It won’t print. Again it won’t fucking print. Three thousand dollars for a “special edition, high grade, multi-function printer” and the damn thing won’t print. Can i get a refund? I wonder if they’ll give me one.
I loved watching people write when I was younger, like a mesmerizing game. it was so much like watching a painter create a masterpiece. all I wanted to do was write stories and create something someone would once want to read and say that that was their favorite story.
The keys are clicking and the print on the screen seems to dance a little before it settles. I don’t know what I’m writing but the words appear. And yet they seem stiff and unwilling to compromise with my thoughts.
I wrote a paper tonight and I turned on the printer and it kept jamming up. it was terrible. This paper is due tomorrow for a Chinese Art History class and to use the school computers is just hectic. You have to wait in line sometimes and you have to pay 5 cents per page. yes, it’s only five cents, but it’s a terrible price to pay.
print changed history in mans ability to write and record the experiences of life around him and share with the world.To be able to move people with the printed word is the responsibility of everyone. life would not be as nice without print
The text on the pages. The pages that I flip. The book that I attempt to read even though all of my thoughts are filled with him and nothing seems to jump out at me anymore, and none of the words seem particularly vibrant because I finally realize how vibrant love can truly be.
type. stop. go. the face of life on one page, sentence after sentence, pushing foreward with the times, setting aside our pre concerns and our idealism. we go with whatever stems from the memories of past lives. each set pushing us foreward
pinkle and winkle and wonder wold windle. Where is the child and wonder things wild? is a thing a person or just a simple king? I don’t know, but I wish I did, the cage is empty and the truth is hid. Let it go, or let it flow, that is the way we want to go.
print the deck the halls and print your words as to how you need to go through the printing process of painting and happ[ening. Print that tit till the tint dont tnirp. No? Top? Nop? Bop? Pr- in T. PR int
The printer stalled. Again. It was beginning to seem as though it couldn’t spit out a single piece of paper anymore without break. Lizzy didn’t think she’d broken it; all she was doing was printing out an essay she’d written for English class.
I guess even my printer is protesting against school, she thought bitterly.
Ha! I have to print soooooo many things and I haven’t had a printer since my freshman year. Do you know how many tiger dollars I have had to waste on printing? Neither do I, but, I bet if I added it up, it would be ridiculous! I have had to turn in so many papers.
This word makes me think of a printer, duh. And all of those commercials that they have about kodak printers where you save money because you’ll buy less ink. And the commericials have those peacocks made out of paper. I saw an albino peacock once, well, a few actually. At a church in NYC.
a printer is a device that never fails to disappoint me in the morning. Especially when i have just finished a 10 page paper that i had just wrote the bulk of the night before, and it just won’t print. Either it won’t print, or there is no more ink, or… not enough paper to withstand it all.
paper white printer homework school shit work hurry ink copier scanning stumbling running hurry bored wireless love pictures chilling relaxing eating writing essay research
It’s difficult to explain the noise the printer made as the photograph came out of it, something like a clicking and a whirring. But that really wasn’t the sense this moment was designed for.
No, what was startling was the image on the white paper. Gore, red splashed everywhere, and a single word: “Remember?”
print off the page, don’t care what’s on the paper long as its my thoughts, my voice so I can be heard in the world that seems so loud. I’m tired of being silent, just another muted voice. I want to scream and shout and make people take notice because I am loud and I need to be heard. I can make a difference with my voice.
Print. I watch as the papers begin to flow from the mouth of the printer. Each marred by black ink. It seems a shame, that perfect white stained by the dark of the pitch black ink. Like it’s defiled somehow. For a moment, I mourn that loss of innocence, but after a moment, I shake my head and think: for God’s sake, it’s just paper.
I couldn’t tell if my mom was being serious or not.
“Miranda,” she’d sighed, “It’s time to go. Let’s get out of this city,” she sighed again.
I knew why she wanted out. But I couldn’t leave now. Jake was here, and it was love, I thought. Just because of her one slip up in the paper, and my life was ruined.
I’m procrastinating again. I’m supposed to be writing a short story outline for a print publication, but I’m just not feeling the required mood.
They want the tame purity of a lily-toting-dove, and all I want to do is roar like a sanguine-scented lion. I will tame my muse, for my whip is set to crack-crack-crack at it!
It’s the taming power into softly parting lips as paired with gently flushing glances – a thousand words is really a picture by comparison.
Tara Anderson was NOT in a good mood.
She glared at the piece of machinery that was the cause of all her troubles. Lupa had sent her to print out some flyers. Simple, right? Well, that’s what you’d think. She’d been in there for the past hour, trying to get the damn thing to work. How could it be so hard??? The printer had been working fine before (she thought). Growling, she kicked the printer only to stub her toe. Her eye twitching, she slammed her hands down on the surface. Suddenly the printer came to life, whirring as it spat out the flyers. Tara was well aware of the fact that her face was the shade of a cherry, maybe darker. Embaressed, she quickly collected the flyers and hurried out the door to distribute them. Next time she would remember to turn the printer on.
I see this paper and I write upon it. My voice in print. Why this oozing pain in my gut? This emotional isolation that pits me against all of humanity. I should not feel this isolation amongst the billions of others like me. But I feel alone. I feel left in a shadow while the rest are ablaze.
She gazed lovingly at the pale blue prints that she had just purchased, thinking of how they reminded her of bluebells in a meadow, of the sky in summer, the ocean… The colour brought back so many happy memories, and these prints evoked those feelings perfectly. And she needed some happy memories now, because that was all she had, the fading feeling of happiness.
Printing. I am here at my boyfriend’s because I need his printer. Being here leads to rather extreme procrastination. Had I stayed in my room, I would probably be done with my essay already. I have not started yet. This is kind of distressing. No wonder I get no sleep. Mark Twain, write about yourself for me?
I went ahead and wrote my story in print letters rather than my usual typing. Now, I know that everyone says my handwriting is bad, but I didn’t think it was such that its own author could not decipher it. I guessed on certain words, most of which I’m sure are correct, but perhaps these mutated marks will allow a better tale to evolve.
I’d like to print the way that I feel and use it for future reference. I seem to do my best writing and thinking when I feel this way, but I have no idea what to call it.
If I could have my emotions printed across a page… that would be swell.
I’d like to print the sunshine I feel right now all over your face in bright etchings so that you may admire yourself more fully. You are a lovely flower in my garden.
I’m not really sure what I write about printing… there’s nothing really to write. Except all my school papers and crap are printed out? And I read from
I love art. Just browsing through atrists’ pages and finding prints I love but can’t buy is the best…almost. What’s really the best is buying them and putting them into a room. Using the room to bring out the themes and emotions and colors in the painting and vice-versa.
print a letter on a page. Read the morning print, or print a piece of paper. Of printed a lot of stuff, and hell it’s annoying, but i think you lean a lot about yourselfthrough every single piece
I wrote my number on a slip of paper. Because I’d wanted you to call me, I made sure to print it all out very carefully. Precise, my script was written neatly: 1s did not look like potential 7s and my 4s resembled 4s – not 9s.
After the ink dried, I folded it crisply and pressed the blossom into your open palm.
Now you know how to reach me should you decide to ever call.
She printed his letter. She could no longer read the letters on the screen, they were too small for her aging eyes, she printed them out in large clear letters. She looked forward to receiving them everyday.
newspapers
books
textbooks
libraries
…
tell the modern child this and they’ll say they’d rather have a gameboy. we dont like print anymore. thanks. but no thanks.
It won’t print. Again it won’t fucking print. Three thousand dollars for a “special edition, high grade, multi-function printer” and the damn thing won’t print. Can i get a refund? I wonder if they’ll give me one.
I loved watching people write when I was younger, like a mesmerizing game. it was so much like watching a painter create a masterpiece. all I wanted to do was write stories and create something someone would once want to read and say that that was their favorite story.
The keys are clicking and the print on the screen seems to dance a little before it settles. I don’t know what I’m writing but the words appear. And yet they seem stiff and unwilling to compromise with my thoughts.
I wrote a paper tonight and I turned on the printer and it kept jamming up. it was terrible. This paper is due tomorrow for a Chinese Art History class and to use the school computers is just hectic. You have to wait in line sometimes and you have to pay 5 cents per page. yes, it’s only five cents, but it’s a terrible price to pay.
i can take out prints from my printer
print changed history in mans ability to write and record the experiences of life around him and share with the world.To be able to move people with the printed word is the responsibility of everyone. life would not be as nice without print
The text on the pages. The pages that I flip. The book that I attempt to read even though all of my thoughts are filled with him and nothing seems to jump out at me anymore, and none of the words seem particularly vibrant because I finally realize how vibrant love can truly be.
type. stop. go. the face of life on one page, sentence after sentence, pushing foreward with the times, setting aside our pre concerns and our idealism. we go with whatever stems from the memories of past lives. each set pushing us foreward
pinkle and winkle and wonder wold windle. Where is the child and wonder things wild? is a thing a person or just a simple king? I don’t know, but I wish I did, the cage is empty and the truth is hid. Let it go, or let it flow, that is the way we want to go.
print the deck the halls and print your words as to how you need to go through the printing process of painting and happ[ening. Print that tit till the tint dont tnirp. No? Top? Nop? Bop? Pr- in T. PR int
The printer stalled. Again. It was beginning to seem as though it couldn’t spit out a single piece of paper anymore without break. Lizzy didn’t think she’d broken it; all she was doing was printing out an essay she’d written for English class.
I guess even my printer is protesting against school, she thought bitterly.
Ha! I have to print soooooo many things and I haven’t had a printer since my freshman year. Do you know how many tiger dollars I have had to waste on printing? Neither do I, but, I bet if I added it up, it would be ridiculous! I have had to turn in so many papers.
This word makes me think of a printer, duh. And all of those commercials that they have about kodak printers where you save money because you’ll buy less ink. And the commericials have those peacocks made out of paper. I saw an albino peacock once, well, a few actually. At a church in NYC.
a printer is a device that never fails to disappoint me in the morning. Especially when i have just finished a 10 page paper that i had just wrote the bulk of the night before, and it just won’t print. Either it won’t print, or there is no more ink, or… not enough paper to withstand it all.
paper white printer homework school shit work hurry ink copier scanning stumbling running hurry bored wireless love pictures chilling relaxing eating writing essay research
i take 100 prints in a day, i also take out our memories in the form of prints and save them
It’s difficult to explain the noise the printer made as the photograph came out of it, something like a clicking and a whirring. But that really wasn’t the sense this moment was designed for.
No, what was startling was the image on the white paper. Gore, red splashed everywhere, and a single word: “Remember?”
print off the page, don’t care what’s on the paper long as its my thoughts, my voice so I can be heard in the world that seems so loud. I’m tired of being silent, just another muted voice. I want to scream and shout and make people take notice because I am loud and I need to be heard. I can make a difference with my voice.
Print. I watch as the papers begin to flow from the mouth of the printer. Each marred by black ink. It seems a shame, that perfect white stained by the dark of the pitch black ink. Like it’s defiled somehow. For a moment, I mourn that loss of innocence, but after a moment, I shake my head and think: for God’s sake, it’s just paper.
I LIKE TO PRINT INSTEAD OR WRITE. IT IS EASIER TO READ AND NEATER. IT IS THE REASON WE LEARN.
I couldn’t tell if my mom was being serious or not.
“Miranda,” she’d sighed, “It’s time to go. Let’s get out of this city,” she sighed again.
I knew why she wanted out. But I couldn’t leave now. Jake was here, and it was love, I thought. Just because of her one slip up in the paper, and my life was ruined.
I’m procrastinating again. I’m supposed to be writing a short story outline for a print publication, but I’m just not feeling the required mood.
They want the tame purity of a lily-toting-dove, and all I want to do is roar like a sanguine-scented lion. I will tame my muse, for my whip is set to crack-crack-crack at it!
It’s the taming power into softly parting lips as paired with gently flushing glances – a thousand words is really a picture by comparison.
Tara Anderson was NOT in a good mood.
She glared at the piece of machinery that was the cause of all her troubles. Lupa had sent her to print out some flyers. Simple, right? Well, that’s what you’d think. She’d been in there for the past hour, trying to get the damn thing to work. How could it be so hard??? The printer had been working fine before (she thought). Growling, she kicked the printer only to stub her toe. Her eye twitching, she slammed her hands down on the surface. Suddenly the printer came to life, whirring as it spat out the flyers. Tara was well aware of the fact that her face was the shade of a cherry, maybe darker. Embaressed, she quickly collected the flyers and hurried out the door to distribute them. Next time she would remember to turn the printer on.
I see this paper and I write upon it. My voice in print. Why this oozing pain in my gut? This emotional isolation that pits me against all of humanity. I should not feel this isolation amongst the billions of others like me. But I feel alone. I feel left in a shadow while the rest are ablaze.
She gazed lovingly at the pale blue prints that she had just purchased, thinking of how they reminded her of bluebells in a meadow, of the sky in summer, the ocean… The colour brought back so many happy memories, and these prints evoked those feelings perfectly. And she needed some happy memories now, because that was all she had, the fading feeling of happiness.
Printing. I am here at my boyfriend’s because I need his printer. Being here leads to rather extreme procrastination. Had I stayed in my room, I would probably be done with my essay already. I have not started yet. This is kind of distressing. No wonder I get no sleep. Mark Twain, write about yourself for me?
sometimes you use a printer to print. things can also be printed and published. print is also a term used for writing the alphabet not in cursive.
I went ahead and wrote my story in print letters rather than my usual typing. Now, I know that everyone says my handwriting is bad, but I didn’t think it was such that its own author could not decipher it. I guessed on certain words, most of which I’m sure are correct, but perhaps these mutated marks will allow a better tale to evolve.
printer, hp, class, ink, essay, art, caligraphy, architecturme, epson, cursive, handwriting
paper has prints that vastly tell a story in which people now use a form of expression.
I’d like to print the way that I feel and use it for future reference. I seem to do my best writing and thinking when I feel this way, but I have no idea what to call it.
If I could have my emotions printed across a page… that would be swell.
I’d like to print the sunshine I feel right now all over your face in bright etchings so that you may admire yourself more fully. You are a lovely flower in my garden.
I’m not really sure what I write about printing… there’s nothing really to write. Except all my school papers and crap are printed out? And I read from
I love art. Just browsing through atrists’ pages and finding prints I love but can’t buy is the best…almost. What’s really the best is buying them and putting them into a room. Using the room to bring out the themes and emotions and colors in the painting and vice-versa.
Coal dust settled over a landscape of snow.
print a letter on a page. Read the morning print, or print a piece of paper. Of printed a lot of stuff, and hell it’s annoying, but i think you lean a lot about yourselfthrough every single piece
I wrote my number on a slip of paper. Because I’d wanted you to call me, I made sure to print it all out very carefully. Precise, my script was written neatly: 1s did not look like potential 7s and my 4s resembled 4s – not 9s.
After the ink dried, I folded it crisply and pressed the blossom into your open palm.
Now you know how to reach me should you decide to ever call.
These words that bump through veins, that swim in my head, that sway in my stomach need to be printed on paper so they mean something.
She printed his letter. She could no longer read the letters on the screen, they were too small for her aging eyes, she printed them out in large clear letters. She looked forward to receiving them everyday.
newspapers
books
textbooks
libraries
…
tell the modern child this and they’ll say they’d rather have a gameboy. we dont like print anymore. thanks. but no thanks.