Sound. Sounds are cool. For, they help you and I hear. Unless that isn’t a possibility. For, some people cannot hear, which is very quite tragic. I’m glad I can hear, for if I couldn’t… I could not enjoy my favorite bands, and all that stuff. This little writing of which I created sucked, quite horribly. 3:
the sound of the guy next to me in this Starbucks is annoying, the sound of his voice in particular. i feel bad, though, because he’s calling places to make himself available for work. i was there. you don’t want anyone to know or make it obvious that yo’re unemployed, but you really need somebody to cut you some fucking slack. damn.
the sound of your breath is my favourite. as i hear the rise and fall in the morning, the gentle rhythm as your heart beats through your chest. I rest my head upon your chest and listen. my favourite sound is listening to your existence, knowing that you choose to spend it with me.
I have just written about sound but submitted it wrong!! However I think it’s an interesting topic and don’t mind saying a lot about it. I don’t think my hearing’s very good since I had problems as a child and as a result I find it hard to hear things. I can’t distinguish one sound over another very easily.
Is this todays word? I already wrote about this word. I feel that I be presented with a new word every time. There are many words in the dictionary. How about pulchritudinous, or didactic, or embroiled? Do we only get three words that rotate around and around and around and around and around and around?
What is this sound? This forever insistent hum that never seems to fade. It’s never the same. Sometimes it drips sluggishly from the unwatched television set. Others it blares out of an unattended laptop. But it is always there. Comforting its uncaring owners with the hum that proves you are not alone in the world.
i can hear sound. its a gift..its a blessing. some people cant hear sound, and you cant explain it either. we take advantage of sound, we treat it like that girl next door who you know will sleep with you if you ask her nicely. taking no account in to her feelings. Sound is a beautiful thing. it ranges from whistling wind to roaring fires. sound is everywhere. it is within us, it is around us it is us.
Your skin touching my skin, the sheets that are rolling in between us, the movement of our bodies, your lips touching my lips, the muscles contracting, my breath goes faster, but not as fast as yours, my hair gets caught underneath the pillow, your sudden laughter, more kisses, you bite me, ouch Sometimes I forget, I always felt safe and sound in your arms,
i still hear the sound of you echoing through the hallway, when you’d tiptoe through at night. i still have the songs you downloaded to my laptop and i still listen to them. i still have your clothes in my wardrobe. they still smell of you. i still hear your placid voice whenever i sit in front of the cafe, where you’d turn the cup of coffee we’d share so your lips would touch the same place that mine were. it sounds of ivory, coffee-stained and milky, and reminds me of the hum of black and white movies and the clicking of typewriters under blue moonlit evenings. the same evenings we’d spend tangled – arms between necks between legs between wrists and fingers – telling of our forgotten hopes and fervent desires. your song sounds of poetry intertwining itself with the bitter tunes stuck in my humming mind.
the sound of the crunch under her feet was strangely satisfying, crunch crunch crunch. It had to be done with care though; a slip would result in a painful and cold bum!
Around it’s the sound, the sound
The breeze, the trees
The hum of electricity
The click, click signals
The shuffling papers
The crunch of gravel
Murmurs from a dead yet restless city
That sound still rings in my head. The sound of a friendship, done. The sound of the last straw. The last word. The last care. Time doesn’t matter to you and I now realize it shouldn’t matter to me… That’s the sound of “I’m done.”
When I think about the word sound, all I can think about is silence! But ‘a sound’ brings something different to mind. So many individual sounds, a baby’s breathing, birds, the wind. The oven when something a baking
the gun in the hands of his wife
on a night the newspapers will never forget
and a morning the neighbors will try to.
the sound of touch triggers
holes in true emotion.
nothing shocking has happened here.
There was nothing to be heard except for the faint dripping of water down the dank walls of the cell she had called home for too long now. The cat twisted her ears about as she lay in the damp straw, nose wrinkling distastefully. It didn’t stand to reason that she was left in the dungeons. Cats should be given the run on the halls.
The sound of beautiful music, or a baby’s laugh, or a lover’s whispers are what makes life colorful and worthwhile; but other sounds, like a jack hammer, can fray the nerves.
The sound of the rain on the roof of my summer getaway will forever be ingrained in my mind, the relaxation of knowing that there is no reason to wake up early, and to enjoy a morning of board games with my family.
I heard the sound of the gong that told me I was not good enough. But even greater was the sound of my heart’s dissapointment, and the sound of my friends’ dissaproval. I would rather hear the symphony if their laughter, the sweetest sound in the world, but instead I heard their boos as I exited the stage.
I will hear from God on all my issues of life. I will sound music to myself to hear what God wants from me, of me, and the direction in which he wants me to go. I will listen to the sounds of slient to hear the beats of the heart. I am sound when I give back to God His Words of promises regarding those I pray for and those who request pray from me. Sound is wonderful when I can hear, feel, and intergrate into my life.
All around him, there was no escaping it. His head pounded incessantly, refusing to stop. There was a ringing in his ears, growing louder and louder.
“PLEASE! STOP IT!” he screamed, hysterical. There was no end, and nothing he could do.
Screeching tires and busting glass still taint my nights, fulling my night with tretorous nightmares. But still I wake up, fighting the new day to regain the happiness that you brought me.
I hear the sounds of birds chirping when I pull into the driveway. More like I see the birds and I know the noises they are making. The hum of my car is so simple. So constant and so calming. Can I sit here a little longer listening to it while my headlights light the back window in the early light? Yes,
It reverberates in my ear, sending tremors through my head. I know it’s too loud, but the beat has me in a trance. I’m hypnotized by the constant boom. Liquid words coat the bass like chocolate, and hit my soul like a sharp punch to the gut. I love hip-hop.
That sound is quite noisy and i guess the roommates will be annoyed soon. But what do to? It is not special and it has no eager to be. Awesome, little sound!
Sounds like but isnt’. If a tree falls and no is there to hear it, is there sound. Sounds of silence can’t be a sound. I love the sound of music! Now, that is
I was setting on my chair, when suddenly I heard her angelic voice calling me. I listened more carefully hoping that she’s real and that my imagination is not fooling me as usual. And she was real.
The sound was like nothing I had ever heard. Who would believe that a discarded oil drum that once hold oil, could make such sweet music. Only in the West indies can you hear such sweet music, flowing through the air at the stroke of a stick on top of a oil can.
It’s always made sense to her that the loudness of a sound is referred to as its volume. She knows how sound can fill a room and fill a mind. A gunshot, a whisper, and a lullaby.
what is a sound? Reverberations? Explosions of minimalist thoughts in a series of waves? Waves? Curling, bending outwards? Or is it merely a brain impulse, engendered by our perceptions, however wrong they may be? Sound feasible is invisible, yet touches our very depths.
Batteria flauto, ma è anche cuore rene polmoni pianto e immaginazione. Cestini rovesciati per terra, ossa rotte sangue che schizza sul pavimento da una stupida ferita col coltello del pane. POESIA troisi e neruda e il suono del mare delle grotte e l’ olio che sfrigola in padella.
Sound. Sounds are cool. For, they help you and I hear. Unless that isn’t a possibility. For, some people cannot hear, which is very quite tragic. I’m glad I can hear, for if I couldn’t… I could not enjoy my favorite bands, and all that stuff. This little writing of which I created sucked, quite horribly. 3:
the sound of the guy next to me in this Starbucks is annoying, the sound of his voice in particular. i feel bad, though, because he’s calling places to make himself available for work. i was there. you don’t want anyone to know or make it obvious that yo’re unemployed, but you really need somebody to cut you some fucking slack. damn.
the sound of your breath is my favourite. as i hear the rise and fall in the morning, the gentle rhythm as your heart beats through your chest. I rest my head upon your chest and listen. my favourite sound is listening to your existence, knowing that you choose to spend it with me.
I have just written about sound but submitted it wrong!! However I think it’s an interesting topic and don’t mind saying a lot about it. I don’t think my hearing’s very good since I had problems as a child and as a result I find it hard to hear things. I can’t distinguish one sound over another very easily.
sunetele, ca şi muzica, există doar în mintea omului. în realitatea fizică există doar vibraţiile aerului.
your heart beats
like an apocalypse
pumping blood
breaking in two
your bones fall
like proud mountains
your chest thaws
an ocean overflowing
every kiss ripens
thuds to the ground
every inch of skin pulsing
the heart of a hurricane
you protest your end
a fighter to the centre
though no one
in the next universe
or two
will ever hear you.
Is this todays word? I already wrote about this word. I feel that I be presented with a new word every time. There are many words in the dictionary. How about pulchritudinous, or didactic, or embroiled? Do we only get three words that rotate around and around and around and around and around and around?
What is this sound? This forever insistent hum that never seems to fade. It’s never the same. Sometimes it drips sluggishly from the unwatched television set. Others it blares out of an unattended laptop. But it is always there. Comforting its uncaring owners with the hum that proves you are not alone in the world.
i can hear sound. its a gift..its a blessing. some people cant hear sound, and you cant explain it either. we take advantage of sound, we treat it like that girl next door who you know will sleep with you if you ask her nicely. taking no account in to her feelings. Sound is a beautiful thing. it ranges from whistling wind to roaring fires. sound is everywhere. it is within us, it is around us it is us.
Your skin touching my skin, the sheets that are rolling in between us, the movement of our bodies, your lips touching my lips, the muscles contracting, my breath goes faster, but not as fast as yours, my hair gets caught underneath the pillow, your sudden laughter, more kisses, you bite me, ouch Sometimes I forget, I always felt safe and sound in your arms,
sound is a tool of God. undistorted sound is beauty.
i still hear the sound of you echoing through the hallway, when you’d tiptoe through at night. i still have the songs you downloaded to my laptop and i still listen to them. i still have your clothes in my wardrobe. they still smell of you. i still hear your placid voice whenever i sit in front of the cafe, where you’d turn the cup of coffee we’d share so your lips would touch the same place that mine were. it sounds of ivory, coffee-stained and milky, and reminds me of the hum of black and white movies and the clicking of typewriters under blue moonlit evenings. the same evenings we’d spend tangled – arms between necks between legs between wrists and fingers – telling of our forgotten hopes and fervent desires. your song sounds of poetry intertwining itself with the bitter tunes stuck in my humming mind.
the sound of the crunch under her feet was strangely satisfying, crunch crunch crunch. It had to be done with care though; a slip would result in a painful and cold bum!
sound of music is something that everybody knows. but me. someone says that sound of music is about a nun who fell in love with a
Around it’s the sound, the sound
The breeze, the trees
The hum of electricity
The click, click signals
The shuffling papers
The crunch of gravel
Murmurs from a dead yet restless city
That sound still rings in my head. The sound of a friendship, done. The sound of the last straw. The last word. The last care. Time doesn’t matter to you and I now realize it shouldn’t matter to me… That’s the sound of “I’m done.”
Pound the sound of the hound in the rounds of bounds.
When I think about the word sound, all I can think about is silence! But ‘a sound’ brings something different to mind. So many individual sounds, a baby’s breathing, birds, the wind. The oven when something a baking
the gun in the hands of his wife
on a night the newspapers will never forget
and a morning the neighbors will try to.
the sound of touch triggers
holes in true emotion.
nothing shocking has happened here.
There was nothing to be heard except for the faint dripping of water down the dank walls of the cell she had called home for too long now. The cat twisted her ears about as she lay in the damp straw, nose wrinkling distastefully. It didn’t stand to reason that she was left in the dungeons. Cats should be given the run on the halls.
The sound of beautiful music, or a baby’s laugh, or a lover’s whispers are what makes life colorful and worthwhile; but other sounds, like a jack hammer, can fray the nerves.
The sound of the rain on the roof of my summer getaway will forever be ingrained in my mind, the relaxation of knowing that there is no reason to wake up early, and to enjoy a morning of board games with my family.
I heard the sound of the gong that told me I was not good enough. But even greater was the sound of my heart’s dissapointment, and the sound of my friends’ dissaproval. I would rather hear the symphony if their laughter, the sweetest sound in the world, but instead I heard their boos as I exited the stage.
I will hear from God on all my issues of life. I will sound music to myself to hear what God wants from me, of me, and the direction in which he wants me to go. I will listen to the sounds of slient to hear the beats of the heart. I am sound when I give back to God His Words of promises regarding those I pray for and those who request pray from me. Sound is wonderful when I can hear, feel, and intergrate into my life.
drip drip drip drip
grumble grumble
squeak squeak
shuffle shuffle
snore.
All around him, there was no escaping it. His head pounded incessantly, refusing to stop. There was a ringing in his ears, growing louder and louder.
“PLEASE! STOP IT!” he screamed, hysterical. There was no end, and nothing he could do.
Screeching tires and busting glass still taint my nights, fulling my night with tretorous nightmares. But still I wake up, fighting the new day to regain the happiness that you brought me.
I hear the sounds of birds chirping when I pull into the driveway. More like I see the birds and I know the noises they are making. The hum of my car is so simple. So constant and so calming. Can I sit here a little longer listening to it while my headlights light the back window in the early light? Yes,
bilmem
This sound will be stuck in my head forever.
The sound of your voice saying to me ‘it’s over between us.’
And the silence of my tears…
It reverberates in my ear, sending tremors through my head. I know it’s too loud, but the beat has me in a trance. I’m hypnotized by the constant boom. Liquid words coat the bass like chocolate, and hit my soul like a sharp punch to the gut. I love hip-hop.
the miracle of feeling through inside your body
when you hear , you feel and probably think sometimes.
That sound is quite noisy and i guess the roommates will be annoyed soon. But what do to? It is not special and it has no eager to be. Awesome, little sound!
I heard that.. it was real. I was real, too.
Sounds like but isnt’. If a tree falls and no is there to hear it, is there sound. Sounds of silence can’t be a sound. I love the sound of music! Now, that is
I was setting on my chair, when suddenly I heard her angelic voice calling me. I listened more carefully hoping that she’s real and that my imagination is not fooling me as usual. And she was real.
The sound was like nothing I had ever heard. Who would believe that a discarded oil drum that once hold oil, could make such sweet music. Only in the West indies can you hear such sweet music, flowing through the air at the stroke of a stick on top of a oil can.
It’s always made sense to her that the loudness of a sound is referred to as its volume. She knows how sound can fill a room and fill a mind. A gunshot, a whisper, and a lullaby.
what is a sound? Reverberations? Explosions of minimalist thoughts in a series of waves? Waves? Curling, bending outwards? Or is it merely a brain impulse, engendered by our perceptions, however wrong they may be? Sound feasible is invisible, yet touches our very depths.
Batteria flauto, ma è anche cuore rene polmoni pianto e immaginazione. Cestini rovesciati per terra, ossa rotte sangue che schizza sul pavimento da una stupida ferita col coltello del pane. POESIA troisi e neruda e il suono del mare delle grotte e l’ olio che sfrigola in padella.