My mother cooked with me once, a rare occasion that I even more rarely treasured, and introduced me to a new word – bleen. Not bland, but not quite flavourful. It’s a word I still use to this day, one of the few sensible things my mother ever said.
bland. bland people are the ones who conform
i was born this way
the fashion lover
the irritable
the sister
the friend
the crazy one
the calm one
the everything one
and you know what?
im a whole lot happier than when I was a popular, abercrombie and fitch wearing girl
He was a bland guy. Everybody was talking about him in superlatives, he was the best, the cutest, the nicest guy you would ever meet. But there was a little problem with him, he was just a profile on facebook, person I created to check people stupidity, unfortunately they are not smarter than monkeys.
This food is incredibly bland. I can only work for food that does not spoil. Food that is fresh and vibrant. That feeds more than your physical hunger. That points to an insatiable hunger of the soul. Now that is something to chew on. For eternity.
I can’t taste it – Only feel that smooth, slick, sleek, sliminess slurping down my throat. It only lives in textures and the mean things it inflicts on skin. It tastes like nothing, like lollipop wrapper skins, whatever those are.
I swallow it up, whole, like fucking onion paper. Mmm, there. I guess my duty is done. Onto the real food, that chewy, crispy, goddess goodness.
As white as a piece of paper, his pallid state
gave one the feeling of a wall of steel, leaving
nothing to penetrate his quiet stare
boring its hole into her mind.
That how my life feels today. Steeped in work and somehow missed the minute of Oregon Winter sunshine that I could have used for a delicious vitamin D walk.
food is sometimes bland…sometimes so bland you don’t want to eat it…i have to admit that rarely happens with me…i like food generally speaking…i will try new things but am wary also
Sharply creased tan and blue. Quaker in nature and covered in cotton wool. Black and white whit. Building blocks of perfection. Mere seats for the spunk. But no seat like the tattered threads and bad design of his comfortable origins. Here he realized the mistake in a choice for bland.
the food tasted of nothing. Mush, goo, it was just an empty texture in her mouth. She winced as she swallowed, wishing there was something else to eat. If she wanted to stay alive she’d have to get used to it though. As she turned this over in her mind, the bland food seemed to disappear a little quicker.
I picked up a forkful of aparagus off my plate, only putting it in my mouth to be polite. i chewed it up and swallowed, trying not to grimace. It was the only thing with any flavor at all, the rest of the food was tasteless and bland, and it was awful. Who even served asparagus at a meal to to celebrate homecoming? Across the table, Will sat, the sour expression on his face suggesting that he, too, had just tried the asparagus. I fought down a giggle as he shot me a quick glance and pretended to gag. “William. That is no way to behave at the table. Where have you come from? the streets?” Mrs. Motfey chastized, a comment that was quite insensitive considering Will’s background. “Why, yes.” responded Will casually, “Is that where the food came from, as well?” He asked, his face completely strait. I nearly choked trying not to laugh.
2008. That was the summer she could only bring herself to eat bland foods. Celery and brown rice were her main staples. No dressings or dips. No sauces or even salt. The smell of almost anything else made her completely nauseous. Then, she started working in a restaurant.
It was a very colorful taste at first. But things change over time. Now they say that tigers change their stripes, but that is not true. It’s the difference between changing the stripes all together or simply changing the stripe formation, or position. But her man had become bland, and her idea of love had become tasteless. Not every tiger changes their stripes, but there is a first for everything.
I’m so tired that sometimes everything seems bland. Not just the events, but the actual world takes on a hazy, half there half not taint to it. Like eating white rice that’s been mixed with brown, a strange combination of two different types of bland that create the practical epitome of blandness.
blah blah blah”, came from his mouth as I tried to tell him how much I loved him. How much I cared for him. but he was too selfish and only wanted to be loved by himself… this sandwich is dry.
the soggy bread tasted bland on my tongue. i knew this was for god, but does that mean it had to taste like nothing? i didn’t think so. luckily, the grape juice they reserved for children came next and I gulped that down so fast and said, in the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost.
Bland like the look you gave me every early morning, like chapel and their whole-grain oatmeal eyes. Bland is perfection and everything that could never be worth anything more than ordinary pocket lint.
Bland is not usually a good thing to be. Often applied to food, but the first thing that came to my mind was people: bland people are dull, but also fairly inoffensive. Just depends on what you like, I guess.
The taste in your mouth after a guy you like pretty much dismisses your existence. The look of utter disappointed and judgement from your friends for behaving irrationally…..allllll the time.
I made a face as Rita watched me eat her pickles.
“It has to taste.” I announced putting it back down. “I’d rather have strawberries.” Rita didn’t look offended at my blunt accusation, but William looked rather pleased he wasn’t the one who had to say it.
the bland taste of indifference. the bland, bland taste. why they pretend to care, i do not know.
the bland taste of sincere caring and yet complete ignorance. the bland, bland taste. it does not take away the bitter taste of pain.
everything is bland, especially when there is pain already on one’s tongue.
Blank face. Glazed eyes. A man who had been a Vietnam vet, Fox News watcher, eating his SPAM and Vienna sausages. Wonder bread. Mundane, bland things to save him from the agony of his power over life, and his own mortality.
The sky is gray and the wind is still.
Nothing is growing and the colors of the world are dull.
I miss the beautiful scents that fill the air.
Where is the sun that once warmed my skin?
This time of year, the Earth is bland.
my mind is blank. everything is in a state of blandness. i dont know what to think or do. and every time i try to think, my brain stalls out. no, i lied. it isnt blank. its filled with that horrid, imposing phrase “what if….what if….what if…?”
My tongue clicked as I tasted the bland sauce for the third time. “Needs more… salt. Actually, needs more flavor in general.” My sous chef (my mom) gave me a mean look, “this recipe’s been in the family for decades and here you are trying to get fancy and tweak it.”
the food tasted bland. It had for a while, if he was being honest with himself. It wasnt just food. It was everything. Life had turned bland after she had left.
“which one?” he asked quietly. I was surprised to hear him speak, he was usually silent and his thoughts floating off into space, while he was trying to catch them and transform them into something that we could all understand.
“the blue one please,” I answered with a smile. There was so much to find out about him! I wondered what sort of things would be unveiled. I imagined his being a world of color and complexity. Then, I opened the candy, and breathed in its saccharine aroma. A door of red soft lips opened and let the candy in. I grimace in disappointment, the candy was bland, so much less than what I had anticipated.
He looked at me, and I realized that I had gone too far. He was just a boy.
The bland taste of monotony hung on my tongue. I was so bored. There was really no other way to put it. So that’s why I left. And then it became a pattern. Stay a while, move on. I felt attached to
My mother cooked with me once, a rare occasion that I even more rarely treasured, and introduced me to a new word – bleen. Not bland, but not quite flavourful. It’s a word I still use to this day, one of the few sensible things my mother ever said.
like rice in a pot
like chicken, not hot
like baby food
like muzak at the doc’s
like a novel with no good man
this is what it is to be bland
The world is shades of grey.
Color has slowly faded
until nothing was left.
bland. bland people are the ones who conform
i was born this way
the fashion lover
the irritable
the sister
the friend
the crazy one
the calm one
the everything one
and you know what?
im a whole lot happier than when I was a popular, abercrombie and fitch wearing girl
He was a bland guy. Everybody was talking about him in superlatives, he was the best, the cutest, the nicest guy you would ever meet. But there was a little problem with him, he was just a profile on facebook, person I created to check people stupidity, unfortunately they are not smarter than monkeys.
balland lands on deadpan heat
not enough flavor to cook the meat
sing it sweet and swallow sly
sating songs belong on high
This food is incredibly bland. I can only work for food that does not spoil. Food that is fresh and vibrant. That feeds more than your physical hunger. That points to an insatiable hunger of the soul. Now that is something to chew on. For eternity.
I can’t taste it – Only feel that smooth, slick, sleek, sliminess slurping down my throat. It only lives in textures and the mean things it inflicts on skin. It tastes like nothing, like lollipop wrapper skins, whatever those are.
I swallow it up, whole, like fucking onion paper. Mmm, there. I guess my duty is done. Onto the real food, that chewy, crispy, goddess goodness.
As white as a piece of paper, his pallid state
gave one the feeling of a wall of steel, leaving
nothing to penetrate his quiet stare
boring its hole into her mind.
That how my life feels today. Steeped in work and somehow missed the minute of Oregon Winter sunshine that I could have used for a delicious vitamin D walk.
Existence in this limbo, an island of gray surrounded by memories. The past is stagnant, and the past is all that’s left.
food is sometimes bland…sometimes so bland you don’t want to eat it…i have to admit that rarely happens with me…i like food generally speaking…i will try new things but am wary also
boring
Sharply creased tan and blue. Quaker in nature and covered in cotton wool. Black and white whit. Building blocks of perfection. Mere seats for the spunk. But no seat like the tattered threads and bad design of his comfortable origins. Here he realized the mistake in a choice for bland.
the food tasted of nothing. Mush, goo, it was just an empty texture in her mouth. She winced as she swallowed, wishing there was something else to eat. If she wanted to stay alive she’d have to get used to it though. As she turned this over in her mind, the bland food seemed to disappear a little quicker.
I picked up a forkful of aparagus off my plate, only putting it in my mouth to be polite. i chewed it up and swallowed, trying not to grimace. It was the only thing with any flavor at all, the rest of the food was tasteless and bland, and it was awful. Who even served asparagus at a meal to to celebrate homecoming? Across the table, Will sat, the sour expression on his face suggesting that he, too, had just tried the asparagus. I fought down a giggle as he shot me a quick glance and pretended to gag. “William. That is no way to behave at the table. Where have you come from? the streets?” Mrs. Motfey chastized, a comment that was quite insensitive considering Will’s background. “Why, yes.” responded Will casually, “Is that where the food came from, as well?” He asked, his face completely strait. I nearly choked trying not to laugh.
bland is the tasteless cheese
bland is Abercrombie and Fitch
bland is my ex boy friends face
and did I mention? bland is everything I hate.
2008. That was the summer she could only bring herself to eat bland foods. Celery and brown rice were her main staples. No dressings or dips. No sauces or even salt. The smell of almost anything else made her completely nauseous. Then, she started working in a restaurant.
simple with no spices, it doesn’t have the flavor or texture one might prefer. Rather routine. No flourish. Plain. Without decorations.
Waiting for your call
I should say – still waiting – right?
Our love’s become bland
It was a very colorful taste at first. But things change over time. Now they say that tigers change their stripes, but that is not true. It’s the difference between changing the stripes all together or simply changing the stripe formation, or position. But her man had become bland, and her idea of love had become tasteless. Not every tiger changes their stripes, but there is a first for everything.
I’m so tired that sometimes everything seems bland. Not just the events, but the actual world takes on a hazy, half there half not taint to it. Like eating white rice that’s been mixed with brown, a strange combination of two different types of bland that create the practical epitome of blandness.
blah blah blah”, came from his mouth as I tried to tell him how much I loved him. How much I cared for him. but he was too selfish and only wanted to be loved by himself… this sandwich is dry.
the soggy bread tasted bland on my tongue. i knew this was for god, but does that mean it had to taste like nothing? i didn’t think so. luckily, the grape juice they reserved for children came next and I gulped that down so fast and said, in the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost.
Bland like the look you gave me every early morning, like chapel and their whole-grain oatmeal eyes. Bland is perfection and everything that could never be worth anything more than ordinary pocket lint.
Bland is not usually a good thing to be. Often applied to food, but the first thing that came to my mind was people: bland people are dull, but also fairly inoffensive. Just depends on what you like, I guess.
The taste in your mouth after a guy you like pretty much dismisses your existence. The look of utter disappointed and judgement from your friends for behaving irrationally…..allllll the time.
I made a face as Rita watched me eat her pickles.
“It has to taste.” I announced putting it back down. “I’d rather have strawberries.” Rita didn’t look offended at my blunt accusation, but William looked rather pleased he wasn’t the one who had to say it.
the bland taste of indifference. the bland, bland taste. why they pretend to care, i do not know.
the bland taste of sincere caring and yet complete ignorance. the bland, bland taste. it does not take away the bitter taste of pain.
everything is bland, especially when there is pain already on one’s tongue.
Blank face. Glazed eyes. A man who had been a Vietnam vet, Fox News watcher, eating his SPAM and Vienna sausages. Wonder bread. Mundane, bland things to save him from the agony of his power over life, and his own mortality.
The sky is gray and the wind is still.
Nothing is growing and the colors of the world are dull.
I miss the beautiful scents that fill the air.
Where is the sun that once warmed my skin?
This time of year, the Earth is bland.
my mind is blank. everything is in a state of blandness. i dont know what to think or do. and every time i try to think, my brain stalls out. no, i lied. it isnt blank. its filled with that horrid, imposing phrase “what if….what if….what if…?”
This food is bland. I don’t like it. I want flavor and spice. Not this food with not taste. Bland I won’t have it. I want more.
My tongue clicked as I tasted the bland sauce for the third time. “Needs more… salt. Actually, needs more flavor in general.” My sous chef (my mom) gave me a mean look, “this recipe’s been in the family for decades and here you are trying to get fancy and tweak it.”
the food tasted bland. It had for a while, if he was being honest with himself. It wasnt just food. It was everything. Life had turned bland after she had left.
Boring. Plain. Bland. Regular.
Amazing. Beautiful. Extraordinary. Great.
I would never use the first group of words to describe her.
But the second group? They fit her perfectly.
boring, no taste, quiet, not colorful, a foggy cold day,
“which one?” he asked quietly. I was surprised to hear him speak, he was usually silent and his thoughts floating off into space, while he was trying to catch them and transform them into something that we could all understand.
“the blue one please,” I answered with a smile. There was so much to find out about him! I wondered what sort of things would be unveiled. I imagined his being a world of color and complexity. Then, I opened the candy, and breathed in its saccharine aroma. A door of red soft lips opened and let the candy in. I grimace in disappointment, the candy was bland, so much less than what I had anticipated.
He looked at me, and I realized that I had gone too far. He was just a boy.
The bland taste of monotony hung on my tongue. I was so bored. There was really no other way to put it. So that’s why I left. And then it became a pattern. Stay a while, move on. I felt attached to
bland plain.. aeroplane.. stop calling me shirley… put it on the bbq shirley… shrimp aussie bastard.. towl yellow man corn flawn deer fawn bami crying