. Dolls that had been well-loved, rugs covered in dust, and silver picture frames that were tarnished with age.
the stairs seem to strech on for ever into a deep hell. Te blackness streches on forever I take two steps down the creaking stairs and run back up slam the door and swear never to enter the corridor to hell again.
We don’t have a basement. I’ve always wanted a basement, but at the same time I think I’d be terrified of them because of all the horror movies I watch. But still, it’s be pretty awesome to have a basement, as long as it wasn’t haunted or anything.
dark and deep. cold and wet. we ran to the basement and hid from the people trying to get us. it took a while for us to catch our breath. fear overcame our body. each sense stoood at attention waitng for the evil to come upon us. with every inhale and exhale my mind inflated
In my basement there are a number of different items with a single sliding glass door and attaching garage i store most of my stuff there and I really kind of consider it my domain
Ms. Potts welcomed her guest into the formal living room. They exchanged pleasantries and sipped hot tea. Little did her guest know that beneath the same floorboards where he rested his feet, a deranged woman sat trapped. In fact, the veneer of civility that Ms. Potts worked so hard to preserve depended on her ability to keep the hostage in the basement a secret from civil society.
basements hold secrets and lies and death. this is where many serial killers have committed their crimes. basements are also storage spots for families
they’re rooms
they serve lots of purposes.
bahhh 60 seconds is so short
base-baseball
ment-meant
baseball meant serial killers storage
as she opened the door and stared down into the intimidating darkness that laid beyond it, she thought to herself, theres no need to worry, theres always a light switch.
in the basement there lurked the dark. he’d been living there his whole life, but now at 37 it finally seemed like he might have overstayed his welcome. The furnace had always complained, and the mice didn’t get along with him, but all in all it was an ok place.
I came home from work when I heard a noise in my basement, I thought my dog had gotten in the basement again and was bumping into things. I entered the basement calling my dogs name when a man grabbed me and put his hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming.
There’s monsters in basements, I think. Like big green slimy ones. I think of like lots of dirt and dust and monsters, also. Just lots of monsters. We had a squirrel in our basement once. He was furry and squirrel-ish. Yup. I wanna have a party in my basement, but there’s too much dirt and like a dead mouse and stuff
The basement door creaked shut behind me as I continued to walk down the stairs. I felt along the wall as I walked down, for the switch. I found it, and switched it on, the bare bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling throwing all the tumble of junk that’s appreciated throughout the years in harsh lighting.
Sighing, I began rumbling. My old journal had to be in her somewhere, I’m sure. It just had to be, I’m sure I threw it down here last week.
those things we did in your basement, they’ll never leave my dreams. all those moments, all those tears, all those memories. all those things that happened in your basement, they’re with me for life. all those laughs all those videos all those random words. all the awkwardness all the hugs all the mysterious looks. with me for life, with me in your basement.
brad pitt says you should never pick a fight in a basement
in that tennessee accent
and the disturbing moustache
i want that cookie in the basement
moist and damp
not crispy
as it should be
crispy like diane kruger’s golden blond hair
fixed in place with hairspray
in that movie
that wonderful movie
inglourious basterds.
it started when i was a little kid. the basement.. the scariest place in the house. I would not step foot in there even if i was being chased by a 19 some foot octopus with knives and such. why??? because THEY are in there…
dusty, smelly, musty, disgusting. the place where murderers hide the body. a hole you throw money into and where your kids lose their virginity.
it was easily my greatest fear, the dark. completely understandable from the eyes of millions but completely irrational to my family. The basement was festering with this fear of mine. one that time and time again has controlled me.
the word basement is usually associated with bad things but basement makes me happy because i think of sleepovers with my best friends and being young and care free. I think of summers at lindsays, coming out of the pool, putting on plaid pj pants and watching hours of bad tv.
creepy
dark
dingy
cold
musty
moldy
cement
cluttered
crumbling
deteriorating
ancient
My Basement :/
A basement is the sort of place wherein one puts such undesirable things as old laundry, giveaways, and other such things which most people simply do not like being around on the average basis. It is, however, also a place where one may put such invaluable things as priceless jewelry, family heirlooms, and things which they do not ever wish to lose.
Such a quandary produces a strange but essential paradox in terms of how we should think about the basement. It is a merger of the unwanted and the unforgettable, a time capsule if you will. And while it houses some things we wish to forget or to always remember, the basement is an interesting thing indeed.
some say cellar, i say basement. The NY Mets know the basement well, as Robert Mondavi knows the Cellar. My wife says things are “down cellar?” I don’t get it, things are in the basement, learn the language.
There was a creaking of light into the old basement as Stella walked down the rickety stairs. The door slamming shut by the wind behind her startled her and she spun around, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she then continued down the stairs in order to look for the switch to the light hanging in the centre of the room which she knew to be at the bottom of the stairs.
we dragged a shopvac across the basement floor, trying to drain some of the water seeping through the walls, the well, the ground, from the saturated earth in the rainstorm.
Dark, dingy, tasting like ash and cough syrup. The basement, door on the outside leading to the inside. Hate that basement, the light bulb doesn’t light nothing but the corners and everything else turns to shadows. Mysterious. There’s a lot to be said for a basement,I’m not sure what though.
I just checked the basement. Everyone else says it’s really disturbing – but I sort of like the creepy aesthetic. There’s something about the low-lit, concrete, open-pipe hallway that, while it seems like it could well be the set of a horror scene, is also appealing. Why, though? I don’t know.
my sister and I used to play in the basement as children all the time because it was the coolest place in the house. We had alot of arguments due to boredom nad child mannerisms. Still the nintendo 64 stand out most clearly next to the fire place down there.
i left a letter in the fuse box addressed to future tenants, and even through the carpet my floor was always cold. i covered the bare walls in magazine cutouts and i hung black fabric from the high, small window. i like the dark. i like sleeping with my window open, hearing the rain and the birds and the leaves dancing. i like the simplicity of night time, except when i can’t sleep.
She never went down into the basement. There she said it. She was scared. Not for what she didn’t know was down there but for what she knew was down there. Memories. And that was something that she could never face.
basment, um cold dark place, full of fun and adventure, Basment. Cold and wet damp scary failed place of adventure, what next. MOnsters under the stairs, i dont think so. not here not now, maybe another time. Basment.
the basement is cold and unfinished. there is wood to the furnace stacked in one corner, tools in the other, handmade cabinets. It smells distinct. Like my childhood. What some may describe as dank, I call peaceful.
the simplest type of candy flavor.
a basement can be an adults own treasure chest. it can be full of many unexpected and forgotten objects. Maybe something one thought they lost, only to discover it was never actually gone, only hidden behind the cobwebs and dusty old books. Like losing a loved one, they’re only gone in the physical manor, remaining a memory stored in the back one’s mind, maybe hidden behind the memory of some other aspect of their life. These objects, foreseen as memories scattered in one’s basement are merely “buried” below the surface one walks on everyday, memories buried by the current moment one’s living in..