Like climbing out of a sponge, Jensen hooked his thoughts on themselves, trying desperately to find a focus in this velvety cocoon on which he could make a conscious stand. But it was slippery going.
“So, what exactly is it you’re attempting to accomplish here, Jensen?” the voice cooed.
He absorbed her energy like a sponge. The moment it had left her, she knew she was expendable. Nothing she had to offer Lazarus now, would be enough to save either her life or her son’s.
Instinctively, the slight pressure variation he sensed meant only one thing. The direction of the world was about to change, and like the sunrise every morning inevitably comes the sunset. As if the sky was falling, he began to wonder if this was the last time the tiny bits of sustenance would float by and filter through his rather soft body. Every day was a ball of worry and stress because his mind could really only comprehend a couple hours at a time, if that even. Somehow he came to an idea that could have been new, but as I have just mentioned his brain only remembers a very small window of time, but in any event he decided if this were to his last day on Earth, he should probably attempt to reproduce. So began the internal processes that would culminate in the release of thousands of sperm into the tide, the little guys swimming blind, hoping that the ocean gods would lead them to another sponge, and that this sponge be a “woman”.
I feel like I am being squeezed out. I was a sponge filled with emotion-liquid, but now I am empty, yet fresh again. Time for changes, good changes. I was bursting over with water.
I watched as she soaked in sunlight like a sponge does with water. Her skin glowed softly, a gentle smile on her face. I shook my head. She smiled at me. “Enough proof for you?” she asked teasingly. I nodded, dumbstruck. Her golden hair haloed out around her, making her look like an angel.
my sponge was soaked with goo. there was no way to clean it and despite my reluctance i finally decided to throw it away. damn the consequences. i knew that everyone else would be furious but what could i do. the time had come. quietly i snuck out in the middle of the night, sponge in hand, and headed for the dumpster.
Little kids. The first time you hear a two year old cuss and you have no idea how they have been able to learn that word. Or, when a kid recites the entire half of the movie. A sponge. Children soak up the good and the bad. The energy all around. They constantly are showing more and more. And to think, we think we always know more. Yet, our brain works no where near as fast, as sponge like.
Did I miss it, that magic time when a brain is a sponge,
when my son was a sponge… did I give enough,
did I waste it?
Is there still time?
Can we get re-sponged even in our older years?
soaking it all in when im in a new place. i close my eyes and memorize the smell, the sounds, the feel of the wind on the back of my neck. that way, years from now, all i have to do is close my eyes and im back.
There are times I wish I could be a sponge. I feel so dry and empty and all I want to do is soak something in… It could be anything. A book, a place, a song, people… At times we all need to filled with these things, so we don’t run dry.
The spongy mass of flesh lies in front of me. I see it and I want to throw up, or die, or both.
Instead, I pick up what is left of my father with white plastic gloves and I put it in a bag. It will be burned, and my sister will keep the ashes.
I use a sponge to wash my butt. Its foamy soapy substance dripping from my legs turns on any normal human being who happens to look. I hope that you enjoyed that nice visual people. chucksandpomps@yahoo.com :) Wait….uhhhh more time….time…..time…..time…..time….time…..DONE!
I pick the pieces of you up like a sponge. I soak you in- your pain, happiness, your sorrow.
I love you.
And I just can’t get enough. There’s always those few drops left on the counter, undrinkable. Waiting.
I am like a sponge, I absorb other peoples emotions and problems, but unlike a sponge I find it hard to wring them out… I also like the sea where sponges are found, and that is where I want to be right now. Sponges are not perfect…
i am a sponge and i soak up knowledge, i soak up the sun. on rainy days, i soak up the rain. i am the epitome of taking, retaining. i am flexible, i am human, i am organic.
Hehe. Sponge is fun to say. I like sponges that are bright neon colors. They always just look so vibrant in the store. However, I hate when you use a sponge for a while on dishes and it starts to smell absolutely awful. Yuck. I don’t have anything else to say about sponges, except that spongebob squarepants is dumb.
sponges are absorbent, taking in any liquid they come into contact with. lately, i’ve been thinking about the things i ‘take in’ – without thought of boundary, of impact, of use. i have this tried and true strategy of carrying around things that do not belong to me; things that aren’t mine to carry. i carry the weight of guilt from not visiting my mother. i was a child; i do not have to carry it anymore. like a sponge, i am absorbent, but unlike a sponge, i can reject what is not mine to carry.
The dirty sponge sat waiting in the sink. It’ wasn’t fair that she had to wash the dishes today, it was her birthday! they always made an exception if it was your birthday..why were they so mean to her?
Like a sponge you
Soaked me in.
I was the water,
So gentle yet powerful.
You were no match for me;
You had me figured out within the first
Second.
Like a sponge you
Soaked me in.
soak them all right in back again and again… like a bottle to explode, like a blanket to keep out the cold, like a way to forget… but doomed to remember again and again… squeezed by a trigger
you squeeze it, you pour liquid over it, you wipe your face, your tears fall down but the sponge catches them all, your inrinse it off, and just like that its brand new for the next use.
My arms circled around me as I paddled through the water, depths from the surface. I watched the sponges around me flail with the ocean’s current, and be battered mercilessly by fish and crustaceans of all kinds. They’re alive, I thought. Surely they must feel pain too? The thought was shoved out of my mind as I felt something soft brush against my foot. I paled to white and nearly fainted from the sudden feeling of upcoming and inevitable death…
Spongebob squarepants. Oh wow I can’t believe that’s what I thought of. And then of course I thought of Summer because she’s amazing and sponges make me thing of yellow and yellow makes me think of Summer. I hope she can come here. I haven’t talked to her today. I want to.
My arms circled around me as I paddled through the water, depths from the surface. I watched the sponges around me flail with the ocean’s current, and be battered mercilessly by fish and crustaceans of all kinds. They’re alive, I thought. Surely they must feel pain too?
the feeling of a sponge had always been odd to me. just squishy. but able to take in all the water and liquid that it does. Most of the time I find them, they are quite disgusting. full of everything that it has aquired its ENTIRE life. yuck. oh well. for some thats the life it lives
WHO LIVES IN A PINEAPPLE UNDER THE SEA!?!?!??!?! SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS! ABSORBANT AND YELLOW AND POROUS IS HE, SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS! OF NAUTICAL NONSENSE BE SOMETHING YOU WISH
retain
the same old
same old
expunge
the sponge
of conservative dogma
make yourself a sponge
for something worth absorbing
we are what we think
what we learn
what we yearn to change
in a world full of hypocrites
cures for science (mad scientists) lost somewhere underneath the floorboards (hollow-wood caves) the last place of prayer, a boy’s schoolyard treehouse–
Living at the bottom of the ocean, no one notices me, the sponge, I’m not glamorous like the starfish, or svelte gazelle looking like the seahorse, but when they want someone to clean up a mess, oh yes! I’m there!
and to think . . it was only a moment ago that the floor was awash with the bubble bath they had sponged over each other. Could it be that now it was gone, as if in a dream?
“She’ll never get anywhere.”, soaking up your words I am a sponge. I take in the words like a curse and allow them to stain my heart.
Like climbing out of a sponge, Jensen hooked his thoughts on themselves, trying desperately to find a focus in this velvety cocoon on which he could make a conscious stand. But it was slippery going.
“So, what exactly is it you’re attempting to accomplish here, Jensen?” the voice cooed.
He absorbed her energy like a sponge. The moment it had left her, she knew she was expendable. Nothing she had to offer Lazarus now, would be enough to save either her life or her son’s.
Holes like the moon
Ye ain’t no buffoon
Ye clean all the things
Thanks, sponge. Thanksponge.
soft, rubbery, absorbent, it’s supposed to soak up everything, instead everything’s jumbled.
Instinctively, the slight pressure variation he sensed meant only one thing. The direction of the world was about to change, and like the sunrise every morning inevitably comes the sunset. As if the sky was falling, he began to wonder if this was the last time the tiny bits of sustenance would float by and filter through his rather soft body. Every day was a ball of worry and stress because his mind could really only comprehend a couple hours at a time, if that even. Somehow he came to an idea that could have been new, but as I have just mentioned his brain only remembers a very small window of time, but in any event he decided if this were to his last day on Earth, he should probably attempt to reproduce. So began the internal processes that would culminate in the release of thousands of sperm into the tide, the little guys swimming blind, hoping that the ocean gods would lead them to another sponge, and that this sponge be a “woman”.
I used a sponge today to wash dishes……I hate dishes…….I should have lost that stupid sponge……yup it’s the sponge’s fault.
I feel like I am being squeezed out. I was a sponge filled with emotion-liquid, but now I am empty, yet fresh again. Time for changes, good changes. I was bursting over with water.
Soak it all up like it never existed. Let me feel the floor under me well and delicious. I want a sponge to last forever.
I watched as she soaked in sunlight like a sponge does with water. Her skin glowed softly, a gentle smile on her face. I shook my head. She smiled at me. “Enough proof for you?” she asked teasingly. I nodded, dumbstruck. Her golden hair haloed out around her, making her look like an angel.
To soak in life, but somehow filter what is ugly, rotten, or excessive. To wipe clean one’s surroundings…
my sponge was soaked with goo. there was no way to clean it and despite my reluctance i finally decided to throw it away. damn the consequences. i knew that everyone else would be furious but what could i do. the time had come. quietly i snuck out in the middle of the night, sponge in hand, and headed for the dumpster.
Little kids. The first time you hear a two year old cuss and you have no idea how they have been able to learn that word. Or, when a kid recites the entire half of the movie. A sponge. Children soak up the good and the bad. The energy all around. They constantly are showing more and more. And to think, we think we always know more. Yet, our brain works no where near as fast, as sponge like.
Did I miss it, that magic time when a brain is a sponge,
when my son was a sponge… did I give enough,
did I waste it?
Is there still time?
Can we get re-sponged even in our older years?
soaking it all in when im in a new place. i close my eyes and memorize the smell, the sounds, the feel of the wind on the back of my neck. that way, years from now, all i have to do is close my eyes and im back.
Tifa looks at the dirty sponge in her hand and sighs. It’s falling apart, and she thinks maybe (just maybe) it’s symbolic of herself in some way.
Maybe it just meant she needed to throw it away and go to sleep, but she never knew anything for sure these days.
There are times I wish I could be a sponge. I feel so dry and empty and all I want to do is soak something in… It could be anything. A book, a place, a song, people… At times we all need to filled with these things, so we don’t run dry.
The spongy mass of flesh lies in front of me. I see it and I want to throw up, or die, or both.
Instead, I pick up what is left of my father with white plastic gloves and I put it in a bag. It will be burned, and my sister will keep the ashes.
Leaning over the rail, awkwardly lips fumble for straw.
One of many methods that ive never used. Unless you are talking about absolute genius.
I use a sponge to wash my butt. Its foamy soapy substance dripping from my legs turns on any normal human being who happens to look. I hope that you enjoyed that nice visual people. chucksandpomps@yahoo.com :) Wait….uhhhh more time….time…..time…..time…..time….time…..DONE!
I pick the pieces of you up like a sponge. I soak you in- your pain, happiness, your sorrow.
I love you.
And I just can’t get enough. There’s always those few drops left on the counter, undrinkable. Waiting.
I am like a sponge, I absorb other peoples emotions and problems, but unlike a sponge I find it hard to wring them out… I also like the sea where sponges are found, and that is where I want to be right now. Sponges are not perfect…
i am a sponge and i soak up knowledge, i soak up the sun. on rainy days, i soak up the rain. i am the epitome of taking, retaining. i am flexible, i am human, i am organic.
Hehe. Sponge is fun to say. I like sponges that are bright neon colors. They always just look so vibrant in the store. However, I hate when you use a sponge for a while on dishes and it starts to smell absolutely awful. Yuck. I don’t have anything else to say about sponges, except that spongebob squarepants is dumb.
it soaks it up
no questions asked
the sponge, though flawed with holes,
does not judge
sponges are absorbent, taking in any liquid they come into contact with. lately, i’ve been thinking about the things i ‘take in’ – without thought of boundary, of impact, of use. i have this tried and true strategy of carrying around things that do not belong to me; things that aren’t mine to carry. i carry the weight of guilt from not visiting my mother. i was a child; i do not have to carry it anymore. like a sponge, i am absorbent, but unlike a sponge, i can reject what is not mine to carry.
The dirty sponge sat waiting in the sink. It’ wasn’t fair that she had to wash the dishes today, it was her birthday! they always made an exception if it was your birthday..why were they so mean to her?
Like a sponge you
Soaked me in.
I was the water,
So gentle yet powerful.
You were no match for me;
You had me figured out within the first
Second.
Like a sponge you
Soaked me in.
soak them all right in back again and again… like a bottle to explode, like a blanket to keep out the cold, like a way to forget… but doomed to remember again and again… squeezed by a trigger
you squeeze it, you pour liquid over it, you wipe your face, your tears fall down but the sponge catches them all, your inrinse it off, and just like that its brand new for the next use.
My arms circled around me as I paddled through the water, depths from the surface. I watched the sponges around me flail with the ocean’s current, and be battered mercilessly by fish and crustaceans of all kinds. They’re alive, I thought. Surely they must feel pain too? The thought was shoved out of my mind as I felt something soft brush against my foot. I paled to white and nearly fainted from the sudden feeling of upcoming and inevitable death…
Spongebob squarepants. Oh wow I can’t believe that’s what I thought of. And then of course I thought of Summer because she’s amazing and sponges make me thing of yellow and yellow makes me think of Summer. I hope she can come here. I haven’t talked to her today. I want to.
My arms circled around me as I paddled through the water, depths from the surface. I watched the sponges around me flail with the ocean’s current, and be battered mercilessly by fish and crustaceans of all kinds. They’re alive, I thought. Surely they must feel pain too?
the feeling of a sponge had always been odd to me. just squishy. but able to take in all the water and liquid that it does. Most of the time I find them, they are quite disgusting. full of everything that it has aquired its ENTIRE life. yuck. oh well. for some thats the life it lives
WHO LIVES IN A PINEAPPLE UNDER THE SEA!?!?!??!?! SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS! ABSORBANT AND YELLOW AND POROUS IS HE, SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS! OF NAUTICAL NONSENSE BE SOMETHING YOU WISH
retain
the same old
same old
expunge
the sponge
of conservative dogma
make yourself a sponge
for something worth absorbing
we are what we think
what we learn
what we yearn to change
in a world full of hypocrites
cures for science (mad scientists) lost somewhere underneath the floorboards (hollow-wood caves) the last place of prayer, a boy’s schoolyard treehouse–
Living at the bottom of the ocean, no one notices me, the sponge, I’m not glamorous like the starfish, or svelte gazelle looking like the seahorse, but when they want someone to clean up a mess, oh yes! I’m there!
and to think . . it was only a moment ago that the floor was awash with the bubble bath they had sponged over each other. Could it be that now it was gone, as if in a dream?