flicker.
lights on,
lights off,
the light bulb is spastic again.
it reflects my emotions,
happy is on,
want to lose everything and shut down is off.
shit,
it’s off again.
no more life.
flowers – growth new, a birth of something beautiful, prehensile, knowledge of beauty that will come to pass: does that make it beautiful itself, in it’s own right? Not asthetically perhaps, but more fundamentally. Or is this pretentious – who can judge. One of the many things that we don’t notice, or that is taken for granted unless asked, like this, to think about: yet it epitomises so much: naissence and can bring so much to the senses, sight, smell, taste and that’s not to mention the eco system and environmental merit/necessity.
The other, less exciting meaning is still evocative of science, misappropriated claims, brightness, of course and historical progress.
I wouldn’t have thought a simple word could lead to so many thoughts so quickly.
The light bulb flickered consistently. I was scared. Nothing ever seemed so quiet. The sound of my breathing echoed through the room. I looked around and tried to grasp what I could barely see, all the portraits, paintings, and drawings were splattered with blood.
A tulip flowered in the side yard – red with edges of yellow. It reminded her of happy childhood mornings and Mother’s Day – of the simplicity of drawing a card for her mom and saying I love you.
The light is so dim on the porch. I can barely see the fly buzzing around it as I take a drag of my cigarette. There’s something relaxing about the night air pressing against my bare skin and the faint warmth of the wad at my fingertips. Sometimes you just have to take pleasure in life’s simplest of pleasures.
It was almost like a lightbulb went off and lighted my brain. I had been cheated, I had been betrayed. My loyalty, my love, totally misplaced. And now it was up to me to decide what to make of it.
The flowers sit on the kitchen counter in a shriveled heap. I was supposed to go and plant the bulbs out back yesterday, but things weren’t exactly normal. Mother had to be taken to the hospital after her heart attack, and some things just aren’t meant to be finished.
I think of a light bulb. It is yellow, white, translucent.
It is the only thing that brings light into my bedroom.
Other than my window.
Then I think of tulips, for they are grown from bulbs.
And I think of the nose of Squidward Tentacles, because it is quite bulbous.
Yes.
A bulb. A flower. The start. Something small that will soon be full of life. Lights. A little piece of glass with wire coiled through it. Meant to make everything a little clearer.
Immediately, the light bulb turned on. It was as if I flipped a switch to his mind. He finally understood that I cannot and will not wait for him forever. I watched that light bulb light up, but I also watched as it burned out.
she hugs her teddy to her chest. fingers, tiny and dimpled, grip the plush fabric until the knuckles turn white.
something is watching her.
through the dark she can feel rather than see the eyes leering from the bedside. It whispers pretty things in a voice slurred by serrated teeth. twisted talons reach for her.
she screams.
her mother is at the door in an instant, fumbling with the switch on the wall.
the room is flooded with a blinding light.
It is gone.
A bright sphere floating in the top of my vision. My eyes blur in the light, as a stare around me at a concrete ceiling and dirty walls. I try to move and realize I cannot. Where am I? I look blearily around and my eyes flit back to the only recognizable shape in the room: the bright white light bulb. I take comfort in the light when all else seems to be confusion.
A bright sphere floating in the top of my vision. My eyes blur in the light, as a stare around me at a concrete ceiling and dirty walls. I try to move and realize I cannot. Where am I? I look blearily around and my eyes flit back to the only recognizable shape in the room: the bright white light bulb. I take comfort int he light when all else seems to be confusion.
he looked up. a flickering light bulb was the only thing above him. the white washed walls blended together into one blur of white. it was like there wasn’t an end to this room. white, white, white. he blinked and finally everything made sense. he wasn’t alone anymore, not in the slightest.
Oh the security they find in those tiny little night-light bulbs seems so silly to me, but if that’s what it takes for me to get to sleep, they shall have them.
The plant bulb was crumbly in her hand. She had waited too long to plant it; postponed a necessary evil to take care of her sick mother-in-law and was now too late. It was this realization that turned her to tears. Maybe it was the death of Angela finally catching up with her, or maybe it was the fact that all of it was coming to fruition at once – losing her garden, losing Angela, slowly losing Sam. No matter, she sat in the dirt, tears making mud of the fertilizer on her jeans.
Bulbous bulbs popping through the garden. Tulips, mostly. I do believe that they are from the Netherlands, or somewhere of that origin. I once read a book about a man who was a tulip farmer and made a lot of money. It was about Cinderella from the view of the “evil” step sisters. It was seriously a great book. I would recommend it to anyone in a heartbeat. He also wrote Wicked, that author. Seriously fantastic.
The bulb seemed to crumble in her hand. She’d waited too long to plant it; it was dead. She’d spent her last few months caring for her mother-in-law, but with her now gone, there was nothing to do but work in the garden.
The bulb shone brightly on the back porch. The small illuminated orb attracted all varieties of moths and flies, yet no one paid any mind to the nightly intruders as they fluttered about. The bulb attracted them and who could not be attracted to that pure white light?
The plant bulb was crumbly in her hand. She had waited too long to plant it; postponed a necessary evil to take care of her sick mother-in-law and was now too late. It was this realization that turned her to tears. Maybe it was the death of Angela finally catching up with her, or maybe it was the fact that all of it was coming to fruition at once – losing her garden, losing Angela, slowly losing Sam. No matter, she sat in the dirt, tears making mud of the fertilizer on her jeans.
light bulbs are the weirdest things if you think about them, cause like you turn a light on and the electricity magno field mijiggy makes it light up and gives up light so we can do stuff like read adn right and see and like thats just to cool!
bulb. bub. bubble. tipple temple flower.
bursting into space-existence. pink. stymen, or is it styple? semen like eggs
implanting into the ground’s soft soil
The bulb was frail, cracking, dry. She cupped her hands around it gently and called for James. He skittered into the kitchen with a freshly prepared pot, all wet, dark soil and a smattering of stones, a snail to keep the new plant company once its shoots started to reach for the sunlight.
Flowers are so pretty, even before they bloom, because even before you know what they are or what exactly they’re going to be, you know that they’re going to be bright and full of life. Don’t underestimate bulbs.
the bulb in the garden covered by all that dirt surrounded by flowers but hindered by all the weight around it struggling to breath struggling to live struggling to thrive to grow to be i am the bulb in the garden don’t underestimate my abilities
a bright light shines from the top of the room. it illuminates everything in the darkness beneath it. one small ball of fire can bring light into the darkest of situations.
She is old, and she is withered, and she is beautiful.
Hands in the dirt, planting a bulb that will sprout when spring comes, daffodils to grow and die and return every spring, as a phoenix rises from the ashes.
She will be dead before it sprouts, but they’ll scatter her ashes here.
Light bulb.
When you get an idea, an imaginary light bulb is on top of your head, floating. Ideas that can lead to such creative imaginations, or amazing work. Something, that can change this world.
the light bulb shown high over Thomas’ head. it made him sweat. he wanted to talk, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. no matter what. the man in the suit slapped him again. “Speak, bitch! Speak! Tell me what we need to know, and then maybe ill think about not killing you.” but Thomas stayed silent.
There is a light bulb in the light fixture next to this table, that is sitting on the top of my bookcase. The bookcase has many differnent books that I enjoy very much. One of my favorites is harry potter. it’s about the best book that I have ever read. I love harry and his friends so much, although some of my favorite characters are dumbldore, lupin, sirius and tonks.
The light bulb was dim, creating only light that allowed me to see a small diameter around me. The light covered me like a force field. Beyond it was darkness where nothing could be depicted. I couldn’t help but wonder what really was beyond this light. Was it just darkness, or a creature the was lurking. Stalking. Staring and watching me with beady eyes that made me more intimidated than I already was.
It glows.
its shiny
people use it in their everyday lives
it uses electricity. it is very useful we can study underneath it. bulbs are in the room and toilet too. they help us a lot. they are in many colors
love
armony
happines
alex
dont
let
me go
i love you
love
sadnes
madness
heart
fuck you
fuck me
forever
hate
love
fuck
broken
sadness
fat
im fat
fat
sadness
love
me
hipster
hyper
happy
pig
cow
flicker.
lights on,
lights off,
the light bulb is spastic again.
it reflects my emotions,
happy is on,
want to lose everything and shut down is off.
shit,
it’s off again.
no more life.
bulbs of garlic are delicious. there is something so comforting about garlic. it makes me feel more stable. it smells like home.
garlic. little bulbs of hope. i want to write a sonnet for garlic. i feel bulbous for some reason.
bulbasaur is a weird pokemon. i miss pokemon. a lot. on the bus, trading cards.
flowers – growth new, a birth of something beautiful, prehensile, knowledge of beauty that will come to pass: does that make it beautiful itself, in it’s own right? Not asthetically perhaps, but more fundamentally. Or is this pretentious – who can judge. One of the many things that we don’t notice, or that is taken for granted unless asked, like this, to think about: yet it epitomises so much: naissence and can bring so much to the senses, sight, smell, taste and that’s not to mention the eco system and environmental merit/necessity.
The other, less exciting meaning is still evocative of science, misappropriated claims, brightness, of course and historical progress.
I wouldn’t have thought a simple word could lead to so many thoughts so quickly.
The light bulb flickered consistently. I was scared. Nothing ever seemed so quiet. The sound of my breathing echoed through the room. I looked around and tried to grasp what I could barely see, all the portraits, paintings, and drawings were splattered with blood.
A tulip flowered in the side yard – red with edges of yellow. It reminded her of happy childhood mornings and Mother’s Day – of the simplicity of drawing a card for her mom and saying I love you.
The light is so dim on the porch. I can barely see the fly buzzing around it as I take a drag of my cigarette. There’s something relaxing about the night air pressing against my bare skin and the faint warmth of the wad at my fingertips. Sometimes you just have to take pleasure in life’s simplest of pleasures.
It was almost like a lightbulb went off and lighted my brain. I had been cheated, I had been betrayed. My loyalty, my love, totally misplaced. And now it was up to me to decide what to make of it.
sitting in the ground
lurking under soil
potential life
hiding in the dark
waiting for spring
The flowers sit on the kitchen counter in a shriveled heap. I was supposed to go and plant the bulbs out back yesterday, but things weren’t exactly normal. Mother had to be taken to the hospital after her heart attack, and some things just aren’t meant to be finished.
I think of a light bulb. It is yellow, white, translucent.
It is the only thing that brings light into my bedroom.
Other than my window.
Then I think of tulips, for they are grown from bulbs.
And I think of the nose of Squidward Tentacles, because it is quite bulbous.
Yes.
A bulb. A flower. The start. Something small that will soon be full of life. Lights. A little piece of glass with wire coiled through it. Meant to make everything a little clearer.
Immediately, the light bulb turned on. It was as if I flipped a switch to his mind. He finally understood that I cannot and will not wait for him forever. I watched that light bulb light up, but I also watched as it burned out.
she hugs her teddy to her chest. fingers, tiny and dimpled, grip the plush fabric until the knuckles turn white.
something is watching her.
through the dark she can feel rather than see the eyes leering from the bedside. It whispers pretty things in a voice slurred by serrated teeth. twisted talons reach for her.
she screams.
her mother is at the door in an instant, fumbling with the switch on the wall.
the room is flooded with a blinding light.
It is gone.
A bright sphere floating in the top of my vision. My eyes blur in the light, as a stare around me at a concrete ceiling and dirty walls. I try to move and realize I cannot. Where am I? I look blearily around and my eyes flit back to the only recognizable shape in the room: the bright white light bulb. I take comfort in the light when all else seems to be confusion.
A bright sphere floating in the top of my vision. My eyes blur in the light, as a stare around me at a concrete ceiling and dirty walls. I try to move and realize I cannot. Where am I? I look blearily around and my eyes flit back to the only recognizable shape in the room: the bright white light bulb. I take comfort int he light when all else seems to be confusion.
Blub, blub, blub
The water in the tub gurgled down the drain, taking with it all my sadness and upsets.
I love a nice, hot bubble bath. It washes away all my cares.
he looked up. a flickering light bulb was the only thing above him. the white washed walls blended together into one blur of white. it was like there wasn’t an end to this room. white, white, white. he blinked and finally everything made sense. he wasn’t alone anymore, not in the slightest.
Oh the security they find in those tiny little night-light bulbs seems so silly to me, but if that’s what it takes for me to get to sleep, they shall have them.
The plant bulb was crumbly in her hand. She had waited too long to plant it; postponed a necessary evil to take care of her sick mother-in-law and was now too late. It was this realization that turned her to tears. Maybe it was the death of Angela finally catching up with her, or maybe it was the fact that all of it was coming to fruition at once – losing her garden, losing Angela, slowly losing Sam. No matter, she sat in the dirt, tears making mud of the fertilizer on her jeans.
Bulbous bulbs popping through the garden. Tulips, mostly. I do believe that they are from the Netherlands, or somewhere of that origin. I once read a book about a man who was a tulip farmer and made a lot of money. It was about Cinderella from the view of the “evil” step sisters. It was seriously a great book. I would recommend it to anyone in a heartbeat. He also wrote Wicked, that author. Seriously fantastic.
The bulb seemed to crumble in her hand. She’d waited too long to plant it; it was dead. She’d spent her last few months caring for her mother-in-law, but with her now gone, there was nothing to do but work in the garden.
The bulb shone brightly on the back porch. The small illuminated orb attracted all varieties of moths and flies, yet no one paid any mind to the nightly intruders as they fluttered about. The bulb attracted them and who could not be attracted to that pure white light?
The plant bulb was crumbly in her hand. She had waited too long to plant it; postponed a necessary evil to take care of her sick mother-in-law and was now too late. It was this realization that turned her to tears. Maybe it was the death of Angela finally catching up with her, or maybe it was the fact that all of it was coming to fruition at once – losing her garden, losing Angela, slowly losing Sam. No matter, she sat in the dirt, tears making mud of the fertilizer on her jeans.
light bulbs are the weirdest things if you think about them, cause like you turn a light on and the electricity magno field mijiggy makes it light up and gives up light so we can do stuff like read adn right and see and like thats just to cool!
bulb. bub. bubble. tipple temple flower.
bursting into space-existence. pink. stymen, or is it styple? semen like eggs
implanting into the ground’s soft soil
its a light t
The bulb was frail, cracking, dry. She cupped her hands around it gently and called for James. He skittered into the kitchen with a freshly prepared pot, all wet, dark soil and a smattering of stones, a snail to keep the new plant company once its shoots started to reach for the sunlight.
Who knew what it was going to grow into.
Just something beautiful.
That much she knew.
Flowers are so pretty, even before they bloom, because even before you know what they are or what exactly they’re going to be, you know that they’re going to be bright and full of life. Don’t underestimate bulbs.
the bulb in the garden covered by all that dirt surrounded by flowers but hindered by all the weight around it struggling to breath struggling to live struggling to thrive to grow to be i am the bulb in the garden don’t underestimate my abilities
Katie picks the last bulb out of the box.
She carries it up the stairs into her bedroom. Reaching up, she stands atop the ladder trying to screw in the light.
She falls.
CRASH.
Katie hits the floor. The light goes out.
a bright light shines from the top of the room. it illuminates everything in the darkness beneath it. one small ball of fire can bring light into the darkest of situations.
She is old, and she is withered, and she is beautiful.
Hands in the dirt, planting a bulb that will sprout when spring comes, daffodils to grow and die and return every spring, as a phoenix rises from the ashes.
She will be dead before it sprouts, but they’ll scatter her ashes here.
Light bulb.
When you get an idea, an imaginary light bulb is on top of your head, floating. Ideas that can lead to such creative imaginations, or amazing work. Something, that can change this world.
the light bulb shown high over Thomas’ head. it made him sweat. he wanted to talk, but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. no matter what. the man in the suit slapped him again. “Speak, bitch! Speak! Tell me what we need to know, and then maybe ill think about not killing you.” but Thomas stayed silent.
There is a light bulb in the light fixture next to this table, that is sitting on the top of my bookcase. The bookcase has many differnent books that I enjoy very much. One of my favorites is harry potter. it’s about the best book that I have ever read. I love harry and his friends so much, although some of my favorite characters are dumbldore, lupin, sirius and tonks.
who is it i dont know lol
Ding!
The light bulb was dim, creating only light that allowed me to see a small diameter around me. The light covered me like a force field. Beyond it was darkness where nothing could be depicted. I couldn’t help but wonder what really was beyond this light. Was it just darkness, or a creature the was lurking. Stalking. Staring and watching me with beady eyes that made me more intimidated than I already was.
It glows.
its shiny
people use it in their everyday lives
it uses electricity. it is very useful we can study underneath it. bulbs are in the room and toilet too. they help us a lot. they are in many colors