Wait. I already wrote about this. I did. I swear. I’m not lying. fine. I’ll show you how. I know that everyone else thought it was a darkroom for photography. see? i already wrote about this. I guess when u create an account u get to write twice. NOT
In the darkroom all was sacred. We made film from photography in which we viewed the outside world with. All to be used in the darkroom and viewed. only a hum of red light illuminated it, which was pure, brilliant, as life is.
I sit alone, the cold crawling up my spine. I wonder how I came to be here, alone, cold, frightened. But in the end I know it will be alright, after the cold leaves me and the fear drains.
No time. No time. Ok. Wait. what is this? where am i? is there a door? no? ok, calm down. am calm. am calm. dont think of horror films. DONT. OK. I can feel the breeze.. im calm. ok
photography happens here. i used to take photography in high school. it had a really cool door that kept the light out. that door sort of freaked me out but i got used to it. photography is kind of hard to get down but at the same time everyone can do it. kinda strange. i wish i took pictures but i stopped. i want a darkroom in my house.
where i can write and read and dream, where imagination meets memory in the dark. silence. peace. just thoughts. and my favorite times, replaying on a reel. afraid maybe? am i alone? I don’t want to be alone. I’m afraid of the dark. Even still. Developing photos!!!
the darkroom is where you go when you have had a long day and you need to escape from your senses. in the darkroom, you can be creative and fill yourself with emotions. as our vision dulls and the sounds of the world wither, you lose yourself hopefully, in the darkness. you can also be artsy and work on phorographs!
Why is the room so dark? Children are scared and cry, even war hero adults cringe at the absence of light. Because it is not just an absence of light but an absence of hope.
A photograph is worth a thousand words: it tells the truth. A silent, still capture of a scene, a figure, an action is timeless, and cannot be distorted. Photographs triumph over word in this respect.
I have 60 seconds to write about a dark room and I don’t know what to say. At first I thought photography kind of dark room. And then I thought of a dark room. Literally. And now I’m stuck between these two thoughts and which to write about. D: Done. :D
photography. in order to produce a photo you have to somehow make the film right in the darkroom. it normally has a red tint right? my art room has two at school. ive never been in it. i draw instead. also at night, i go to bed in a …dark room.
the film was place in the solution and the outline of her evilness grew with the exposure that filled the darkroom. She was never captured on film until this evening when judas snapped a shot of her nakedness.
The room was errily quiet and the shadows on the walls were creating threataning shapes in the mid night breeze. the young boy lay a wake in his bead knowing that somethibng was out there, waiting. waiting for him to go to sleep. But he was detemended not to, for if he did it would come, and he couldn’t let that happen. After all the tales and story’s about ghoasts and werewolves and the things that haunt childrens dreams, Tom never thought that they were real. But they were. They were as real as you and me.
there i was, in the room all by myself. didnt know what was going to come next but somehow i was unafraid. i knew that somehow i would be fine and that the situation was about to resolve itself.
if only that comfort stayed through the night and as the moon faded and morning came my nerves exploded, tingling with the unknown that the sunlight brought.
and here I am again, where my eyes wander slowly but my brain picks up nothing & without choice my mind starts firing off whatever breezes in, and usually it’s hopes and wants and dreams, but this time a taste of reality sweeps in & I just want to fix this- see i’m in the process of loving & destroying and it’s really the epitome of bittersweet. maybe if I just stay in here, I won’t have to watch the collapse of muscle and fluid that my newly-shown honesty will trigger- maybe it’s a bit selfish to think that way, but maybe i’m also tired of watching people cry on my behalf- people that care about my well-being & people that look at me and smile, and I lie with a reciprocated smirk & wait for them to see right through it (and they never do; for once I wish they would, but they never do). & when it’s all over, their own mind will attack them & i’ll try to be their defense; you didn’t do anything, I swear- it was me me me, but i’m already the self-loving prick so all they hear is me talking about myself again & i’m sorry i’m a failure to you, but it’s not because I want to be- no it’s because while you’re not entirely sure who I am, I haven’t the slightest fucking idea & wanting to make everybody happy without picking and choosing is just going to make everybody miserable- but hey, fair is fair.
i wish i were in a dark room. i dont want to talk to anyone and im definitely sick of my parents being mad at me about my grades. a dark room sounds really nice right now….
in a darkroom i was stranded. it was dark and scary and i was alone. i wanted someone to save me but no one came. i was locked in and afraid of something under the bed or in the closet. suddenly i heard a noise and another and another and i began to scream.
I am in a darkroom. Why am I in a darkroom? No one I know develops pictures. Should I open the door? If I do, I’m pretty sure I would know where I am. I guess its a good idea.
I am in a dark room. It’s a small, dimly lit space, lit by deep, red lights. hear water sloshing, see wires hung from wall to wall. It’s dark. It’s eerie. It’s creepy. It’s where I develop my pictures. It’s my darkroom.
when I was in the dark room i saw a ghost. not a real ghost, but it was a real ghost. it’s name was maurice. I said hello maurice and he told me he liked to eat mustard, and his pet peeve was photography so that’s why he was haunting the dark room to destroy all the photos i was developing.
I am completely alone. There is no sound. I am waiting for the light to appear but I can’t grasp it, I don’t even remember what it looks or feels like. It is completely silent except for the sound of my breath, in and out..in and out. Where am I? How did I get here..God save me.
It’s cold with slivers of light in the black. Something behind me but it doesn’t speak, just hovers and shimmers in the energy between my shoulder blades. There isn’t time, I think. There isn’t time. This is why they invented digital cameras.
blakc ohuel omg idk what I’m wrtingin what if I don’t know what to write about is just dark the place where I want to be with my baby cuz that mean we will be able to have some privacy i’m not thinking just writing omg omg come back the time is almost over is just hard to type while we can’t think if i know i’m getting timed in this cuz imagine ask.
In the darkroom at school was where I fell in love. He was developing photos. I remember his dark hair falling over his eyes every time he picked up a picture out of the water. He kept telling me about each photo but all I could concentrate on was his facial expressions.
I didn’t want to write about a darkroom because it is two words not one. Unless, that is, you are talking about a darkroom where photos are developed in which case the above spelling is correct. AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!!!!!
i am sitting in a dark room.
they talk to me.
i talk back.
they scare me in the most
comforting of ways.
no one understands.
that february is a land mark.
a tree on a hill.
an open wound.
an icy blue.
but i guess
i dont understand either.
There’s a darkroom in our house that used to belong to Mr. Shay, the man who lived here before us for over forty years. It has a red door, now fading, and a low ceiling since it’s built under a staircase as an afterthought. It has a sink and an old clock and glass viles and a slight chemical smell, even after all these years. I wonder what my boys will make of the place when they’re older. Will it feel “quaint” or more like ancient history to them?
photography. I remember seeing the darkroom in my middle school family group, and thinking that when I got older, I’d have an interest in photography. I’d finally go in the darkroom. I never ended up taking photography class… music filled the void. No darkroom, no darkness.
I feel as though I’m in a darkroom, lying in my bed after the call has ended. The conversation we shared develops like photographs in my mind. I try to remember the best parts, but I can already feel it slipping away. I want to remember all of you, but my eyes are already closing. I wonder if my waking thoughts will trespass into my dreams, and then I hope they will. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say the things I can say over the phone face to face and then I think that if suddenly I find my voice, you’ll be the first to know, and I will tell you everything.
You always say that I was going places. But I have all of this film. Wet and murky. All signs point to the darkroom.
Wait. I already wrote about this. I did. I swear. I’m not lying. fine. I’ll show you how. I know that everyone else thought it was a darkroom for photography. see? i already wrote about this. I guess when u create an account u get to write twice. NOT
In the darkroom all was sacred. We made film from photography in which we viewed the outside world with. All to be used in the darkroom and viewed. only a hum of red light illuminated it, which was pure, brilliant, as life is.
I sit alone, the cold crawling up my spine. I wonder how I came to be here, alone, cold, frightened. But in the end I know it will be alright, after the cold leaves me and the fear drains.
No time. No time. Ok. Wait. what is this? where am i? is there a door? no? ok, calm down. am calm. am calm. dont think of horror films. DONT. OK. I can feel the breeze.. im calm. ok
photography happens here. i used to take photography in high school. it had a really cool door that kept the light out. that door sort of freaked me out but i got used to it. photography is kind of hard to get down but at the same time everyone can do it. kinda strange. i wish i took pictures but i stopped. i want a darkroom in my house.
where i can write and read and dream, where imagination meets memory in the dark. silence. peace. just thoughts. and my favorite times, replaying on a reel. afraid maybe? am i alone? I don’t want to be alone. I’m afraid of the dark. Even still. Developing photos!!!
darkrooms scare me… darkrooms are a get away.. darkrooms.. what else is there to say.? i love being them with you
the darkroom is where you go when you have had a long day and you need to escape from your senses. in the darkroom, you can be creative and fill yourself with emotions. as our vision dulls and the sounds of the world wither, you lose yourself hopefully, in the darkness. you can also be artsy and work on phorographs!
Why is the room so dark? Children are scared and cry, even war hero adults cringe at the absence of light. Because it is not just an absence of light but an absence of hope.
A photograph is worth a thousand words: it tells the truth. A silent, still capture of a scene, a figure, an action is timeless, and cannot be distorted. Photographs triumph over word in this respect.
in a dark room, my eyes adjust. How dark is the room? How open are my eyes’ pupil? what will make a beam
There are sweatypeople everywhere! I dont understand why evryone is so sweaty!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
I have 60 seconds to write about a dark room and I don’t know what to say. At first I thought photography kind of dark room. And then I thought of a dark room. Literally. And now I’m stuck between these two thoughts and which to write about. D: Done. :D
The darkroom where Mauren developed her photographs was given to her by her meat sauce.
blue and black reflections from oily counters, dripping the grease that reveals the art. Why does art have to be born in the dark?
photography. in order to produce a photo you have to somehow make the film right in the darkroom. it normally has a red tint right? my art room has two at school. ive never been in it. i draw instead. also at night, i go to bed in a …dark room.
the film was place in the solution and the outline of her evilness grew with the exposure that filled the darkroom. She was never captured on film until this evening when judas snapped a shot of her nakedness.
The room was errily quiet and the shadows on the walls were creating threataning shapes in the mid night breeze. the young boy lay a wake in his bead knowing that somethibng was out there, waiting. waiting for him to go to sleep. But he was detemended not to, for if he did it would come, and he couldn’t let that happen. After all the tales and story’s about ghoasts and werewolves and the things that haunt childrens dreams, Tom never thought that they were real. But they were. They were as real as you and me.
I’m in the darkroom now. This is where I develop everything. I used to develop holiday snaps but now all I have are blank films.
there i was, in the room all by myself. didnt know what was going to come next but somehow i was unafraid. i knew that somehow i would be fine and that the situation was about to resolve itself.
if only that comfort stayed through the night and as the moon faded and morning came my nerves exploded, tingling with the unknown that the sunlight brought.
and here I am again, where my eyes wander slowly but my brain picks up nothing & without choice my mind starts firing off whatever breezes in, and usually it’s hopes and wants and dreams, but this time a taste of reality sweeps in & I just want to fix this- see i’m in the process of loving & destroying and it’s really the epitome of bittersweet. maybe if I just stay in here, I won’t have to watch the collapse of muscle and fluid that my newly-shown honesty will trigger- maybe it’s a bit selfish to think that way, but maybe i’m also tired of watching people cry on my behalf- people that care about my well-being & people that look at me and smile, and I lie with a reciprocated smirk & wait for them to see right through it (and they never do; for once I wish they would, but they never do). & when it’s all over, their own mind will attack them & i’ll try to be their defense; you didn’t do anything, I swear- it was me me me, but i’m already the self-loving prick so all they hear is me talking about myself again & i’m sorry i’m a failure to you, but it’s not because I want to be- no it’s because while you’re not entirely sure who I am, I haven’t the slightest fucking idea & wanting to make everybody happy without picking and choosing is just going to make everybody miserable- but hey, fair is fair.
i wish i were in a dark room. i dont want to talk to anyone and im definitely sick of my parents being mad at me about my grades. a dark room sounds really nice right now….
in a darkroom i was stranded. it was dark and scary and i was alone. i wanted someone to save me but no one came. i was locked in and afraid of something under the bed or in the closet. suddenly i heard a noise and another and another and i began to scream.
I sat in the room, eyes closed, drifting off, floating away, letting go of my mind, waiting, just waiting, for the light to come.
I was alone. Nobody was there. Nobody existed but me.
Nobody.
I felt tears form and drip down my nose.
I am in a darkroom. Why am I in a darkroom? No one I know develops pictures. Should I open the door? If I do, I’m pretty sure I would know where I am. I guess its a good idea.
woo hoo.
I am in a dark room. It’s a small, dimly lit space, lit by deep, red lights. hear water sloshing, see wires hung from wall to wall. It’s dark. It’s eerie. It’s creepy. It’s where I develop my pictures. It’s my darkroom.
when I was in the dark room i saw a ghost. not a real ghost, but it was a real ghost. it’s name was maurice. I said hello maurice and he told me he liked to eat mustard, and his pet peeve was photography so that’s why he was haunting the dark room to destroy all the photos i was developing.
I am completely alone. There is no sound. I am waiting for the light to appear but I can’t grasp it, I don’t even remember what it looks or feels like. It is completely silent except for the sound of my breath, in and out..in and out. Where am I? How did I get here..God save me.
It’s cold with slivers of light in the black. Something behind me but it doesn’t speak, just hovers and shimmers in the energy between my shoulder blades. There isn’t time, I think. There isn’t time. This is why they invented digital cameras.
blakc ohuel omg idk what I’m wrtingin what if I don’t know what to write about is just dark the place where I want to be with my baby cuz that mean we will be able to have some privacy i’m not thinking just writing omg omg come back the time is almost over is just hard to type while we can’t think if i know i’m getting timed in this cuz imagine ask.
In the darkroom at school was where I fell in love. He was developing photos. I remember his dark hair falling over his eyes every time he picked up a picture out of the water. He kept telling me about each photo but all I could concentrate on was his facial expressions.
I didn’t want to write about a darkroom because it is two words not one. Unless, that is, you are talking about a darkroom where photos are developed in which case the above spelling is correct. AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT!!!!!
darkroom is about photography, it also
i am sitting in a dark room.
they talk to me.
i talk back.
they scare me in the most
comforting of ways.
no one understands.
that february is a land mark.
a tree on a hill.
an open wound.
an icy blue.
but i guess
i dont understand either.
There’s a darkroom in our house that used to belong to Mr. Shay, the man who lived here before us for over forty years. It has a red door, now fading, and a low ceiling since it’s built under a staircase as an afterthought. It has a sink and an old clock and glass viles and a slight chemical smell, even after all these years. I wonder what my boys will make of the place when they’re older. Will it feel “quaint” or more like ancient history to them?
scary shadows lurking in my childhood memories …nightmares of the boogieman coming to get me…hiding under covers to make them go away
This is where they fight me.
photography. I remember seeing the darkroom in my middle school family group, and thinking that when I got older, I’d have an interest in photography. I’d finally go in the darkroom. I never ended up taking photography class… music filled the void. No darkroom, no darkness.
I feel as though I’m in a darkroom, lying in my bed after the call has ended. The conversation we shared develops like photographs in my mind. I try to remember the best parts, but I can already feel it slipping away. I want to remember all of you, but my eyes are already closing. I wonder if my waking thoughts will trespass into my dreams, and then I hope they will. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say the things I can say over the phone face to face and then I think that if suddenly I find my voice, you’ll be the first to know, and I will tell you everything.