fruit of the loom is a nice brand. i love anything that’s all cotton. i one day hope to have my whole wardrobe made of cotton. it makes me think of my dream bedroom. all white cotton sheets and blanket with my dream man in fruit of the loom white shirt and little boxers. everything will be wood too. mmmm.
Darkness looms over her. It’s intangible but that doesn’t change how heavily it weighs on her. This always happens when she is left with to much time to think. Thoughts are sometimes impossible to ignore.
The dark shape loomed over me. I cried out in fear, unable to move. Their screams echoed in the background, adding to the horror. This is it. I’m going to die.
The shadow of death looms over the head of every person. Every human lives with an inherent fear of dying. Every breathe and every thought progresses ones self to the eventual fate. The eventual death, that cannot be stopped. It loom closer than you think.
looming around and around she flew upside down and inside out, flying towards the ground at 300 miles per hour. Her cheeks were flapping in the insane wind pressure and she could see the ground coming towards her at an alarming rate and then, boom, the world went black.
The ancient mother sat down on the dusty floor. Her grey hair braided in long lengths down her back. Her dark skin wrinkled and weathered from years of outdoor life. She pulls the loom to her and begins to weave.
My sister started weaving scarves for my family and me the summer after 6th grade. She had attended the Blue Lake Fine Arts camp in Michigan for acting, and had taken an elective in weaving. When she came home, my grandpa helped her to build a loom of her own. It’s falling apart now, but it still hangs around in her now-empty room.
the thread spins fast on the wheel, she keeps spinning. It’s sharp and when she touches it small valleys are carved into her skin, she keeps spinning. It zooms and sparks in the light, she keeps spinning. its sparkles and cracks underneath her touch, she keeps spinning. her blood paints the dress golden.
The moon looms over them, an unwanted guardian, just like the petals on the dying trees, and the lashes on the false human. They are there when they should not be, artificial and fake every other variation of the form. The skeletal branches shake, and you shiver as the moon swallows the sky.
The shadow of the light posts loomed above me. It was dark, and so cold. I was soaking wet, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like i could feel. Not with Michael dead. It hurt so, so much. I wanted to cry, wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t.
I fear that sometimes a future looms over us that we are not prepared for. On an individual and societal scale. This feeling has something to do with our own mortality, yet civilization has grown and surpassed anything humans have experienced. We may not be ready to bear the brunt of our exponential legacy.
Through increased technology use we have been further distanced from heritage and listening and learning. Our elderly no longer have the same roles as being guides and noble council into their elder years. To become dignified with age because you have the knowledge that your ethics and ideals are living on in your grandchildren. Ideals that reinforce maintaining the health of the living community around you and therefore your own health. A worldwide community of hunters and gatherers and subsistence farmers. If we could live without extensive car travel and micro technology and modern medicine and electrical grids…. if we could not have so much so that someone far away didnt have to experience some immeasurable pain so that we can live comfortable, convenient lives.
Loom and doom, a rightful rhyme, say I. Vast emptiness is often associated with an omen, with impending terror, with a loss of something or a fright of some sort. Loom. The characterization of violent peace.
I remember thinking the loom was such a tiny thing, the strings laid across it too small for creating anything. I watched intently as she worked. One strand of tiny beads at a time picked up by needle, pushed up between threads, needle passing through each eye, thread gliding behind until all were snug in their row. I must have watched her for an hour, row after row, until the pattern and the beauty appeared–a tiny beaded tapestry.
deadlines loom like balloons overhead, threatening to deflate just enough to brush the top of my head like a whisper or a nag, or looming danger, sadness, and a birthday passed.
you misunderstood.
i’m watching over you.
i mean well.
you need me.
i am taking care of and for you.
there’s no way you can get by without me.
why don’t you listen?
you don’t see clearly what’s good for you
i’m watching over you
I stare down at the roses
I remember when we both seemingly appeared out of nowhere
and into each other’s lives
Just as quickly we disapeared into the fog
He sat at the loom, staring out into the distance. He’d run the thread through many times, but this time – it sparkled. The destiny this thread foretold was brilliant – and it didn’t end.
The question looms in my head: did i do something wrong? I read through our thread of texts, which were at first so lively and so eloquent and suddenly became cold. Curt. Emotioneless. I wonder if I said something to scare hime away, or if simply lost interest. It pisses me off, not the fact that he isn’t fawning over me but that I don’t even understand what happened.
Penelope wove threads in her loom to keep away the suitors until Odysseus returned. The loom of one of the Fates also exists in Greek mythology. Spinning until your thread, your life, breaks.
A dark shadow looms within me. I can’t get rid of it. The only way to do so is with light, and where was one to discover light? You’d think that the cracks throughout my broken soul would allow light to enter, but with each one I’m only brought closer to shattering and falling to the cold dark floor of despair in pieces that can never be put back together.
Nothing shall ever loom. Not thoughts. Not people. Not even objects. The world includes thousands of people fed up on looming, when not a single thing in the world looms. Not even the world itself.
The shadow loomed over me in the darkness, and I spun around to see it. It followed me as I tried to do everyday things. It pulled me down as I tried to rise. It was stronger than me, it was powerful and mind capturing. My voice was lost to the giant sounds of its expressions.
Dark thunderclouds loomed in the distance. Rain was coming, we could feel it in our bones. It would be a great storm, and the earth needed the moisture desperately. The crops were dry and the fields were drier. Rain was a blessing. Flashes of lighting could be seen.
She failed to see the shadow slinking around the locker room as she got ready to shower. The shadow had noticed her- had for years. It had finally found its chance. Singing loudly and very off key, it crept closer. Lunging, the figure casting the shadow snatched the girl and wrapped her in the now ripped shower curtain. This man, for that’s what caused the shadow, didn’t expect the girl to struggle. To end the fight, he grabbed the shower rod from the shower, hit her over the head, and took her from the locker room through the window. All of this happened in a matter of minutes. No one heard, but when they came in the next day, they saw the bloody shower rod carelessly thrown aside, the missing shower curtain, and the flooded floor around the shower where the girl was last known to be.
She climbed the latter to the attic. The floor creaked underneath her weight. Cobwebs clung to every surface . She reached for the first sheet and whipped it from the large thing it covered. It was the most beautiful antique loom she’d ever seen and a roll of precious silk still engaged.
As I walked along the path, I could feel the birds getting louder. At the end of the path was a large clearing, and in that clearing a tree loomed above the rest that surrounded it. It was massive and covered in vines and must’ve been 500 years old. I sat under that tree for a while
It came closer and closer to me looming up ahead like a foreign species, trying to overtake me nearly there, as my breath shortened, my eyes widened, I felt adrenaline pumping through my temples as it became more real. Its previously formless silhuette gained features, a prominent distinct bulge where its forehead would have been where it human.
get me out of this darkness get me away from this place
your scent still lingers over this town like a smog
a thick cloud of ghastly morbidity and lost hopes
My sister used to weave on a loom.
She carried around the loom on the college campus.
It made her into an artisan and I was proud of her.
I can’t remember exactly what she wove on is.
the smoke loomed above her head, intoxicating the only clean breathe of life she had left. she choked upon the idea, not the smoke, that all of this was coming to an end. Tears formed from the stinging substance accumulating in her eyes, she was forced to inhale this demise.
Wouldn’t it be funny if someone were haunted by a weaver, and the weaver’s loom were to pop up in a shroud of mist and loom in dark corners and alleyways and forests? I smell “Scary Movie 6.”
fruit of the loom is a nice brand. i love anything that’s all cotton. i one day hope to have my whole wardrobe made of cotton. it makes me think of my dream bedroom. all white cotton sheets and blanket with my dream man in fruit of the loom white shirt and little boxers. everything will be wood too. mmmm.
Darkness looms over her. It’s intangible but that doesn’t change how heavily it weighs on her. This always happens when she is left with to much time to think. Thoughts are sometimes impossible to ignore.
The dark shape loomed over me. I cried out in fear, unable to move. Their screams echoed in the background, adding to the horror. This is it. I’m going to die.
THE CLOUDS SLOWLY PULLED OVER THE SKY FILLING THE AIR WITH A THICK HEAVY FEELING
The shadow of death looms over the head of every person. Every human lives with an inherent fear of dying. Every breathe and every thought progresses ones self to the eventual fate. The eventual death, that cannot be stopped. It loom closer than you think.
looming around and around she flew upside down and inside out, flying towards the ground at 300 miles per hour. Her cheeks were flapping in the insane wind pressure and she could see the ground coming towards her at an alarming rate and then, boom, the world went black.
The ancient mother sat down on the dusty floor. Her grey hair braided in long lengths down her back. Her dark skin wrinkled and weathered from years of outdoor life. She pulls the loom to her and begins to weave.
My sister started weaving scarves for my family and me the summer after 6th grade. She had attended the Blue Lake Fine Arts camp in Michigan for acting, and had taken an elective in weaving. When she came home, my grandpa helped her to build a loom of her own. It’s falling apart now, but it still hangs around in her now-empty room.
the thread spins fast on the wheel, she keeps spinning. It’s sharp and when she touches it small valleys are carved into her skin, she keeps spinning. It zooms and sparks in the light, she keeps spinning. its sparkles and cracks underneath her touch, she keeps spinning. her blood paints the dress golden.
The moon looms over them, an unwanted guardian, just like the petals on the dying trees, and the lashes on the false human. They are there when they should not be, artificial and fake every other variation of the form. The skeletal branches shake, and you shiver as the moon swallows the sky.
The shadow of the light posts loomed above me. It was dark, and so cold. I was soaking wet, but it didn’t matter. It’s not like i could feel. Not with Michael dead. It hurt so, so much. I wanted to cry, wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t.
old lady young lady pretty and alone. she is poor, but content. a good mother. goes to church.
I fear that sometimes a future looms over us that we are not prepared for. On an individual and societal scale. This feeling has something to do with our own mortality, yet civilization has grown and surpassed anything humans have experienced. We may not be ready to bear the brunt of our exponential legacy.
Through increased technology use we have been further distanced from heritage and listening and learning. Our elderly no longer have the same roles as being guides and noble council into their elder years. To become dignified with age because you have the knowledge that your ethics and ideals are living on in your grandchildren. Ideals that reinforce maintaining the health of the living community around you and therefore your own health. A worldwide community of hunters and gatherers and subsistence farmers. If we could live without extensive car travel and micro technology and modern medicine and electrical grids…. if we could not have so much so that someone far away didnt have to experience some immeasurable pain so that we can live comfortable, convenient lives.
Loom and doom, a rightful rhyme, say I. Vast emptiness is often associated with an omen, with impending terror, with a loss of something or a fright of some sort. Loom. The characterization of violent peace.
I remember thinking the loom was such a tiny thing, the strings laid across it too small for creating anything. I watched intently as she worked. One strand of tiny beads at a time picked up by needle, pushed up between threads, needle passing through each eye, thread gliding behind until all were snug in their row. I must have watched her for an hour, row after row, until the pattern and the beauty appeared–a tiny beaded tapestry.
She sat at the window and the morning light shone on her as she sat at her loom weaving a blanket from the wool of the yearling sheep.
He’s looming again
Always, hovering looming,
Over my shoulder.
deadlines loom like balloons overhead, threatening to deflate just enough to brush the top of my head like a whisper or a nag, or looming danger, sadness, and a birthday passed.
you misunderstood.
i’m watching over you.
i mean well.
you need me.
i am taking care of and for you.
there’s no way you can get by without me.
why don’t you listen?
you don’t see clearly what’s good for you
i’m watching over you
loom, my dullness. Moons purr. Breaking knees, bruised peaches. Murmur. Loom, my vibrance.
I stare down at the roses
I remember when we both seemingly appeared out of nowhere
and into each other’s lives
Just as quickly we disapeared into the fog
He sat at the loom, staring out into the distance. He’d run the thread through many times, but this time – it sparkled. The destiny this thread foretold was brilliant – and it didn’t end.
The question looms in my head: did i do something wrong? I read through our thread of texts, which were at first so lively and so eloquent and suddenly became cold. Curt. Emotioneless. I wonder if I said something to scare hime away, or if simply lost interest. It pisses me off, not the fact that he isn’t fawning over me but that I don’t even understand what happened.
“Do you do that on purpose?”
“Do what?”
“The — the looming thing, you loom, do you do it on purpose?”
“I –”
“Take a few steps back, Captain, you’re freakin me out I’m suffocating over here.”
“Will you just hurry up we only have five minutes!”
“All right all right calm down keep your Depends on!”
Penelope wove threads in her loom to keep away the suitors until Odysseus returned. The loom of one of the Fates also exists in Greek mythology. Spinning until your thread, your life, breaks.
A dark shadow looms within me. I can’t get rid of it. The only way to do so is with light, and where was one to discover light? You’d think that the cracks throughout my broken soul would allow light to enter, but with each one I’m only brought closer to shattering and falling to the cold dark floor of despair in pieces that can never be put back together.
Nothing shall ever loom. Not thoughts. Not people. Not even objects. The world includes thousands of people fed up on looming, when not a single thing in the world looms. Not even the world itself.
The shadow loomed over me in the darkness, and I spun around to see it. It followed me as I tried to do everyday things. It pulled me down as I tried to rise. It was stronger than me, it was powerful and mind capturing. My voice was lost to the giant sounds of its expressions.
loom
mool
more
Eeyore
isthatspelledcorrectly
correct
ly
adverb
THERE’S A LOOM IN TERRARIAAAAAA!!!
When the stars shatter. Bring them to me so I may sow them together in sky. They’ll pour forth through the loom and scatter.
Dark thunderclouds loomed in the distance. Rain was coming, we could feel it in our bones. It would be a great storm, and the earth needed the moisture desperately. The crops were dry and the fields were drier. Rain was a blessing. Flashes of lighting could be seen.
She failed to see the shadow slinking around the locker room as she got ready to shower. The shadow had noticed her- had for years. It had finally found its chance. Singing loudly and very off key, it crept closer. Lunging, the figure casting the shadow snatched the girl and wrapped her in the now ripped shower curtain. This man, for that’s what caused the shadow, didn’t expect the girl to struggle. To end the fight, he grabbed the shower rod from the shower, hit her over the head, and took her from the locker room through the window. All of this happened in a matter of minutes. No one heard, but when they came in the next day, they saw the bloody shower rod carelessly thrown aside, the missing shower curtain, and the flooded floor around the shower where the girl was last known to be.
She climbed the latter to the attic. The floor creaked underneath her weight. Cobwebs clung to every surface . She reached for the first sheet and whipped it from the large thing it covered. It was the most beautiful antique loom she’d ever seen and a roll of precious silk still engaged.
As I walked along the path, I could feel the birds getting louder. At the end of the path was a large clearing, and in that clearing a tree loomed above the rest that surrounded it. It was massive and covered in vines and must’ve been 500 years old. I sat under that tree for a while
It came closer and closer to me looming up ahead like a foreign species, trying to overtake me nearly there, as my breath shortened, my eyes widened, I felt adrenaline pumping through my temples as it became more real. Its previously formless silhuette gained features, a prominent distinct bulge where its forehead would have been where it human.
get me out of this darkness get me away from this place
your scent still lingers over this town like a smog
a thick cloud of ghastly morbidity and lost hopes
My sister used to weave on a loom.
She carried around the loom on the college campus.
It made her into an artisan and I was proud of her.
I can’t remember exactly what she wove on is.
the smoke loomed above her head, intoxicating the only clean breathe of life she had left. she choked upon the idea, not the smoke, that all of this was coming to an end. Tears formed from the stinging substance accumulating in her eyes, she was forced to inhale this demise.
Wouldn’t it be funny if someone were haunted by a weaver, and the weaver’s loom were to pop up in a shroud of mist and loom in dark corners and alleyways and forests? I smell “Scary Movie 6.”