Stronger than an ox, not thought as it lies dormant on the edge of disaster. Waiting to crumble on the day when all things be equal and just. Complimented by love the adhesive holds strong
One day a little boy named Jacob got in a scoff between his former friends. He wanted to hurt them so much. So, he grabbed a brick and threw it at their houses.
Part of the obstacle course was that the girls had to lift something heavy. Tearing through Lola’s garage they found two heavy bricks, both of which they stuck in a blue bucket. “We have to life it five times.” said Lola.
Bricks. Bricks are one of the most durable materials to build from. They can outlast so many things. Weather, fire, etc. Sometimes, I feel like a brick. I feel like nothing can get to me. And not in the good way. In the bad way. Like I won’t let anyone get close enough to really touch my heart.
Bricks are the foundation of all buildings, it can also be said metaphorically andmean the foundation of everything, especially civilization. Everything needs a foundation to
In london, people are throwing bricks through windows, looting and ravaging the poorest parts of the city. I heard about the riots on facebook, that ever-adapting universe that has somehow become more than just a social networking site and is now a way to communicate news across an ocean. Something at the bottom of my ribcage hurts at the news, and my lack of involvement. I’m not there, I can’t be there, and meanwhile my friends in the states make status updates about their same old tedious lives.
There was a boy named brick. And he loved lamps. He said, “I love lamp” and no one understood. He was named brick because he fit into a wall of other bricks. Everyone was a brick in the wall, Brick was just the one to admit it first.
My father died yesterday near the mall, which is only a few blocks from our house. The mall was a beautiful building, made entirely of cream colored brick and gray stones. It was an impressive building. Possibly too impressive, because one day (August 3rd) it simply crumbled to bits, showering the nearby restaurants and marketplaces with dust, dirt, and bricks. My father, at the time, had just come out of Marcy’s Marketplace when a huge brick hit him in the side of the head. The doctors later told us that he died instantly and had most likely felt no pain. I didn’t think that was possible. I mean, if a brick hits you in the head, how can you feel no pain?
Brick shit. One time jeremy and I were talking about brick shit houses. He said that I could shit out so many bricks, that I could make a brick shit house. Isn’t that funny. My father would always describe women from the 80’s as brick shit houses, ” they would as build as a brick shit house.” uhh, I can’t think of anything else.
a cold hard brick a sign of strength within a dull piece of concrete. a building block to monuments. a brick being my first step towards success. i pave the path i walk on brick by brick. with every brick added its a step closer to my dreams. brick walls for eyelids when there shut i cannot see but with my vision unobstructed its reluctant how all hopes and dreams become reality.
Brick; Harder than wood. He built the house with his own bare hands. To provide shelter to his children, to provide a place his wife could call home. Safe from the stormy winds and rain. A simple house, with a simple family that’s filled with love.
She walked to the wall, the place where the hedges failed to conquer past their uniformed line, and placed her pale hand on its face. It was cold, surprisingly so, yet she would not move her hand, at least not for now.
“God i’m sorry” She was not speaking to the God, though the person she spoke to was closer to God than she would have liked. Her hand moved over the wall, back and forth her frail freckled skin splintered by the century old bricks. She was looking for one in particular, a brick that by uniform had no means to be there.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you, I was asleep.” She searched frantically now, as if her sanity would be found in that brick. Searching, searching, searching. A moss riden brick she felt and she knew she had found him. All she loved, the ashes with no resurrection, were in brick.
“I was asleep… but i’m awake now.”
I wonder whether bricks were beginnign to be used in the industrial revolution? It seems that before then in 1700, stone was used to build homes and cottages, not bricks. Bricks were used by the ancient Egyptians to make a variety of structures, such as tombs, temples and pyramids.
a brick is strong. she’s a brick house. bricks are used to build things. brick technology is highly underrated. bricks have evolved with humans, and have been our shelter for thousands of years. mud bricks are still bricks. bricks are iconic. bricks are always in.
houses are made of these. They are heavy and will hurt you if they hit you. they are often red but sometimes grey. the texture of them is always rough. I’ve never met a smooth brick in my life. The 3 little pigs made their house of brick when they were smart.
As the Red Pyro threw the brick at the Blu Medic, it’s like time slowed down. Once it hit the Blu Medic’s head, I knew it was gonna be over in a flash. I saw heavy’s eyes. They look frightened aswell.
She’s just like a brick in the wall. Another one of those mindless droids that follow orders without asking. But I on the other hand, I’m one of those bricks that just stick out, unlike the neat, orderly formation of the “normal” bricks.
She was my brick. Keeping me anchored to my sanity. We lived in a world I made for her; I made for us. I am now floating, spiraling out of control without direction.
The cold grey bricks showed the withering age of the castle they constructed. Each Brick bearing its wieght, part of the greater design, and for their trouble they wer chipped and broken, discoloured and graffitied.
Hopuses are made of bricks. Walls are made of brick. Each time someone hurts you, another brick is added to the wall you’ve built around your heart. Christ can tear down that wall, crumbling each brick into dust. He has the power. You must choose to let Him. will you let Him free your heart?
Dude, my room is totally brick. It’s brick as shit. Apparently brick means “cold and windy” in black guy speak, or so my black friends tell me. It’s not something I’ve ever really understood. A bit like the whole “OD” thing; “yo, that’s OD!” Not sure what else to write . . .
Throwing a brick into the water. The splash, the resonance. It thunks, kerplunks, and sinks to the bottom. Particles drift off and pollute the surroundings. It makes buildings tall and strong to pollute the earth.
any where i looked the planes were torching against the sky – wings emblazoned with tinges of the sun setting belosthe mountains – dark figures on the red walls at my back were yelling taunts as i turned the horse towards the gate and its forbidding invitation
I love bricks, they make all sorts of useful things. Houses, buildings and whatnot. I heard that bricks can be made of horse manure, not sure if that’s true but I like to think so… Igloos are made of bricks, eskimos are the shit. It’d suck in that cold though, couldn’t kiss anyone.. Maybe that’s how eskimo kisses were invented..
Throw. The brick hit glass, shattering glass into a thousand glimmering pieces, in the sun, before him. It was okay. Nobody was going to miss it. A summer house in a sunlit place will not be missed by anybody if it were as abandoned as this.
Bricks are very good for building things. My high school headmaster always told us that we were all bricks coming together to form a strong community – i didn’t want ot be a brick back then, now being a brick doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. So long as I’m a big brick.
Our house is made of brick. So the wolf won’t blow it down. A hurricane won’t blow it down. At least I don’t think so! The brick won’t protect against flooding though. Fortunately we are not in a flood area. Grateful for that!
There was a brickworks in our town once a long time ago, but all that’s left now is a pile of bricks. The adults would always tell us kids to stay away because it could be dangerous, which drove us there like flies. The first time Tucker kissed me, we were there.
The bricks in the wall were all evenly placed. The colors were sprayed across the spectrum of red – some were pinkish while others hit the darkest blood tones. It was this color diversity that reminded me most of my youth as I walked by the wall where as a child I would be thrown up against and forced to defend myself against the ravaging attacks of brilliant young kickball students. The red in the brick, I always thought, would cover up and be an alibi for my blood stains. It would hide my death. I would die before that wall as the firing squad of rubber balls barraged me. It was terror before lunch.
But lunch was not the end of the brick wall. The real terror was standing before that wall as I waited and watched the buses depart as my classmates would leave to their respective homes and I was left alone in despair fearing that my ignoramus father and domineering mother had forgotten me once again. Every school day ended with the same introduction of fear. The fear of being abandoned. But it was from that fear that I learned to escape. I learned that they would eventually rescue me, even if it was a half and hour or hour late. Even if it was five minutes late – it felt like two hours. Two hours to a seven year old are an eternity. And in that eternity, I became an independent. The bricks were just the beginning. The bricks were the background that led to my ultimate societal demise and provided me with the ability to no longer fear loneliness.
By the time I was eight, the bricks were no longer a prison after school. I had learned to free myself from the tyranny of mortar and brick layouts. With the new school year, I had my parents and teacher convinced that I would be catching rides on the school bus. But the school bus was just a diversion. The roar of the engines was my signal. As I heard them sound, I would pretend to walk on board but sneak between them.
Stronger than an ox, not thought as it lies dormant on the edge of disaster. Waiting to crumble on the day when all things be equal and just. Complimented by love the adhesive holds strong
One day a little boy named Jacob got in a scoff between his former friends. He wanted to hurt them so much. So, he grabbed a brick and threw it at their houses.
brick houses fill the town of Lewisburg. Simple but practical. my house is made of brick along with my neighbors. brick brick brick
Part of the obstacle course was that the girls had to lift something heavy. Tearing through Lola’s garage they found two heavy bricks, both of which they stuck in a blue bucket. “We have to life it five times.” said Lola.
Bricks. Bricks are one of the most durable materials to build from. They can outlast so many things. Weather, fire, etc. Sometimes, I feel like a brick. I feel like nothing can get to me. And not in the good way. In the bad way. Like I won’t let anyone get close enough to really touch my heart.
Bricks are the foundation of all buildings, it can also be said metaphorically andmean the foundation of everything, especially civilization. Everything needs a foundation to
In london, people are throwing bricks through windows, looting and ravaging the poorest parts of the city. I heard about the riots on facebook, that ever-adapting universe that has somehow become more than just a social networking site and is now a way to communicate news across an ocean. Something at the bottom of my ribcage hurts at the news, and my lack of involvement. I’m not there, I can’t be there, and meanwhile my friends in the states make status updates about their same old tedious lives.
There was a boy named brick. And he loved lamps. He said, “I love lamp” and no one understood. He was named brick because he fit into a wall of other bricks. Everyone was a brick in the wall, Brick was just the one to admit it first.
My father died yesterday near the mall, which is only a few blocks from our house. The mall was a beautiful building, made entirely of cream colored brick and gray stones. It was an impressive building. Possibly too impressive, because one day (August 3rd) it simply crumbled to bits, showering the nearby restaurants and marketplaces with dust, dirt, and bricks. My father, at the time, had just come out of Marcy’s Marketplace when a huge brick hit him in the side of the head. The doctors later told us that he died instantly and had most likely felt no pain. I didn’t think that was possible. I mean, if a brick hits you in the head, how can you feel no pain?
Brick shit. One time jeremy and I were talking about brick shit houses. He said that I could shit out so many bricks, that I could make a brick shit house. Isn’t that funny. My father would always describe women from the 80’s as brick shit houses, ” they would as build as a brick shit house.” uhh, I can’t think of anything else.
a cold hard brick a sign of strength within a dull piece of concrete. a building block to monuments. a brick being my first step towards success. i pave the path i walk on brick by brick. with every brick added its a step closer to my dreams. brick walls for eyelids when there shut i cannot see but with my vision unobstructed its reluctant how all hopes and dreams become reality.
That was the one it was yesterday. I refuse to solicit oneword.com with an answer.
So I stand there – broken and disoriented. All the work I had given to this home: every tear and bead of sweat and ounce of love.
It is gone, completely gone.
I built the home with a labor that I thought would last a lifetime. However, the cracks in the walls seem to mirror my own personal collapses.
Brick; Harder than wood. He built the house with his own bare hands. To provide shelter to his children, to provide a place his wife could call home. Safe from the stormy winds and rain. A simple house, with a simple family that’s filled with love.
She walked to the wall, the place where the hedges failed to conquer past their uniformed line, and placed her pale hand on its face. It was cold, surprisingly so, yet she would not move her hand, at least not for now.
“God i’m sorry” She was not speaking to the God, though the person she spoke to was closer to God than she would have liked. Her hand moved over the wall, back and forth her frail freckled skin splintered by the century old bricks. She was looking for one in particular, a brick that by uniform had no means to be there.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t see you, I was asleep.” She searched frantically now, as if her sanity would be found in that brick. Searching, searching, searching. A moss riden brick she felt and she knew she had found him. All she loved, the ashes with no resurrection, were in brick.
“I was asleep… but i’m awake now.”
I wonder whether bricks were beginnign to be used in the industrial revolution? It seems that before then in 1700, stone was used to build homes and cottages, not bricks. Bricks were used by the ancient Egyptians to make a variety of structures, such as tombs, temples and pyramids.
a brick is strong. she’s a brick house. bricks are used to build things. brick technology is highly underrated. bricks have evolved with humans, and have been our shelter for thousands of years. mud bricks are still bricks. bricks are iconic. bricks are always in.
houses are made of these. They are heavy and will hurt you if they hit you. they are often red but sometimes grey. the texture of them is always rough. I’ve never met a smooth brick in my life. The 3 little pigs made their house of brick when they were smart.
As the Red Pyro threw the brick at the Blu Medic, it’s like time slowed down. Once it hit the Blu Medic’s head, I knew it was gonna be over in a flash. I saw heavy’s eyes. They look frightened aswell.
She’s just like a brick in the wall. Another one of those mindless droids that follow orders without asking. But I on the other hand, I’m one of those bricks that just stick out, unlike the neat, orderly formation of the “normal” bricks.
v horses
She was my brick. Keeping me anchored to my sanity. We lived in a world I made for her; I made for us. I am now floating, spiraling out of control without direction.
The cold grey bricks showed the withering age of the castle they constructed. Each Brick bearing its wieght, part of the greater design, and for their trouble they wer chipped and broken, discoloured and graffitied.
Hopuses are made of bricks. Walls are made of brick. Each time someone hurts you, another brick is added to the wall you’ve built around your heart. Christ can tear down that wall, crumbling each brick into dust. He has the power. You must choose to let Him. will you let Him free your heart?
Dude, my room is totally brick. It’s brick as shit. Apparently brick means “cold and windy” in black guy speak, or so my black friends tell me. It’s not something I’ve ever really understood. A bit like the whole “OD” thing; “yo, that’s OD!” Not sure what else to write . . .
Throwing a brick into the water. The splash, the resonance. It thunks, kerplunks, and sinks to the bottom. Particles drift off and pollute the surroundings. It makes buildings tall and strong to pollute the earth.
any where i looked the planes were torching against the sky – wings emblazoned with tinges of the sun setting belosthe mountains – dark figures on the red walls at my back were yelling taunts as i turned the horse towards the gate and its forbidding invitation
I love bricks, they make all sorts of useful things. Houses, buildings and whatnot. I heard that bricks can be made of horse manure, not sure if that’s true but I like to think so… Igloos are made of bricks, eskimos are the shit. It’d suck in that cold though, couldn’t kiss anyone.. Maybe that’s how eskimo kisses were invented..
“I wanna build you up. Brick by brick.”
:]
Throw. The brick hit glass, shattering glass into a thousand glimmering pieces, in the sun, before him. It was okay. Nobody was going to miss it. A summer house in a sunlit place will not be missed by anybody if it were as abandoned as this.
Nobody was going to miss it.
Nobody but him.
loud flat red happy house.
loud flat red happy house
I wish my heart was as hard and solid as brick.
It can take so much pressure and force. its admirable.
the red brick wall was fascinating. imagine what it had seen! Happiness? Laughter? Sunshines warm hands upon its cheeks
Bricks are very good for building things. My high school headmaster always told us that we were all bricks coming together to form a strong community – i didn’t want ot be a brick back then, now being a brick doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. So long as I’m a big brick.
Brick by brick, a wall is build. The humble brick, together with others works as a mighty bulwark and supports huge structures.
Our house is made of brick. So the wolf won’t blow it down. A hurricane won’t blow it down. At least I don’t think so! The brick won’t protect against flooding though. Fortunately we are not in a flood area. Grateful for that!
to jest cegła
hm
nooo i co?
kto za tym stoi?
There was a brickworks in our town once a long time ago, but all that’s left now is a pile of bricks. The adults would always tell us kids to stay away because it could be dangerous, which drove us there like flies. The first time Tucker kissed me, we were there.
The bricks in the wall were all evenly placed. The colors were sprayed across the spectrum of red – some were pinkish while others hit the darkest blood tones. It was this color diversity that reminded me most of my youth as I walked by the wall where as a child I would be thrown up against and forced to defend myself against the ravaging attacks of brilliant young kickball students. The red in the brick, I always thought, would cover up and be an alibi for my blood stains. It would hide my death. I would die before that wall as the firing squad of rubber balls barraged me. It was terror before lunch.
But lunch was not the end of the brick wall. The real terror was standing before that wall as I waited and watched the buses depart as my classmates would leave to their respective homes and I was left alone in despair fearing that my ignoramus father and domineering mother had forgotten me once again. Every school day ended with the same introduction of fear. The fear of being abandoned. But it was from that fear that I learned to escape. I learned that they would eventually rescue me, even if it was a half and hour or hour late. Even if it was five minutes late – it felt like two hours. Two hours to a seven year old are an eternity. And in that eternity, I became an independent. The bricks were just the beginning. The bricks were the background that led to my ultimate societal demise and provided me with the ability to no longer fear loneliness.
By the time I was eight, the bricks were no longer a prison after school. I had learned to free myself from the tyranny of mortar and brick layouts. With the new school year, I had my parents and teacher convinced that I would be catching rides on the school bus. But the school bus was just a diversion. The roar of the engines was my signal. As I heard them sound, I would pretend to walk on board but sneak between them.