if i had a brick i wouldn’t build a house. i wouldn’t crush it against someones head. If i had a brick id use it as a stepping stone. a stepping stone to build a house. or to kill someone. you gotta start somewhere. so if i had a brick id use it to begin. If i had a pencil or a llama or my dad id use those too. you gotta start somewhere. so don’t stare at the brick and say, hey what am i supposed to do with a brick? just use it to begin.
He picked up the brick and threw it at his head. The boy shrieked and ducked, feeling the hard material scrape his bare shoulder. He winced at the pain, vaguely noticing the man getting closer to him, another brick in hand.
Life is full of ebbs and flows. It makes me wander if anyone or anything is controlling these at all. Are these seemingly passive flows really someones solid bricks and mortar. Is it set. Fact. Hard and solid. Or are these ebbs and flows really just as they seem.
house, red colored, reassuring, beautiful, color is in tune with nature. solid yet can be destroyed. organized. systematic. alignment. visually appealing.
Cold hard blocks compose an architecture, towering above the fluffy white canopy. An army of carved earth, brought together by the hands of man and standing strong against the brutality of mother nature’s cruel hand.
Bricks are the best thing ever because they conjure unicorns. They are the calling card and masters of unicorns. They are rare now, so we never see unicorns. Alas, bricks are completely and utterly awesome. Just awesome.
like weights on my chest. every time you say those things or ignore my cries for help, its just another brick on my chest keeping me just below the surface of the water
I was standing outside of the building. It was made of hard red brick, ivy was beginning to grow up the sides. It all looked so ordinary. I never knew what would await me inside.
” I went and got myself a big sledgehammer ya see. Then BAM!” He clutched his fists around an invisible bat, then swung his arms like he was hitting a home run. “Ran right up to their house and started slammin’ on them bricks I did.”
Dust and dirt covers the area for miles. Nothing can be seen except for bricks. Piles and piles of bricks are outlined by the light of the sun on the horizon. This desolate plain cries out in misery that mirrors the feeling in my heart. Bloody and tired, my hands stack the bricks on bricks. They fall from my grasp and hit the others with a loud sound. The heavy thud is like the dull beating of my strained heart muscle. I drop another brick and it shatters. The broken pieces lie on the floor. Excruciating pain spreads through my chest because like the brick my heart has broken. Crumpling onto the hot dust the universe starts to spin. The clouds blur and I lose my vision. I lay dead among the bricks. My limp body lines the silhouette along with the thousands of lifeless bricks.
My house is made of red bricks. The expensive kind. The kind that was put down by masons in the 1940s, that withstand the strong winds that come from the atlantic, and the bird droppings that hit my roof every now and then. I have to say, a brick house isn’t all that bad, considering my neighbours can’t hear me having sex. My friend lives in a glass apartment, and her neighbours hear everything. She likes it though.
The tall brick wall stretched around me, a complete circle. There was no way in but to climb hundreds of feet up to the top. But I didn’t have any supplies with me and I was only able to eat one large meal a day and only survive by saving pieces for the mornings and nights. I didn’t think I could have lasted much longer until an aircraft from our country passed overhead, dropping agents like a flower releasing seeds into the wind. The took out my guards and lowered a rope into the pit. I tied it around my waist and they lifted me up to the very top of the wall. That day I was saved.
It is important to build a house out of bricks as opposed to sticks or stones because if you don’t, a wolf will come by and blow it down and eat your pigs. At least that’s what they tell me.
We built this relationship brick by brick. Together. We thought it would last forever. And so we kept building. But we forgot to stay on the same side of the wall.
I will make it through the bricks. I will see the clear horizon. But a part of me fears that I’m setting myself up for desiring something that life has proven to not be true. So I punch the wall just to bleed. The pain, more important than the clarity. Close to death I know I’m alive.
They were standing in the dust, in the warm sticky air, waiting for her. Bricks weighed down their hands. There was only hatred in their eyes. She watched them as the bricks were lifted up. Closer now. They were going to kill her and she didn’t even get a defense.
When you see it… Well I saw it and no bricks yet. It is not so brick-generating the fact that a black man might be in the picture. Not either that he is holding the head of a 10 year old, not even the fact that behind him is mr slenderman. sorry, no bricks
Tied to you.
You fall with me,
me, your luscious red brick.
We catch glimpses of royalty, pass the mindless in drab,
to rest at the the bottom of the barrel.
like river rock,
How happy i am that you join me in my depths.
the bricks were stacked so high and yet i climbed. i told myself to take it one brick at a time. i knew that to look up and how much further i had to go would only prompt me to turn back so i opted to stair straight ahead. keeping my eye on he current brick til the current brick became the last.
Bricks are the foundation of our society, they are present in the construction and destruction of our world, the pile of rubble ready to create, ready to be destroyed.
Day after day the men labored, carefully placing brick upon brick. The arduous task was enough to discourage the workers, so during the workday they invented way to circumvent the ennui, singing songs that once belonged to their era. Soon the men came to realize their similarities outnumbered their differences and day by day, month by month, brick by brick, the once detached weathered men, became like brothers of a close knit family, like birds of a flock.
“This is not a house made of bricks, it is a shack made of wooden boards held together with string!” He slammed the door on his way out, and my chance of getting on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” left with him.
I slid my hand against the hot bricks and then leaned against them, feeling the heat burning my back. Now I was safe and nobody could find me.
The sun was there above all that was happening, and I wondered if it could tell me where the others were. For a moment, everyone was silent except for the calm waving of the trees and and the whistling of the wind passing by.
She held her breath as he held her close. The weight of the world– like a ton of bricks–lifted off her pale, beautiful, paper thin shoulders. She was fragile. She was damaged. But, none of that mattered when she fell into his arms. The moonlight caressed her tear-stained cheeks, a wisp of hair falling gently across her lashes. She was safe here. She was broken, but so was he. And, she was safe–truly safe–from the man she once promised her life to. At that moment, the dam inside her broke. And, she sobbed. She sobbed for the pain. She sobbed for her loss. She sobbed for him. But, most of all, she sobbed a sense of freedom and hope. A sweet release from the hell she’d been in. And, for the heavenly arms that now held her. So close. So tightly. And, yet, so gentle. This could be love, had she anything left to give.
i dont know where she found them,
the bricks
but she built a wall between us
that could never be circumvented or scaled
we spent our lives on either side
shouting to communicate,
never really together
there are little people
that live in the holes of our bricks
and I’ve never seen a single one
but I know that they are there
because who in their right mind
would turn up such a lavish home
carved out just for them
into the foundation of ours
Her home was made of bricks from long ago. And in places you could see horse hair, hay, and the materials used in the mortar to hold the brick in place.
The road was crumbling. Dorothea couldn’t quite stand there and look at it. To be honest the first time in this terrible, terrifying place, walking down the neon yellow road of bricks had been quite enough for her. She certainly hadn’t really liked it all that much then, but now suddenly, to be back, and see it crumbling, falling apart like so many things in her life was all that much worse. The counselors said ‘Oz’ was her subconscious. Her own, twisted way of trying to deal with Auntie Em’s sudden death, the whole life she created for herself as an innocent Kansas farm girl a lie she told to deal with the one simple fact she couldn’t bare to. Her Auntie Em was dead. And she was the one who had killed her. But she knew the counselors were wrong, just as she knew the judges and juries and officers were all wrong to. Oz was real, she had been framed, and she had come back looking for answers. Or to crack some tiny, Munchkin heads. She hoped the fact she didn’t have a preference didn’t mean she was a psychopath.
The bricks fell from the sky crushing everyone there ever was. The skies were furious with hatred for the human race boiling. They threw bricks. They threw bricks right at us, and laughed as we all suffered.
They were stacked, one on the top of the other. Joy tried to tear her gaze away. She knew that at any minute they would call her inside from recess, but there was something about the wall…about every deep red brick that caught her attention, that made her pause. There was something wrong with that wall.
The school was glowing, but not in any real sense of the word. I think it was just a matter of mysticism I’ve applied to it after all these years. Crossing the threshold, I couldn’t help but touch the red bricks and sigh. This is not the Hell I remember, just another place of business during my adult life. Luckily, for me, my business is mass terror and I’m going to destroy the whole building.
if i had a brick i wouldn’t build a house. i wouldn’t crush it against someones head. If i had a brick id use it as a stepping stone. a stepping stone to build a house. or to kill someone. you gotta start somewhere. so if i had a brick id use it to begin. If i had a pencil or a llama or my dad id use those too. you gotta start somewhere. so don’t stare at the brick and say, hey what am i supposed to do with a brick? just use it to begin.
Bricks lining everything. The roads, the houses, buildings. So red. So rough. Beautiful in a way. Sturdy and angular. Stacked and shit.
He picked up the brick and threw it at his head. The boy shrieked and ducked, feeling the hard material scrape his bare shoulder. He winced at the pain, vaguely noticing the man getting closer to him, another brick in hand.
Life is full of ebbs and flows. It makes me wander if anyone or anything is controlling these at all. Are these seemingly passive flows really someones solid bricks and mortar. Is it set. Fact. Hard and solid. Or are these ebbs and flows really just as they seem.
house, red colored, reassuring, beautiful, color is in tune with nature. solid yet can be destroyed. organized. systematic. alignment. visually appealing.
house, red colored, reassuring, beautiful, in tune with nature. solid yet can be destroyed. organized. systematic. alignment. visually appealing.
Cold hard blocks compose an architecture, towering above the fluffy white canopy. An army of carved earth, brought together by the hands of man and standing strong against the brutality of mother nature’s cruel hand.
Bricks are the best thing ever because they conjure unicorns. They are the calling card and masters of unicorns. They are rare now, so we never see unicorns. Alas, bricks are completely and utterly awesome. Just awesome.
like weights on my chest. every time you say those things or ignore my cries for help, its just another brick on my chest keeping me just below the surface of the water
I was standing outside of the building. It was made of hard red brick, ivy was beginning to grow up the sides. It all looked so ordinary. I never knew what would await me inside.
” I went and got myself a big sledgehammer ya see. Then BAM!” He clutched his fists around an invisible bat, then swung his arms like he was hitting a home run. “Ran right up to their house and started slammin’ on them bricks I did.”
Dust and dirt covers the area for miles. Nothing can be seen except for bricks. Piles and piles of bricks are outlined by the light of the sun on the horizon. This desolate plain cries out in misery that mirrors the feeling in my heart. Bloody and tired, my hands stack the bricks on bricks. They fall from my grasp and hit the others with a loud sound. The heavy thud is like the dull beating of my strained heart muscle. I drop another brick and it shatters. The broken pieces lie on the floor. Excruciating pain spreads through my chest because like the brick my heart has broken. Crumpling onto the hot dust the universe starts to spin. The clouds blur and I lose my vision. I lay dead among the bricks. My limp body lines the silhouette along with the thousands of lifeless bricks.
I built a house with bricks.
And during storms it stayed.
I built a house with bricks.
And with him a home we made.
to hold together. they shall form a foundation upon which we shall build. the fortress that shall not be knocked down.
Bricks represent much but cannot define what we live for. When pulled together and bonded they are unbreakable… Unstoppable…
My house is made of red bricks. The expensive kind. The kind that was put down by masons in the 1940s, that withstand the strong winds that come from the atlantic, and the bird droppings that hit my roof every now and then. I have to say, a brick house isn’t all that bad, considering my neighbours can’t hear me having sex. My friend lives in a glass apartment, and her neighbours hear everything. She likes it though.
The tall brick wall stretched around me, a complete circle. There was no way in but to climb hundreds of feet up to the top. But I didn’t have any supplies with me and I was only able to eat one large meal a day and only survive by saving pieces for the mornings and nights. I didn’t think I could have lasted much longer until an aircraft from our country passed overhead, dropping agents like a flower releasing seeds into the wind. The took out my guards and lowered a rope into the pit. I tied it around my waist and they lifted me up to the very top of the wall. That day I was saved.
It is important to build a house out of bricks as opposed to sticks or stones because if you don’t, a wolf will come by and blow it down and eat your pigs. At least that’s what they tell me.
We built this relationship brick by brick. Together. We thought it would last forever. And so we kept building. But we forgot to stay on the same side of the wall.
I will make it through the bricks. I will see the clear horizon. But a part of me fears that I’m setting myself up for desiring something that life has proven to not be true. So I punch the wall just to bleed. The pain, more important than the clarity. Close to death I know I’m alive.
They were standing in the dust, in the warm sticky air, waiting for her. Bricks weighed down their hands. There was only hatred in their eyes. She watched them as the bricks were lifted up. Closer now. They were going to kill her and she didn’t even get a defense.
When you see it… Well I saw it and no bricks yet. It is not so brick-generating the fact that a black man might be in the picture. Not either that he is holding the head of a 10 year old, not even the fact that behind him is mr slenderman. sorry, no bricks
bricks build buildings and buildings hold people and people wear clothes and clothes are made of cotton bricks are awesome
Tied to you.
You fall with me,
me, your luscious red brick.
We catch glimpses of royalty, pass the mindless in drab,
to rest at the the bottom of the barrel.
like river rock,
How happy i am that you join me in my depths.
the bricks were stacked so high and yet i climbed. i told myself to take it one brick at a time. i knew that to look up and how much further i had to go would only prompt me to turn back so i opted to stair straight ahead. keeping my eye on he current brick til the current brick became the last.
Bricks are the foundation of our society, they are present in the construction and destruction of our world, the pile of rubble ready to create, ready to be destroyed.
Day after day the men labored, carefully placing brick upon brick. The arduous task was enough to discourage the workers, so during the workday they invented way to circumvent the ennui, singing songs that once belonged to their era. Soon the men came to realize their similarities outnumbered their differences and day by day, month by month, brick by brick, the once detached weathered men, became like brothers of a close knit family, like birds of a flock.
“This is not a house made of bricks, it is a shack made of wooden boards held together with string!” He slammed the door on his way out, and my chance of getting on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” left with him.
I slid my hand against the hot bricks and then leaned against them, feeling the heat burning my back. Now I was safe and nobody could find me.
The sun was there above all that was happening, and I wondered if it could tell me where the others were. For a moment, everyone was silent except for the calm waving of the trees and and the whistling of the wind passing by.
She held her breath as he held her close. The weight of the world– like a ton of bricks–lifted off her pale, beautiful, paper thin shoulders. She was fragile. She was damaged. But, none of that mattered when she fell into his arms. The moonlight caressed her tear-stained cheeks, a wisp of hair falling gently across her lashes. She was safe here. She was broken, but so was he. And, she was safe–truly safe–from the man she once promised her life to. At that moment, the dam inside her broke. And, she sobbed. She sobbed for the pain. She sobbed for her loss. She sobbed for him. But, most of all, she sobbed a sense of freedom and hope. A sweet release from the hell she’d been in. And, for the heavenly arms that now held her. So close. So tightly. And, yet, so gentle. This could be love, had she anything left to give.
I stacked the bricks, one on top of the other. I was building a wall, a wall that would finally separate us for good.
i dont know where she found them,
the bricks
but she built a wall between us
that could never be circumvented or scaled
we spent our lives on either side
shouting to communicate,
never really together
there are little people
that live in the holes of our bricks
and I’ve never seen a single one
but I know that they are there
because who in their right mind
would turn up such a lavish home
carved out just for them
into the foundation of ours
Her home was made of bricks from long ago. And in places you could see horse hair, hay, and the materials used in the mortar to hold the brick in place.
The road was crumbling. Dorothea couldn’t quite stand there and look at it. To be honest the first time in this terrible, terrifying place, walking down the neon yellow road of bricks had been quite enough for her. She certainly hadn’t really liked it all that much then, but now suddenly, to be back, and see it crumbling, falling apart like so many things in her life was all that much worse. The counselors said ‘Oz’ was her subconscious. Her own, twisted way of trying to deal with Auntie Em’s sudden death, the whole life she created for herself as an innocent Kansas farm girl a lie she told to deal with the one simple fact she couldn’t bare to. Her Auntie Em was dead. And she was the one who had killed her. But she knew the counselors were wrong, just as she knew the judges and juries and officers were all wrong to. Oz was real, she had been framed, and she had come back looking for answers. Or to crack some tiny, Munchkin heads. She hoped the fact she didn’t have a preference didn’t mean she was a psychopath.
The bricks fell from the sky crushing everyone there ever was. The skies were furious with hatred for the human race boiling. They threw bricks. They threw bricks right at us, and laughed as we all suffered.
They were stacked, one on the top of the other. Joy tried to tear her gaze away. She knew that at any minute they would call her inside from recess, but there was something about the wall…about every deep red brick that caught her attention, that made her pause. There was something wrong with that wall.
They are signs of oppression where I come from.
But just like the story of the 3 pigs,
and just like me, they are enduring.
You can’t knock me down.
Old bricks lying in the woods, moss covered and broken. Silent remnants of a once warm home, forgotten like the structure they once held.
The school was glowing, but not in any real sense of the word. I think it was just a matter of mysticism I’ve applied to it after all these years. Crossing the threshold, I couldn’t help but touch the red bricks and sigh. This is not the Hell I remember, just another place of business during my adult life. Luckily, for me, my business is mass terror and I’m going to destroy the whole building.