Today, I visited a potential new job, and while I felt really confident about the workplace itself upon leaving, I am still worried that they all question my character.
Because I mumble all the damn time, so people often don’t know what I’m saying!
i mumble in school because i don’t like to talk to people with a clear voice. i look down at their shoes while their eyes search for mine. i want to scream sometimes but my voice gets snagged in my throat and i can’t. i want to speak but i can’t remember how.
Yes. So it appears mum is a word conjoined with bling. So humbling when one is clumsily tumbling, stumbling, tripping over words. Shushed to a near whisper, as if no one is listening. Can you trip over yourself in writing? Yes, but if you’re an editor at heart it takes a real lackadaisical attitude to just free flow, flaws and all.
Actually, I’m thinking of The Black Angels right now. They don’t always enunciate when they sing, so a case of misheard lyrics is legit. What sounds like “Love is your gun” or “Love is your drug” actually reads in the album notes “Look what we’ve done.” But I like it when I mishear a string of words, it’s as if another meaning has been laced into the print.
He tilted his head lower to face her lips, out of which was coming a low, garbled sound. He hated it when she mumbled; all they ever did was argue, but she never stood straight up when they did. She screamed all of a sudden and bolted from his side, leaving a chill wind aching up and down his bare arms.
It was like he wasn’t even speaking, he was mumbling. You could hear the low hum of his voice under his breath. Not being able to make out the words, but enough to know he was trying to sass her about something.
Mumbling got him nowhere but trouble, and he knew it too. But he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to
He was always mumbling so she could never really make out what he was saying. It took her years to realize that it was just a cover for the fact that he never listened to a thing she said. His mumbled answers were his only way of responding without having to worry about making sense.
I am embressed by this word! When I meet new people I have this feeling and I think that I can’t communicate with them eaisly so I mumble. You know the word itself may result to failur!!
Embers of words, disjointed sentences spread across the air. Lips pursing while air dwindles away from their lips. I hear them all to well. Crying out for those they held dear. Alas, the ground is a very good insulator and their faces replaced with hard slabs of stone. Their names are carved on them. Sometimes I think of them as my friends, other times as a captive audience.
They’re the only ones who will listen to my mumbling.
I can’t hear what you’re saying
but the dust of your lips is mesmerizing
Those times I say
we are all connected
It is this I mean,
feeling the look of the brush of your lips
not hearing you speak
but knowing you do
and
feeling it just the same
Soft, subtle words that I miss stumble out of his mouth. “It wouldn’t be so bad…”
“What? Stop mumbling.”
He clears his throat, embarrassed pink patches spotting his cheeks. “Being stuck here together for a while. It wouldn’t be so bad.”
i still have naked pictures of my ex girlfriend
they’re on my mom’s computer
hidden, of course
but there.
i would feel pretty damn awful if they disappeared
like a part of me was taken away
i should delete them
but i won’t.
i’ll just be a mumbling pervert, holding on to something
that went away 10 years ago
maybe it’s a power thing
but more likely
it’s depression.
She heard his fear and mumbling in the background as she clenched her stomach and fell to the floor. She was no stranger to crisis, but this news had crippled her and her immediate reaction was to vomit. There were thirty nine fire trucks on site. She was about to blow up half the city and everything she had worked for along with it. Amity knew she was sunk. As her tears pooled on the kitchen floor the phone rang.
as i walk up to him. he’s mumbling something under his breath. something about this girl he once met; evidently i look like her. well isn’t that great, the love of my life is pining after my doppleganger and i’m here looking like the idiot.
she mumbled quietly, reciting the words her mother always told her. “what’re you saying?” he asked, louder than she had suspected. it scared her a bit, making her knock over her cup of water.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just did that!”
he laughed at the surprise on her face.
“did i scare you?”
I hate mumbling. Not because it’s disrespectful. Not because it’s childish. It’s because it makes me feel like a person has something to hide. Like they have something to say but just can’t quite commit to saying loud enough for others to hear.
Once I ran into this old man on the street. I mean, SMACK! straight into him. He was mumbling something about a trash can on 33rd and Smith but I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about so I just kept walking. It’s funny, because when I got to 33rd and Smith, there was no trash can at all, just a strange-looking box that flashed into my eyes and then– trash can… 33rd and smith… i thought… trash… thought it was…. trash can…. smith… trash can…
There’s this crazy old man that walks around Jacksonville & he’s ALWAYS mumbling. He stinks & he scares me. He smiles a lot but he still scares me with his smiling & mumbling. Maybe I shouldn’t be scared but I am anyway. I should think this – I might be e
Whenever you mumble and I ask you to repeat it, the first thing you say is “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then I pester you until you tell me what you said, even though you blush and get embarrassed. We tell each other everything and I love that about us. <3
Her mind was mumbling through the haze of consciousness that corrupted sleeping thoughts. The buzz was coming from nearby, but not quite so close as the throbbing. Was it construction? No, it was nearer still. It was then that she realized she had been awoken by the strained stuttering of her own pulse, pushing up against her pillow.
He said it under his breath. But she was an expert in mumbling. So she heard every word. In fact, the mumbles resonated more than clearly articulated words did. They were more honest. They were more real. She knew that such an honest statement deserved an honest response. So, she looked at his eyes. Then looked into them. She admired his eyelashes. Then his lips. And she kissed him. And then gazed straight into his soul. A gentle, honest moment
The cat sounded like she was mumbling, not really purring. It sounded like she had something to say, something important, but her undeveloped vocal cords wouldn’t allow it. I listened carefully. Mmmmmm, Mmmmmm,Mmm
The sarcastic mumbling below was driving him crazy. He shook his head and lent over the edge.
“will you two just go to sleep?”
and they giggled and laughed.
This was going to be a long night and he wondered why he thought a sleep over would be a good idea.
i mumble when i’m nervous, like at this very moment. i get scold for eating my words, yet i still continue to do it. i am new to this site, i am typing not mumbling. i am typing.mumble- mumble-ing.
he was mumbling something unentelligible involving chipmunks and Sarah’s three bean soup. Margarie wasn’t taken with his ramblings. She only admired speech that was clear and eloquent. I think she was overreacting.
I hate the way you mumble and I can’t hear what you say. I hate the way I try to go but you always make me stay. I hate the way you look at me and the way you turn away. But most of all I hate the way you make me feel this way. Mumble all you want my boy, I’ll never hear a word. For when you speak softly, I can’t understand your world.
I felt like my mouth was the last floodgate to my brain, a floodgate that had a huge jagged crack. I pursed my lips tighter, to keep myself from letting go, but this guy was merciless.
“Hey dweeb, stop mumbling to yourself,” he jived. I snapped.
Let’s just say the kid was hit by a lot more than just a barrage of flying spit.
the silent under the breath heavy small words. they say when they don’t want to be heard but want to be heard. they are afraid of being heard in the lightest of hours when the sun rises full and the clouds fill the ether.
Mumbling. It’s what you do when you when the teacher calls on you but don’t know the answer. It’s what the quiet kid in the back of the room does when the teacher calls on them instead. It’s what you do when you are thinking halfway out loud. It’s people do in awkward situations. It’s what everyone does. They mumble.
Mumble mumble.
People mumble all the time.
grumble grumble.
can’t understand a thing you say.
why do you talk in such an incomprehensible way?
why? why? mumble grumble mumble grumble.
Oh god I don’t even know what I’m saying. My mouth is moving and I KNOW I’m speaking, but I just can’t hear anything. And guessing by the blank stares Beck is giving me, I guess he can’t either.
She begs to be heard yet she never makes a sound
Spends her days as a wanderer but still wants to be found
Craves to be extraordinary but doesn’t deny that she is plain
Hides under umbrellas when she claims she loves the rain.
He sat in the corner, mumbling. No one paid any attention, but as the words spilled from his lips, the truth became sound, wafting across the room, ignored by all who needed to hear it.
So, I mumble a lot, I think.
Today, I visited a potential new job, and while I felt really confident about the workplace itself upon leaving, I am still worried that they all question my character.
Because I mumble all the damn time, so people often don’t know what I’m saying!
i mumble in school because i don’t like to talk to people with a clear voice. i look down at their shoes while their eyes search for mine. i want to scream sometimes but my voice gets snagged in my throat and i can’t. i want to speak but i can’t remember how.
Yes. So it appears mum is a word conjoined with bling. So humbling when one is clumsily tumbling, stumbling, tripping over words. Shushed to a near whisper, as if no one is listening. Can you trip over yourself in writing? Yes, but if you’re an editor at heart it takes a real lackadaisical attitude to just free flow, flaws and all.
Actually, I’m thinking of The Black Angels right now. They don’t always enunciate when they sing, so a case of misheard lyrics is legit. What sounds like “Love is your gun” or “Love is your drug” actually reads in the album notes “Look what we’ve done.” But I like it when I mishear a string of words, it’s as if another meaning has been laced into the print.
He tilted his head lower to face her lips, out of which was coming a low, garbled sound. He hated it when she mumbled; all they ever did was argue, but she never stood straight up when they did. She screamed all of a sudden and bolted from his side, leaving a chill wind aching up and down his bare arms.
It was like he wasn’t even speaking, he was mumbling. You could hear the low hum of his voice under his breath. Not being able to make out the words, but enough to know he was trying to sass her about something.
Mumbling got him nowhere but trouble, and he knew it too. But he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to
He was always mumbling so she could never really make out what he was saying. It took her years to realize that it was just a cover for the fact that he never listened to a thing she said. His mumbled answers were his only way of responding without having to worry about making sense.
I am embressed by this word! When I meet new people I have this feeling and I think that I can’t communicate with them eaisly so I mumble. You know the word itself may result to failur!!
“I… love you,” was what Yixing mumbled when Joonmyeon hugged him before he was asked to let go and get on the plane with the rest of the Korean group.
Embers of words, disjointed sentences spread across the air. Lips pursing while air dwindles away from their lips. I hear them all to well. Crying out for those they held dear. Alas, the ground is a very good insulator and their faces replaced with hard slabs of stone. Their names are carved on them. Sometimes I think of them as my friends, other times as a captive audience.
They’re the only ones who will listen to my mumbling.
Because they speak back in the same hushed tones.
I can’t hear what you’re saying
but the dust of your lips is mesmerizing
Those times I say
we are all connected
It is this I mean,
feeling the look of the brush of your lips
not hearing you speak
but knowing you do
and
feeling it just the same
Soft, subtle words that I miss stumble out of his mouth. “It wouldn’t be so bad…”
“What? Stop mumbling.”
He clears his throat, embarrassed pink patches spotting his cheeks. “Being stuck here together for a while. It wouldn’t be so bad.”
I was mumbling to myself ; what the? one word” I clicked and here we are. Mumble bumble stumble. That’s how it is.
“don’t mumbling”, i tell my self everytime i lost my self deep down on my mind. one should keep their mind and mouth even in loneliness.
I dont know what mumbling means , god!
this is frustrating, I don´t speak English.. and this are the longest 6 seconds of my life.
i still have naked pictures of my ex girlfriend
they’re on my mom’s computer
hidden, of course
but there.
i would feel pretty damn awful if they disappeared
like a part of me was taken away
i should delete them
but i won’t.
i’ll just be a mumbling pervert, holding on to something
that went away 10 years ago
maybe it’s a power thing
but more likely
it’s depression.
She heard his fear and mumbling in the background as she clenched her stomach and fell to the floor. She was no stranger to crisis, but this news had crippled her and her immediate reaction was to vomit. There were thirty nine fire trucks on site. She was about to blow up half the city and everything she had worked for along with it. Amity knew she was sunk. As her tears pooled on the kitchen floor the phone rang.
as i walk up to him. he’s mumbling something under his breath. something about this girl he once met; evidently i look like her. well isn’t that great, the love of my life is pining after my doppleganger and i’m here looking like the idiot.
she mumbled quietly, reciting the words her mother always told her. “what’re you saying?” he asked, louder than she had suspected. it scared her a bit, making her knock over her cup of water.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I just did that!”
he laughed at the surprise on her face.
“did i scare you?”
they always tell me my language is incomprehensible
slurs of elevated wack, unknown tongue
I believe
their ears are just immune to listening
always mumbling
i mumbled everything
my thoughts
my feelings
my being, a mumble
hardly heard
misunderstood
I hate mumbling. Not because it’s disrespectful. Not because it’s childish. It’s because it makes me feel like a person has something to hide. Like they have something to say but just can’t quite commit to saying loud enough for others to hear.
Once I ran into this old man on the street. I mean, SMACK! straight into him. He was mumbling something about a trash can on 33rd and Smith but I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about so I just kept walking. It’s funny, because when I got to 33rd and Smith, there was no trash can at all, just a strange-looking box that flashed into my eyes and then– trash can… 33rd and smith… i thought… trash… thought it was…. trash can…. smith… trash can…
There’s this crazy old man that walks around Jacksonville & he’s ALWAYS mumbling. He stinks & he scares me. He smiles a lot but he still scares me with his smiling & mumbling. Maybe I shouldn’t be scared but I am anyway. I should think this – I might be e
Are you mumbling? Cause I can’t really hear you. Or maybe I just don’t want to.
Whenever you mumble and I ask you to repeat it, the first thing you say is “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then I pester you until you tell me what you said, even though you blush and get embarrassed. We tell each other everything and I love that about us. <3
Her mind was mumbling through the haze of consciousness that corrupted sleeping thoughts. The buzz was coming from nearby, but not quite so close as the throbbing. Was it construction? No, it was nearer still. It was then that she realized she had been awoken by the strained stuttering of her own pulse, pushing up against her pillow.
He said it under his breath. But she was an expert in mumbling. So she heard every word. In fact, the mumbles resonated more than clearly articulated words did. They were more honest. They were more real. She knew that such an honest statement deserved an honest response. So, she looked at his eyes. Then looked into them. She admired his eyelashes. Then his lips. And she kissed him. And then gazed straight into his soul. A gentle, honest moment
The cat sounded like she was mumbling, not really purring. It sounded like she had something to say, something important, but her undeveloped vocal cords wouldn’t allow it. I listened carefully. Mmmmmm, Mmmmmm,Mmm
The sarcastic mumbling below was driving him crazy. He shook his head and lent over the edge.
“will you two just go to sleep?”
and they giggled and laughed.
This was going to be a long night and he wondered why he thought a sleep over would be a good idea.
i mumble when i’m nervous, like at this very moment. i get scold for eating my words, yet i still continue to do it. i am new to this site, i am typing not mumbling. i am typing.mumble- mumble-ing.
he was mumbling something unentelligible involving chipmunks and Sarah’s three bean soup. Margarie wasn’t taken with his ramblings. She only admired speech that was clear and eloquent. I think she was overreacting.
I hate the way you mumble and I can’t hear what you say. I hate the way I try to go but you always make me stay. I hate the way you look at me and the way you turn away. But most of all I hate the way you make me feel this way. Mumble all you want my boy, I’ll never hear a word. For when you speak softly, I can’t understand your world.
I felt like my mouth was the last floodgate to my brain, a floodgate that had a huge jagged crack. I pursed my lips tighter, to keep myself from letting go, but this guy was merciless.
“Hey dweeb, stop mumbling to yourself,” he jived. I snapped.
Let’s just say the kid was hit by a lot more than just a barrage of flying spit.
(Mum)-(bul)-(ing) :P
the silent under the breath heavy small words. they say when they don’t want to be heard but want to be heard. they are afraid of being heard in the lightest of hours when the sun rises full and the clouds fill the ether.
Mumbling. It’s what you do when you when the teacher calls on you but don’t know the answer. It’s what the quiet kid in the back of the room does when the teacher calls on them instead. It’s what you do when you are thinking halfway out loud. It’s people do in awkward situations. It’s what everyone does. They mumble.
Mumble mumble.
People mumble all the time.
grumble grumble.
can’t understand a thing you say.
why do you talk in such an incomprehensible way?
why? why? mumble grumble mumble grumble.
Oh god I don’t even know what I’m saying. My mouth is moving and I KNOW I’m speaking, but I just can’t hear anything. And guessing by the blank stares Beck is giving me, I guess he can’t either.
She begs to be heard yet she never makes a sound
Spends her days as a wanderer but still wants to be found
Craves to be extraordinary but doesn’t deny that she is plain
Hides under umbrellas when she claims she loves the rain.
He sat in the corner, mumbling. No one paid any attention, but as the words spilled from his lips, the truth became sound, wafting across the room, ignored by all who needed to hear it.