prints are everywhere, on the walls of the streets, in books, in the mind, prints are everywhere you go. it’s none stop visuals that keep on poping up every second of the day and night. so many, too
Animal Prints. My favorite pattern of all. I like them for bedding, curtains, clothing, etc. Cheetah seems to be the ever popular choice but i prefer giraffe. Something about those neat little box shaped prints amuses me.
Prints mean photography to me. I spent many hours making black and white prints in my darkroom working to bring the blacks, whites, and grays to their fullest potential. Chemicals slowly became the light that eventually revealed itself into a work of art.
I love having my digital photos turned into prints at Walgreens. It’s as if the moment captured on the camera was brought to life and immortalized in the print. I wonder what people in the future will think when they look at our photos. Will our societal narcissism shine through ever so brightly?
When I press print I still think it is amazing that what goes on to a screen on one machine can tell another machine to print on paper what I saw electronically.
I like to use prints to decorate my walls. I have prints of art, paintings and different designs from around the world. I think they add colour and make me think of all the countries I have visited, and the exciting
fresh off the printer, the news is here! Everything the people have been waiting for is now in black dark ink, permanently bleeding into the minds of society. Read the prints, embrace the art, but never believe anything you see, and definitely never believe anything you read.
Hand prints. Finger prints. Photo prints on nice paper, except the printing press has gone off, and printed colors across in wide bands with blanks between them. Like a guessing game.
Hand prints. Finger prints. Photo prints and black outs, black ops. Imaginary sources for the rubber stamps printing ideas across a page you haven’t even begun to consider yet.
The art collector looked closely at copy, dreaming of the original, but feeling only the simulacra. He reached out, slowly, to touch the frame, the fake cherrywood.
prints are amazing. They are beautiful. They are sensual depictions of the heart. They stay close to it literally and metaphorically. Feeling closely the beating of that which it projects. The emotions, it never betrays, but always gives. It gives a vibe of longing for something greater.
Prints of my family are prints that I shall ALWAYS keep because prints of my children shall turn into prints for their children and that means the prints shall live forever and print on
industrial revolution comes to mind. Now I’m thinking about the current revolutions happening in the Arab spring. Oh lord. They cared so much about education back then, we don’t have that now. We’ve become passive; so passive, it scares me.
“I want to leave my mark on this world. To caress it with my fingertips, leaving fingerprints and the scent of me. To imprint my name, and make myself immortal even after death. To be known, to have fame. To be free.”
you can print stuff from the internet and you can print pictures and such. you can use print or cursive writing but i prefer printing. footprints are also shown up in the snow or mud. and when your feet are dirty.
It’s one after the other in the darkroom… prints, prints, prints… and it gets frustrating after awhile, seeing the same image with slight differences each time you process it. And then you think about how long it takes to process each one. And how much each one COSTS, good grief!!! Ahhh. In the end, you can only hope for at least one that turns out.
We made stone soup by the river, with prints of weasels and foxes all around. James drank it and kissed me, his mouth tasting of mud. When the sun went down, our time was up. Out of the bushes came the little animals, and we crouched by our pot, the river water slowly soaking into our shoes.
Woodblock prints are my favorite. I remember watching my teacher’s husband, a professional artist who studied with Frida Kahlo’s lover–I’ve forgotten his name. He used to do amazing woodblock prints.
paper and pencils and pens and words and stories and pictures of little girls in fields of flowers and photos of family on walls in hallways and living rooms. printers and computers and arrangements of pictures of places traveled.
There are alot of prints in the world… Paw prints, a printer prints even people leave foot prints… You get INprints, OUTprints and just normal prints =)
I bought the prints with plans to hang them in the living room, but as usual with all the projects I start, it didn’t get finished and they had ended up on the floor in the corner.
“What are these?” he asked. “Why are they just laying here? They are gorgeous.”
I started to say I was lazy, but stopped. Did I really want to make this negative comment about myself to the first new guy I had been on more than two dates with in months?
“Oh, those are Christmas gifts,” I lied. “I buy things all year long as I see them so that I don’t get caught in the holiday crush.”
Yes, yes, yes!!! Good answer! Totally makes me seem like I am generous AND on top of things. Ha!
There were numerous copies, now circulating throughout the world. At this very moment, people were waking up to that as they went out to their doorstep to get the newspaper. Some would cry, the sick ones would laugh.
Prints decorate a home, they keep our memories, they are piled up in my garage and are something I procrastinate, I have a lot but wish they were more organized, organized is my downfall, but they are there and they wait and they don’t seem to mind.
The zebra ran through the savanna, I saw a lion running not too far from behind. We sat in the safari vehicle, with our binoculars to our eyes, open with interest and anticipation; the zebra might actually get away.
the prints that we recieved from are wedding were outstanding. They were high quality and the price was amazing. I would recomend out photographer to anyone.
A mystery lay on the black and white grooves in front of him. The enlargement on the screen had all the clues, the traits and the answers…he just needed to look deeper. To think that the individual traits of the culprit were here but hidden infuriated him.
One looked like a man bending over a silhouette, a body maybe? Either way all he say was a death. The other looked like a butterfly, but it’s wings were clipped as if it itself gnawed them off. Print after print he was shown. And all he saw in these manifested blotches was chaos and static and horrible things, oh such horrible things. This is what his mind in. This is what he is. This is what we’re afraid of. And he knows this. So he cleverly tells others what they see, but in his mind he chuckles at the fickel matter of what we are. He is more. He is a blackness that sweeps over and makes you nothing, for only after you’ve lost everything are you free to do anything.
What can I say? Once they were important, prints. Everyone had their own set, but now no one bothered with them. No one at all. We’re not allowed to use paper anymore and the heady smell of the alcohol from the gestetner is a thing of the past.
I’ll leave them everywhere so everyone knows where I’ve been. I’ll be famous. My print on the earth will be so great, you’ll see it from space. And you’ll greet me there, a celestial being, in the sky, where I’ll continue to leave my foot prints in the clouds.
Prints sind drucke oder bilder allerdings hoffe ich, dass es bilder sind, denn immer wenn ich bilder um mich habe, geht es mir gut, das müssen allerdings die Bilder sein, die ich mir ausgesucht habe, die mir etwas sagen und dann mir weiterhelfen zum leben.
On my forehead, from your lower lip (the upper never really connected). On my stomach from the time you hit me with a softball bat. On my mind from the time you told me reincarnation was the echo of our conscious and subconscious minds shaking hands. I feel the soft indentation of your pressed fingers, the remaining prints, all over my body. They are so soft, but the mark doesn’t fade.
Printers are not my friends. They refuse to work whenever I have anything important I must have in ink. It also hates me because I batter it over and over again, with my fist, and sometimes a book, or a pillow when I’m feeling generous. I can’t wait for the day printers will be extinct and some new reliable technology will take its place. Until that day I must grin and bear it, I suppose.
prints are everywhere, on the walls of the streets, in books, in the mind, prints are everywhere you go. it’s none stop visuals that keep on poping up every second of the day and night. so many, too
finger prints, foot prints, photos. paw prints, imprints in my heart. wishing i could print out memories so i don’t forget them.
Animal Prints. My favorite pattern of all. I like them for bedding, curtains, clothing, etc. Cheetah seems to be the ever popular choice but i prefer giraffe. Something about those neat little box shaped prints amuses me.
Prints mean photography to me. I spent many hours making black and white prints in my darkroom working to bring the blacks, whites, and grays to their fullest potential. Chemicals slowly became the light that eventually revealed itself into a work of art.
I love having my digital photos turned into prints at Walgreens. It’s as if the moment captured on the camera was brought to life and immortalized in the print. I wonder what people in the future will think when they look at our photos. Will our societal narcissism shine through ever so brightly?
When I press print I still think it is amazing that what goes on to a screen on one machine can tell another machine to print on paper what I saw electronically.
I didn’t know where those prints came from but they were all over my windows and my dogs were looking guilty. bad dogs!
I like to use prints to decorate my walls. I have prints of art, paintings and different designs from around the world. I think they add colour and make me think of all the countries I have visited, and the exciting
We walk the markets, admiring the golden and pink patterns, laid prettily and purposefully on the gnarled tables.
fresh off the printer, the news is here! Everything the people have been waiting for is now in black dark ink, permanently bleeding into the minds of society. Read the prints, embrace the art, but never believe anything you see, and definitely never believe anything you read.
Hand prints. Finger prints. Photo prints on nice paper, except the printing press has gone off, and printed colors across in wide bands with blanks between them. Like a guessing game.
Hand prints. Finger prints. Photo prints and black outs, black ops. Imaginary sources for the rubber stamps printing ideas across a page you haven’t even begun to consider yet.
Hand prints. Finger prints.
Printing press.
The art collector looked closely at copy, dreaming of the original, but feeling only the simulacra. He reached out, slowly, to touch the frame, the fake cherrywood.
prints are amazing. They are beautiful. They are sensual depictions of the heart. They stay close to it literally and metaphorically. Feeling closely the beating of that which it projects. The emotions, it never betrays, but always gives. It gives a vibe of longing for something greater.
Prints of my family are prints that I shall ALWAYS keep because prints of my children shall turn into prints for their children and that means the prints shall live forever and print on
Memories. I can’t believe this is happening to us. After all we’ve been through…
Books
newspapers
papers
industrial revolution comes to mind. Now I’m thinking about the current revolutions happening in the Arab spring. Oh lord. They cared so much about education back then, we don’t have that now. We’ve become passive; so passive, it scares me.
“I want to leave my mark on this world. To caress it with my fingertips, leaving fingerprints and the scent of me. To imprint my name, and make myself immortal even after death. To be known, to have fame. To be free.”
“Free huh? But isn’t that more like a prison?”
you can print stuff from the internet and you can print pictures and such. you can use print or cursive writing but i prefer printing. footprints are also shown up in the snow or mud. and when your feet are dirty.
It’s one after the other in the darkroom… prints, prints, prints… and it gets frustrating after awhile, seeing the same image with slight differences each time you process it. And then you think about how long it takes to process each one. And how much each one COSTS, good grief!!! Ahhh. In the end, you can only hope for at least one that turns out.
photos and pictures, footprints in the sand, fingerprints at a crime scene
We made stone soup by the river, with prints of weasels and foxes all around. James drank it and kissed me, his mouth tasting of mud. When the sun went down, our time was up. Out of the bushes came the little animals, and we crouched by our pot, the river water slowly soaking into our shoes.
in colourful outside world of what’s going inside my mind. Prints of blues, reds, yellows and oranges, almost like a psychedellic trip.
Woodblock prints are my favorite. I remember watching my teacher’s husband, a professional artist who studied with Frida Kahlo’s lover–I’ve forgotten his name. He used to do amazing woodblock prints.
paper and pencils and pens and words and stories and pictures of little girls in fields of flowers and photos of family on walls in hallways and living rooms. printers and computers and arrangements of pictures of places traveled.
There are alot of prints in the world… Paw prints, a printer prints even people leave foot prints… You get INprints, OUTprints and just normal prints =)
I bought the prints with plans to hang them in the living room, but as usual with all the projects I start, it didn’t get finished and they had ended up on the floor in the corner.
“What are these?” he asked. “Why are they just laying here? They are gorgeous.”
I started to say I was lazy, but stopped. Did I really want to make this negative comment about myself to the first new guy I had been on more than two dates with in months?
“Oh, those are Christmas gifts,” I lied. “I buy things all year long as I see them so that I don’t get caught in the holiday crush.”
Yes, yes, yes!!! Good answer! Totally makes me seem like I am generous AND on top of things. Ha!
Prints;
littering the fallen snow
fresh, new, clean.
Indentations speaking
connotations leaking,
prints.
There were numerous copies, now circulating throughout the world. At this very moment, people were waking up to that as they went out to their doorstep to get the newspaper. Some would cry, the sick ones would laugh.
Prints decorate a home, they keep our memories, they are piled up in my garage and are something I procrastinate, I have a lot but wish they were more organized, organized is my downfall, but they are there and they wait and they don’t seem to mind.
The zebra ran through the savanna, I saw a lion running not too far from behind. We sat in the safari vehicle, with our binoculars to our eyes, open with interest and anticipation; the zebra might actually get away.
the prints that we recieved from are wedding were outstanding. They were high quality and the price was amazing. I would recomend out photographer to anyone.
A mystery lay on the black and white grooves in front of him. The enlargement on the screen had all the clues, the traits and the answers…he just needed to look deeper. To think that the individual traits of the culprit were here but hidden infuriated him.
One looked like a man bending over a silhouette, a body maybe? Either way all he say was a death. The other looked like a butterfly, but it’s wings were clipped as if it itself gnawed them off. Print after print he was shown. And all he saw in these manifested blotches was chaos and static and horrible things, oh such horrible things. This is what his mind in. This is what he is. This is what we’re afraid of. And he knows this. So he cleverly tells others what they see, but in his mind he chuckles at the fickel matter of what we are. He is more. He is a blackness that sweeps over and makes you nothing, for only after you’ve lost everything are you free to do anything.
What can I say? Once they were important, prints. Everyone had their own set, but now no one bothered with them. No one at all. We’re not allowed to use paper anymore and the heady smell of the alcohol from the gestetner is a thing of the past.
I’ll leave them everywhere so everyone knows where I’ve been. I’ll be famous. My print on the earth will be so great, you’ll see it from space. And you’ll greet me there, a celestial being, in the sky, where I’ll continue to leave my foot prints in the clouds.
Prints sind drucke oder bilder allerdings hoffe ich, dass es bilder sind, denn immer wenn ich bilder um mich habe, geht es mir gut, das müssen allerdings die Bilder sein, die ich mir ausgesucht habe, die mir etwas sagen und dann mir weiterhelfen zum leben.
Smeared black powder covers the living room. The thief has fled. The police are gone. I’m left alone to clean up the mess.
On my forehead, from your lower lip (the upper never really connected). On my stomach from the time you hit me with a softball bat. On my mind from the time you told me reincarnation was the echo of our conscious and subconscious minds shaking hands. I feel the soft indentation of your pressed fingers, the remaining prints, all over my body. They are so soft, but the mark doesn’t fade.
Printers are not my friends. They refuse to work whenever I have anything important I must have in ink. It also hates me because I batter it over and over again, with my fist, and sometimes a book, or a pillow when I’m feeling generous. I can’t wait for the day printers will be extinct and some new reliable technology will take its place. Until that day I must grin and bear it, I suppose.
he saw the footprints. he saw the blood. but what he didn’t see was the killer. the killer was behind him.