He held the gun high in the air and fired two shots. The crowd imeadiately silenced and looked up at him as he tucked the weapon back into his holster. “Now that I have your attention, I’d like to tell you our plan. If everyone would make a single file line in front of my co-captain Charlie,” he gestured towards a man holding a riffle, “then we can all begin the evacuation process.” Needless to say, the crowd didn’t follow his orders and made a mad rush for the door.
One day, the holder of an item that belonged to a prince roamed the city, and started to get sad. He thought that he wasn’t appreciated enough by the prince. The prince gave him cookies and told him that he was awesome, and he felt better. <3 :)
i like to hold things the holder in my car holds cups i liuke people who hold things for me i have a strainer it holds when its hot and wet i can do lots of things with an assistant who will hold things for me holders are awesome and lots of fun
i wish icould hold onto anything longer than five seconds i swear i have no attention span i think it’s all the internet or all of the tv i watch while i do my homework i always multitask i need to hold on to something for more than a bit it’s driving me nuts people are slipping out of my hands like no ones business i want to cry i wish i could hold hold hold like glue on to everything around me it’s all so eabtuiful but is that selfish?
i am the beholder. what do i hold. and what holds me. what places me. what am i and what do i place within myself. are these my own decisions..or instinct.what i place has a place of its own. upsetting. unnecessary. what do i hold. and what holds me.
holder. holder. holding. holding. Redundancy. Redundancy. Thats the true hell preachers shout at their victims on lonely sundays. Thats the real threat. Not the gays or the ejewsw or the one with more pets. But redundancy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He was the holder of all things untold. And he held them with dignity close to his chest, covered his sleeve so no one could feel the pain that he felt, no one could sense the burden he held with him. as he walked along the sidewalk one step after the other, the weight on his shoulders held him tightly to the pavement.
holder holds the holdin, nobody wuite appreciates this, but who gi ves a damn anyway? I sure as hell dont. Jeeze. Louis. Who’s that/ Bitches. Cheesy Bitches. And thats the end of the show. Bow. Gas.
does he know his influence? how every gaze captures me, every word ensnares, every touch emblazens, and every breath rocks me? i don’t want to be kept. i don’t want your hostage. but please don’t ever leave..
As much as I would want to hold on to the things I’d like to remember, there are some things that my mind will simply forget. Moments upon moments and hours upon hours, these things would change forever and bloom into beautiful flowers.
The holder finally breaks after his final thrust. He picks apart what is left on the table and sweeps the remnants into the crystal jar. Circular motion with the handkerchief collects the fairy dust. The notion that she’s always right in the end doesn’t escape his mind. Then again, she is not here to find out so he sweeps faster.
The car’s cup holder was over flowing with trash–old receipts, gum wrappers, and dirty napkins–when darling, little Jared and his stupid friend threw a smoking match into it. Like the mischievous nine year old boys that they were, they thought they could play with matches in the car, safe from Mom’s watchful eyes. That’s how the cup holder and car caught on fire inside the garage. That moment of terror must have been what inspired the two little devils not to run, but to hide in the corner behind the bikes. That’s where the firefighters found them, unconscious.
Eric holder. The guy that should be fired. He has not done a single thing to prove that he should have the job he does. It’s just another reason that Obama shouldn’t be reelected. Also, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
the card holder had a good hand. all the chips in front of him. but he wanted more. higher stakes. more rush. but the other guy had a better hand…
next time. next time. i’ll get them next time.
need more. more money.
but it’s not about the money, it’s the rush
it’s the game.
“Would the current title-holder please step forward?” The loudspeaker echoed into the corners of the hall. No-one stirred. “Surely, one of you has earned this previously?” The voice rose quererously. “Every year, we have someone who earns the name ‘Eager Beaver’.
I held him, the holder, in my arms. He was finally broken, the one who had clutched me to his chest and kept me safe, and now it was my turn. To heal him, to protect him, to save him from the mess of the world and those who tried so hard to hurt him. Their cruelties were too much.
Hold that book for one week. Just one more week. You’ll get to it, I promise. Right after that Stephen King series. And that string of Palahniuk books you’ve had on your list for months. Don’t give up on it yet, it’s hardly had a chance, save for a half-second glance at the inside cover in the library.
I ran around the empty room, holding the object. Didn’t bother to look at it. Couldn’t. It was my job, it was what I did, that was my purpose. Couldn’t stop. I had to keep moving, keep holding whatever it was that I was assigned, and pass it off. It was a hard life, but it was mine. People don’t bother me about it, I don’t bother them.
keeps things in one place. cup holder. containment. stops accidents and excitement. can be helpful if needed but also keeps imagination from roaming and creativity from blossoming.
I put sunflowers in my pocket, just to keep them for later even though I knew they would wither before I returned home. I suppose I wanted to cherish the moment. To take it with me. I don’t remember quite as well a I expected–I don’t remember the warmth of golden light on my nose or the tingling of my ever-reddening cheeks. I just remember sneaking those petals into my pocket, already looking back on the memory.
He was known as the holder. People would go to him, and they had to be referred from others. and they would go, and tell him their secrets. Now the twist comes in. He would keep their secrets forever, unless someone had a secret, very similar or the same as yours, then he would tell, and you, would somehow, become united with the other.
so the holder that i hold in my hand is cut from a cloth of difference. It’s not any ordinary potholder. It’s one that holds the generational knowledge that has passed through my family for years upon years and will forever tell the legacy that I call life.
You are the holder and I am the papers. You keep me in place while the wind threatens to whoosh me away, to wrench me from your grip.
And sometimes, the wind wins. Because I am just paper.
holder, nose que carajo significa esta palabra, o si la sem pero no me acuerdo proque no hablo ingles natal, holderrrrrrrrr, que carajo era, como sostener, pero no, sostenedor ???? holderrrrrrrrrrr
give me some rope im coming loose im falling hor you now
beatsteaks holder uqe mierda sacame esta palabra de la cabeza
amo el bajo de foo fighgters quiero quiero qu
my aunt wanda cameover to y house with her newborn and i asker her if i could hold her. She was the cutest thing ever and when i got to hold her I was so excited. they said i was so good at holding her that it was like i was a mommy before :0 what can i say, i loved holding her it was awesome.
As in one who holds? It truly could be simple or complex. For example, a plant holder. Boring, average. But if we’re referring to a person, a human who holds… it changes the meaning entirely.
Holder to me sounds more like “hold her”. This gives me the feeling that every guy should respect the women in his life. He should be their support by “holding them” when necessary. Whether it be a mother, sister, girlfriend, or anyone, his “holding” is very important, because it provides a sense of courage and relief to a girl.
I couldn’t believe it. She was gone. My mother overdosed last night and it killed her. She was really, undoubtedly dead. And in her hand wasn’t some bong or razor for crack; she was holding my handmade potholders. The only thing I had ever made for her. Her only sign of affection to me in my whole life, and she had to be dead to show it.
Grasping, clinging, like an ape to his mother’s back. You do not want to let go, for fear that in that split moment you do, it will all disappear. And then you will be lost in the jungle, in a labyrinth of what could or could not be. And the jungle, it calls, but it is not a friend calling. And the jungle, it is hungry. Maybe that is why when you hear it, you hold on a little tighter.
She carried the fire with her all the way to the mountain, but no one would dare acknowledge her feat. They had laughed at her, said she could not do it. And yet, there she stood atop them all, holding the fire in her hands at the peak. She smiled.
Between blokes, when conversation is hard to come by, hard to start, friendships are brand new or as old as you can remember. with just a mate, or in a group of them, the first gesture of goodwill, peace and relaxation, the modern ‘breaking of the bread’ is the offering of a cold beer.
i have noticed now though, that a more sincere move by the host, is the retrieval, from atop the bar, deep in a draw, at the back of a cupboard, of a stubby cooler. a beer holder, that truly cements the peace between mates.
He held the gun high in the air and fired two shots. The crowd imeadiately silenced and looked up at him as he tucked the weapon back into his holster. “Now that I have your attention, I’d like to tell you our plan. If everyone would make a single file line in front of my co-captain Charlie,” he gestured towards a man holding a riffle, “then we can all begin the evacuation process.” Needless to say, the crowd didn’t follow his orders and made a mad rush for the door.
One day, the holder of an item that belonged to a prince roamed the city, and started to get sad. He thought that he wasn’t appreciated enough by the prince. The prince gave him cookies and told him that he was awesome, and he felt better. <3 :)
i like to hold things the holder in my car holds cups i liuke people who hold things for me i have a strainer it holds when its hot and wet i can do lots of things with an assistant who will hold things for me holders are awesome and lots of fun
i wish icould hold onto anything longer than five seconds i swear i have no attention span i think it’s all the internet or all of the tv i watch while i do my homework i always multitask i need to hold on to something for more than a bit it’s driving me nuts people are slipping out of my hands like no ones business i want to cry i wish i could hold hold hold like glue on to everything around me it’s all so eabtuiful but is that selfish?
i am the beholder. what do i hold. and what holds me. what places me. what am i and what do i place within myself. are these my own decisions..or instinct.what i place has a place of its own. upsetting. unnecessary. what do i hold. and what holds me.
holder. holder. holding. holding. Redundancy. Redundancy. Thats the true hell preachers shout at their victims on lonely sundays. Thats the real threat. Not the gays or the ejewsw or the one with more pets. But redundancy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He was the holder of all things untold. And he held them with dignity close to his chest, covered his sleeve so no one could feel the pain that he felt, no one could sense the burden he held with him. as he walked along the sidewalk one step after the other, the weight on his shoulders held him tightly to the pavement.
holder holds the holdin, nobody wuite appreciates this, but who gi ves a damn anyway? I sure as hell dont. Jeeze. Louis. Who’s that/ Bitches. Cheesy Bitches. And thats the end of the show. Bow. Gas.
does he know his influence? how every gaze captures me, every word ensnares, every touch emblazens, and every breath rocks me? i don’t want to be kept. i don’t want your hostage. but please don’t ever leave..
i’m the the key to my destiny, the bearer that carves his name into a mountain side, i am you you are me, we are fighters and killers.
As much as I would want to hold on to the things I’d like to remember, there are some things that my mind will simply forget. Moments upon moments and hours upon hours, these things would change forever and bloom into beautiful flowers.
The holder finally breaks after his final thrust. He picks apart what is left on the table and sweeps the remnants into the crystal jar. Circular motion with the handkerchief collects the fairy dust. The notion that she’s always right in the end doesn’t escape his mind. Then again, she is not here to find out so he sweeps faster.
The car’s cup holder was over flowing with trash–old receipts, gum wrappers, and dirty napkins–when darling, little Jared and his stupid friend threw a smoking match into it. Like the mischievous nine year old boys that they were, they thought they could play with matches in the car, safe from Mom’s watchful eyes. That’s how the cup holder and car caught on fire inside the garage. That moment of terror must have been what inspired the two little devils not to run, but to hide in the corner behind the bikes. That’s where the firefighters found them, unconscious.
Eric holder. The guy that should be fired. He has not done a single thing to prove that he should have the job he does. It’s just another reason that Obama shouldn’t be reelected. Also, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
the cup holder held a slightly cooler coffee. but the heat in the car was so much more. the windows fogged as the night got darker.
the card holder had a good hand. all the chips in front of him. but he wanted more. higher stakes. more rush. but the other guy had a better hand…
next time. next time. i’ll get them next time.
need more. more money.
but it’s not about the money, it’s the rush
it’s the game.
let’s play
“Would the current title-holder please step forward?” The loudspeaker echoed into the corners of the hall. No-one stirred. “Surely, one of you has earned this previously?” The voice rose quererously. “Every year, we have someone who earns the name ‘Eager Beaver’.
I held him, the holder, in my arms. He was finally broken, the one who had clutched me to his chest and kept me safe, and now it was my turn. To heal him, to protect him, to save him from the mess of the world and those who tried so hard to hurt him. Their cruelties were too much.
beholder. bee holder. behive. higherarchy. anarchy. rebellion. rebellious children. running away from home. winning the lottery by accident.
Hold that book for one week. Just one more week. You’ll get to it, I promise. Right after that Stephen King series. And that string of Palahniuk books you’ve had on your list for months. Don’t give up on it yet, it’s hardly had a chance, save for a half-second glance at the inside cover in the library.
I ran around the empty room, holding the object. Didn’t bother to look at it. Couldn’t. It was my job, it was what I did, that was my purpose. Couldn’t stop. I had to keep moving, keep holding whatever it was that I was assigned, and pass it off. It was a hard life, but it was mine. People don’t bother me about it, I don’t bother them.
keeps things in one place. cup holder. containment. stops accidents and excitement. can be helpful if needed but also keeps imagination from roaming and creativity from blossoming.
Who decided that someone should have the right to be the holder of someone else’d freedom anyways? What a violation of nature it is to hold that.
I put sunflowers in my pocket, just to keep them for later even though I knew they would wither before I returned home. I suppose I wanted to cherish the moment. To take it with me. I don’t remember quite as well a I expected–I don’t remember the warmth of golden light on my nose or the tingling of my ever-reddening cheeks. I just remember sneaking those petals into my pocket, already looking back on the memory.
He was known as the holder. People would go to him, and they had to be referred from others. and they would go, and tell him their secrets. Now the twist comes in. He would keep their secrets forever, unless someone had a secret, very similar or the same as yours, then he would tell, and you, would somehow, become united with the other.
so the holder that i hold in my hand is cut from a cloth of difference. It’s not any ordinary potholder. It’s one that holds the generational knowledge that has passed through my family for years upon years and will forever tell the legacy that I call life.
cups, drink, coster, booty, table, napkins, silverware, blindfolds, laptops, keys, kids, names, maps, commas
You are the holder and I am the papers. You keep me in place while the wind threatens to whoosh me away, to wrench me from your grip.
And sometimes, the wind wins. Because I am just paper.
holder, nose que carajo significa esta palabra, o si la sem pero no me acuerdo proque no hablo ingles natal, holderrrrrrrrr, que carajo era, como sostener, pero no, sostenedor ???? holderrrrrrrrrrr
give me some rope im coming loose im falling hor you now
beatsteaks holder uqe mierda sacame esta palabra de la cabeza
amo el bajo de foo fighgters quiero quiero qu
Everything is alright because of you
I am resting
Everybody is resting
All except for you
You are holding everything for everyone
You are holding pain
Hearts
Coats
Tears
Sadness
Happiness
Joy
Shoes
Clothes
Smiles
Doves
Books
Everything is in your hands
Generally holders can hold things. Unless they are broken. Then they probably can’t hold that much.
Of cups and men.
my aunt wanda cameover to y house with her newborn and i asker her if i could hold her. She was the cutest thing ever and when i got to hold her I was so excited. they said i was so good at holding her that it was like i was a mommy before :0 what can i say, i loved holding her it was awesome.
As in one who holds? It truly could be simple or complex. For example, a plant holder. Boring, average. But if we’re referring to a person, a human who holds… it changes the meaning entirely.
Holder to me sounds more like “hold her”. This gives me the feeling that every guy should respect the women in his life. He should be their support by “holding them” when necessary. Whether it be a mother, sister, girlfriend, or anyone, his “holding” is very important, because it provides a sense of courage and relief to a girl.
I couldn’t believe it. She was gone. My mother overdosed last night and it killed her. She was really, undoubtedly dead. And in her hand wasn’t some bong or razor for crack; she was holding my handmade potholders. The only thing I had ever made for her. Her only sign of affection to me in my whole life, and she had to be dead to show it.
Grasping, clinging, like an ape to his mother’s back. You do not want to let go, for fear that in that split moment you do, it will all disappear. And then you will be lost in the jungle, in a labyrinth of what could or could not be. And the jungle, it calls, but it is not a friend calling. And the jungle, it is hungry. Maybe that is why when you hear it, you hold on a little tighter.
He took my hand and held me close as we swayed slightly. Staring into each other’s eyes. No words were spoken, this was all we needed.
She carried the fire with her all the way to the mountain, but no one would dare acknowledge her feat. They had laughed at her, said she could not do it. And yet, there she stood atop them all, holding the fire in her hands at the peak. She smiled.
Between blokes, when conversation is hard to come by, hard to start, friendships are brand new or as old as you can remember. with just a mate, or in a group of them, the first gesture of goodwill, peace and relaxation, the modern ‘breaking of the bread’ is the offering of a cold beer.
i have noticed now though, that a more sincere move by the host, is the retrieval, from atop the bar, deep in a draw, at the back of a cupboard, of a stubby cooler. a beer holder, that truly cements the peace between mates.