Magazines– the epitome of our culture. Celebrities–the pinnacle of our existence. Have we fallen so far that a culture which once enjoyed and appreciated the genius of people like Mozart, Beethoven, Mark Twain is now discarded in favour of wondering who owns the latest handbag?
She was in all the magazines of the time. Everybody wanted to interview her, photograph her, feature her in articles and whatnot. She was certainly the Mrs. of the time. We didn’t mind the attention -God knows that-, but we certainly didn’t appreciate the paparazzi showing up every other day in our backyard.
Mimi showed me where her father kept his nudie magazines. At 8-years-old, I was naive and the images inside shocked me. Something about them made me feel kind of weird, like my stomach was doing a somersault. Or like that time I peed my pants while trying to crab walk across the patio. Later, I checked under my father’s mattress and found nothing. I was relieved.
there are a lot of magazines that cover a huge number of topic bases. for the most part they are compendiums of colourful information on glossy paper, shorter than a book but longer than a pamphlet. there is a 21st century love of these to be on the topic of other peoples lives. My favourite magazine is Pick me up for the completely factual stories
i flipped through the magazine while the white washed walls cleared my vision of the other people waiting around me. everyone breathed in one breath, aware that we were all waiting for the same verdict. the only problem was not many knew the conviction…not many bothered to even know they crime and yet still accept the guiltiness of others. my conscience is not righteous and has no room to be starved at the gluttony of others
He sat twiddling his thumbs. His palms sweaty and clammy. Picking up a magazine from 2 years ago he flicked through the pages, not really even looking at the pages. Dazed. “Mr Stuart”. Taking a deep breath he got up of his seat and followed the nurse in to the next room.
Magazines are all over my house. They are in piles next to my bed. On piles on my floor. They are next to the toilet. And, yes, there are even some piles of magazines in my recycling bin. I love magazines because they are the answer to the creative person’s short attention span.
I never much liked magazines. Sometimes, when I was little, I would check one out of the Library because I thought they were a grown up thing to read. I would never actually read them of course. I would just look at the pictures of the girls in the cloths that I wished I could wear.
I stopped to buy some magazines the other day, and I was amazed at what I saw: a blue plaid hippo dressed in a tuxedo. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. It was just the beginning of my hallucinations…
Magazines. I have a stack of them. Never ending it seems. All Seventeen. All the way back from October 2010 when I was merely 13. No where near old enough to read them. Hardly understanding most of it’s content, but I still loved them. Now I completely understand everything. It is my bible.
Magazines. They show us how we should properly live our life. They showcase the ideal clothes we should wear, makeup we should buy, trends we should follow, and even people that we should be. Teenage girls and women in general are especially influenced by magazines. This can be both a good thing or a bad. For example, if the magazines are a good influence on these girls, then society will benefit; but, if they are a bad influence, then it will suffer.
We wrote magazines when we were little. And we sold them to the army. And we sold them to our friends. But no one bought them. We were sad, but we may a new one, and people bought it.
in the magazine today they told me I was overweight, not sexty and men didn’t want m. They also gave me tips on great sex positions my boring sex life would never try and neither would my boyfriend. The fashion which I would love to wear, is fat too expensive for my mediocre paycheck.
There they were, stacked upon the holder, unread and piling up. My first thought when I see these magazines is “I thought they would make me better read and a good conversationalist.”
magazines have a way of either creating an elaborate fantasy world of what your life should be like (Cosmo) or inspiring you to get out and there try new things (National Geographic, Outside Mag). It’s a fine line between love/hate.
Die Magazine sind voller Narzissen. Narzissen mit Goldmündern. Sie rufen sich gegenseitig zu: “Schau, wie schön ich bin!” und “Willst du mich nicht bewundern?” Und sie drehen sich vor Spiegeln hin und her, betrachten sich von allen Seiten, halten aber die Nasen immer schön weit oben. Und dann sagen sie alle im Chor: “Pü!”
Of all the magazines available I pick Popular Mechanics the Scientology Edition. Talk about a fish out of water tools and space ships. I am lucky if I can find the channel Startreck is on.
they are full of people trying to sell you things. some of them have beautiful pictures in, some might tell you something you don’t know or help you connect with how someone else is feeling. but mostly they will make you fell either fat or ugly or that your house is not nice enough or that you don’t spend enough time planning what you are going to eat.
I love magazines. I pretty much only read 17 and Cosmo and magazines like that. I want to do this art thing with them where you cut out letters from your favorite pictures and articles and make them into a quote. Fun little craft.
I sat in the waiting room, my eyes anxiously bouncing from one corner to the next. I looked at the magazines debating whether to pick up one and pretend to be interested. The doctor burst through the door way, he looked around the room and finally spotted me,”Kat I have the results, let’s go to my office to discuss this in private.
High gloss, safe writers, bathrooms with more magazines. I used to want to live here but I realize my opinion is as useful as magazine toilet paper. All gloss.
Magazines – they fill the world with chat, information and bullets. Shooting into the future in the hope that someone will be there to stop them, read them, remember them.
there are too many of them. they sit on the shelves, they clutter your house, they make piles. i lived in a maze of magazines. my mother collected them as much as she collected newspapers. references to restaurants where she’ll never eat, trips she’ll never take, activities she’ll never complete. they’re filled with information she believes she needs and will never use and cannot live without
She sat in her room with the pile of magazines around her admiring the pictures of teh wrodl she would never experience. Her mom had kept her locked up in there for years and wouldnt let her out for anything for fear she would catcha cold or some deathly disease and die on her. But that is no reason not to let a child experience the world
Magazines were never something that I was that into. I’d rather read a book with no pictures than be distracted by the photos in magazines next to the words. In truth, I don’t like pictures all that much unless they are completely separated from words.
I have a lot of magazines. you can find them at any store. magazines have a lot of information inside and talk about a lot of famous people or famous things you can buy. after I read them I cut them and make collages with them or bags and a lot of creative things.
She flipped through the magazine hoping for some kind of relief from the disconnection she was feeling. Although she was just sitting on a bus it was like she was in some kind of fucked up force field world where every person’s thoughts on that bus were zooming in and out of her consciousness.
“It’s okay, I’m normal, I’m just sitting on a bus having weird thoughts.”
She thought back to yesterday and how stoned out of her mind she’d gotten.
“Maybe I can’t do that anymore, maybe it’s fucking with my perception of reality. But do I even want to be in this reality? Can’t I just live my own?”
The skinny girls in the magazine looked up at her, begging for feelings of jealousy or shallowness. It just wasn’t there. All that was in her head were the millions of connections between where she was now and where she had been and could go.
She wasn’t attached to the drama of her bullshit life anymore. So why do it? Why concern herself with getting out of bed every morning?
Then she thought of Adam. And the way he smiled as she hurriedly did up her black bra yesterday. And how he’d taken a drag and blown smoke out the window and into the universe.
She grabbed one of the many magazines in the waiting room, grimacing when she realized half of them were about ‘sexy tips for your partner!’ She instantly slapped them back down on the table beside her, looking up with slight shock as she saw the therapist enter the room. She felt a light blush cross her cheeks, and glanced away, clearing her throat.
The images are designed to sell. They market and test each idea spending millions to know what will be sold in the best way. What they seem to forget is that each time they also alter the thinking of the people reading them. It no longer becomes “Buy this!”, it becomes, “Strive for this impossible standard of life otherwise you could never be happy without this valueless products.”
I cried the day that I found your magazines….I sobbed uncontrollably because I then knew….you were gay and our entire marriage was a lie….why? Why would you marry me, profess your love and maintain seventeen years of a facade that you never really wanted?
The magazines in the doctor’s office. I’m waiting for my checkup and have nothing to read. I need to focus my mind on something, and the only options I have are Better Homes and Gardens and Cosmo. I thumb through the Cosmo and think how wonderful it is to be a man.
The disdain of all society. The thing that is useless in super market isles. The main reason that celebrities earn a lot of money. Useless objects that really have no purpose in life and can really only entertain people in a doctors office. We should replace them all with Dickens novels, then maybe American society wouldn’t be so…well….stupid and uncultured.
There were not many magazines. A copy of Forbes, a large-print Readers Digest from 3 years ago, a tattered copy of Time, an issue of Family Circle with recipes torn out. I had hours to wait, and so read them all, one after the other. Even Forbes, which had a not-mind-numbing article about the financial benefits of charitable donations.
The magazines themselves lay on the floor, some sprawled open and other’s closed. But they weren’t what caught my attention at least not immediately. It was the two perfectly manicured toe-nails sitting just above the magazines. And the long, thin, almost gangly body connected to those toes. The long brown, rough rope wrapped around their neck, most noticeable of all.
magazines. a way of communicating, a way of expressing, a way of gossip, a way of discovery. read every day. disposed of every day. factual, trashy, gossipy, music based, review based. suited to interests. enjoyed by many.
Magazines– the epitome of our culture. Celebrities–the pinnacle of our existence. Have we fallen so far that a culture which once enjoyed and appreciated the genius of people like Mozart, Beethoven, Mark Twain is now discarded in favour of wondering who owns the latest handbag?
She was in all the magazines of the time. Everybody wanted to interview her, photograph her, feature her in articles and whatnot. She was certainly the Mrs. of the time. We didn’t mind the attention -God knows that-, but we certainly didn’t appreciate the paparazzi showing up every other day in our backyard.
Mimi showed me where her father kept his nudie magazines. At 8-years-old, I was naive and the images inside shocked me. Something about them made me feel kind of weird, like my stomach was doing a somersault. Or like that time I peed my pants while trying to crab walk across the patio. Later, I checked under my father’s mattress and found nothing. I was relieved.
shiny plastic models flipping fast through pages.
Product product product everywhere.
Words fill up everything, pictures dominate
there are a lot of magazines that cover a huge number of topic bases. for the most part they are compendiums of colourful information on glossy paper, shorter than a book but longer than a pamphlet. there is a 21st century love of these to be on the topic of other peoples lives. My favourite magazine is Pick me up for the completely factual stories
i flipped through the magazine while the white washed walls cleared my vision of the other people waiting around me. everyone breathed in one breath, aware that we were all waiting for the same verdict. the only problem was not many knew the conviction…not many bothered to even know they crime and yet still accept the guiltiness of others. my conscience is not righteous and has no room to be starved at the gluttony of others
He sat twiddling his thumbs. His palms sweaty and clammy. Picking up a magazine from 2 years ago he flicked through the pages, not really even looking at the pages. Dazed. “Mr Stuart”. Taking a deep breath he got up of his seat and followed the nurse in to the next room.
Magazines are all over my house. They are in piles next to my bed. On piles on my floor. They are next to the toilet. And, yes, there are even some piles of magazines in my recycling bin. I love magazines because they are the answer to the creative person’s short attention span.
I never much liked magazines. Sometimes, when I was little, I would check one out of the Library because I thought they were a grown up thing to read. I would never actually read them of course. I would just look at the pictures of the girls in the cloths that I wished I could wear.
I stopped to buy some magazines the other day, and I was amazed at what I saw: a blue plaid hippo dressed in a tuxedo. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. It was just the beginning of my hallucinations…
Magazines. I have a stack of them. Never ending it seems. All Seventeen. All the way back from October 2010 when I was merely 13. No where near old enough to read them. Hardly understanding most of it’s content, but I still loved them. Now I completely understand everything. It is my bible.
Our friends gave us a magazine to read while they went the movies to get some popcorn and we came back, watched a movie, and read those magazines.
Magazines. They show us how we should properly live our life. They showcase the ideal clothes we should wear, makeup we should buy, trends we should follow, and even people that we should be. Teenage girls and women in general are especially influenced by magazines. This can be both a good thing or a bad. For example, if the magazines are a good influence on these girls, then society will benefit; but, if they are a bad influence, then it will suffer.
We wrote magazines when we were little. And we sold them to the army. And we sold them to our friends. But no one bought them. We were sad, but we may a new one, and people bought it.
in the magazine today they told me I was overweight, not sexty and men didn’t want m. They also gave me tips on great sex positions my boring sex life would never try and neither would my boyfriend. The fashion which I would love to wear, is fat too expensive for my mediocre paycheck.
There they were, stacked upon the holder, unread and piling up. My first thought when I see these magazines is “I thought they would make me better read and a good conversationalist.”
i like all those trashy magazines, i have a collection of cosmos. i like to read them on planes or long car rides
magazines have a way of either creating an elaborate fantasy world of what your life should be like (Cosmo) or inspiring you to get out and there try new things (National Geographic, Outside Mag). It’s a fine line between love/hate.
Die Magazine sind voller Narzissen. Narzissen mit Goldmündern. Sie rufen sich gegenseitig zu: “Schau, wie schön ich bin!” und “Willst du mich nicht bewundern?” Und sie drehen sich vor Spiegeln hin und her, betrachten sich von allen Seiten, halten aber die Nasen immer schön weit oben. Und dann sagen sie alle im Chor: “Pü!”
Of all the magazines available I pick Popular Mechanics the Scientology Edition. Talk about a fish out of water tools and space ships. I am lucky if I can find the channel Startreck is on.
they are full of people trying to sell you things. some of them have beautiful pictures in, some might tell you something you don’t know or help you connect with how someone else is feeling. but mostly they will make you fell either fat or ugly or that your house is not nice enough or that you don’t spend enough time planning what you are going to eat.
I love magazines. I pretty much only read 17 and Cosmo and magazines like that. I want to do this art thing with them where you cut out letters from your favorite pictures and articles and make them into a quote. Fun little craft.
I sat in the waiting room, my eyes anxiously bouncing from one corner to the next. I looked at the magazines debating whether to pick up one and pretend to be interested. The doctor burst through the door way, he looked around the room and finally spotted me,”Kat I have the results, let’s go to my office to discuss this in private.
High gloss, safe writers, bathrooms with more magazines. I used to want to live here but I realize my opinion is as useful as magazine toilet paper. All gloss.
Magazines – they fill the world with chat, information and bullets. Shooting into the future in the hope that someone will be there to stop them, read them, remember them.
there are too many of them. they sit on the shelves, they clutter your house, they make piles. i lived in a maze of magazines. my mother collected them as much as she collected newspapers. references to restaurants where she’ll never eat, trips she’ll never take, activities she’ll never complete. they’re filled with information she believes she needs and will never use and cannot live without
She sat in her room with the pile of magazines around her admiring the pictures of teh wrodl she would never experience. Her mom had kept her locked up in there for years and wouldnt let her out for anything for fear she would catcha cold or some deathly disease and die on her. But that is no reason not to let a child experience the world
Magazines were never something that I was that into. I’d rather read a book with no pictures than be distracted by the photos in magazines next to the words. In truth, I don’t like pictures all that much unless they are completely separated from words.
I have a lot of magazines. you can find them at any store. magazines have a lot of information inside and talk about a lot of famous people or famous things you can buy. after I read them I cut them and make collages with them or bags and a lot of creative things.
She flipped through the magazine hoping for some kind of relief from the disconnection she was feeling. Although she was just sitting on a bus it was like she was in some kind of fucked up force field world where every person’s thoughts on that bus were zooming in and out of her consciousness.
“It’s okay, I’m normal, I’m just sitting on a bus having weird thoughts.”
She thought back to yesterday and how stoned out of her mind she’d gotten.
“Maybe I can’t do that anymore, maybe it’s fucking with my perception of reality. But do I even want to be in this reality? Can’t I just live my own?”
The skinny girls in the magazine looked up at her, begging for feelings of jealousy or shallowness. It just wasn’t there. All that was in her head were the millions of connections between where she was now and where she had been and could go.
She wasn’t attached to the drama of her bullshit life anymore. So why do it? Why concern herself with getting out of bed every morning?
Then she thought of Adam. And the way he smiled as she hurriedly did up her black bra yesterday. And how he’d taken a drag and blown smoke out the window and into the universe.
She grabbed one of the many magazines in the waiting room, grimacing when she realized half of them were about ‘sexy tips for your partner!’ She instantly slapped them back down on the table beside her, looking up with slight shock as she saw the therapist enter the room. She felt a light blush cross her cheeks, and glanced away, clearing her throat.
“Hey..” She muttered awkwardly.
The images are designed to sell. They market and test each idea spending millions to know what will be sold in the best way. What they seem to forget is that each time they also alter the thinking of the people reading them. It no longer becomes “Buy this!”, it becomes, “Strive for this impossible standard of life otherwise you could never be happy without this valueless products.”
I cried the day that I found your magazines….I sobbed uncontrollably because I then knew….you were gay and our entire marriage was a lie….why? Why would you marry me, profess your love and maintain seventeen years of a facade that you never really wanted?
The magazines in the doctor’s office. I’m waiting for my checkup and have nothing to read. I need to focus my mind on something, and the only options I have are Better Homes and Gardens and Cosmo. I thumb through the Cosmo and think how wonderful it is to be a man.
The disdain of all society. The thing that is useless in super market isles. The main reason that celebrities earn a lot of money. Useless objects that really have no purpose in life and can really only entertain people in a doctors office. We should replace them all with Dickens novels, then maybe American society wouldn’t be so…well….stupid and uncultured.
silky and shiny
funny and serious
a sign of the times
yet a way to pass time
eye candy
Makes me want
laughter
shorts
done
read
pictures
glossy
fake
women
whats happening
recycle
words
entertainment
up to date
There were not many magazines. A copy of Forbes, a large-print Readers Digest from 3 years ago, a tattered copy of Time, an issue of Family Circle with recipes torn out. I had hours to wait, and so read them all, one after the other. Even Forbes, which had a not-mind-numbing article about the financial benefits of charitable donations.
The magazines themselves lay on the floor, some sprawled open and other’s closed. But they weren’t what caught my attention at least not immediately. It was the two perfectly manicured toe-nails sitting just above the magazines. And the long, thin, almost gangly body connected to those toes. The long brown, rough rope wrapped around their neck, most noticeable of all.
magazines. a way of communicating, a way of expressing, a way of gossip, a way of discovery. read every day. disposed of every day. factual, trashy, gossipy, music based, review based. suited to interests. enjoyed by many.