missed hearing yesterday, so i will write about that. This week has made me aware by the number of times I have been caught yawning in class. Its not because the thing that I am learning is boring, but its because I am usually tired or am lost in what the teacher is saying. I can’t hear the message, so I open my mouth in silence.
Upright. I don’t do this enough. I’m not sure of what to say, mentioning vertical lines and measurements and time and how it is on the most difficult things to measure.
IT was taller than me. Mama said it was made of Rosewood but I didnt see any roses in the wood. I thought it was grand……..but Mama said it was an Upright.
She was afraid of going to sleep and missing something great. That was still part of her childhood that had stayed upright even after the second part of her life began. The deaths, the phonies, the lies, and the aches would never make her eyes close. She remained curious and determined and stubborn. She hated outright and loved without question, and sometimes she wasn’t enough. That’s when she hid and waited for something bigger than the star in which she was stuck; that’s when the thoughts caught up with her. And that’s when the constellations exploded overhead, and she fell asleep immediately.
My x boyfriend plays the upright bass. That reminds me of the cello? that Susan Surrandon played so hard that her hair blew up huge and she got sexually excited. I wonder if that happens to him, too. Ha. Eew.
One day at a time. Having balance in life is important and managing this by standing upright and moving forward wherever possible demonstrates actual balance. With my low expectations, this is success.
I have read that sitting down shortens your life and try to do it as little as possible. The belief may be a fiction, one of those perceptional illusions that humans cling to. Why would being vertical give you more lIfe? Life may just appear to be passing more slowly when you are moving, as though through your self-engineered movement you are adding years to your life. In my dark moments I think that it may be just that you will soon running, building up speed and leaving reality far behind.
I just went to my 8th grade promotion dance tonight:) upright.. how it relates… idk… everything felt upright? idk it was just fun and i lost my voice. got my hair curled for like the first time.. well the first time ppl saw me with curly hair. so yah.
I shot up and sat upright with my fingers in my hair. It was just a dream. It’s fine.
I thought, she rolled over and slowly asked, “Hey, are you all right?” her voice cracking.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I mumbled. She pushed my hair onto one shoulder and kissed my neck, quietly asking if I was sure. I felt a smile tugging on the corner of my mouth, and laid back down pulling her arms around me, “Mmhmm, I’m okay.”
she was upright and bold but in the eyes of world she was base and vulnerable, until she was drowned saving one of them did they appreciate her true worth.
stop being so upright, you uptight freak, what an oxymoron. i don’t care. but still do, that’s the best part. just let it happen -jimmy eat world, i love you. like water.
fuck upright. you’re so uptight. just stop and recognize that it’s more fucking beautiful to just let go of your inhibitions and just let it happen. jimmy eat world song
Nathaniel is leaning against his upright sword, the tip buried deep in the sand, and I’m running towards him, shouting at the top of my lungs, trying to get him to stand, trying to get to him before they get to him first. All I can do is shout and run. I wish I could fly. I wish that I could save him. But I know I’m not fast enough. And all I can do is hope that he can stand up and fight because I don’t think I can save him this time.
Upright, uptight John Watson. Always so proper with his manners and military gestures. One thing that’s NOT upright with him is his number of girlfriends. Sherlock doesn’t know why he keeps on dating such dull women when he can be blogging about the latest case or even helping him with one. (sorry, so sleepy -_-)
When she entered the room, he sat bolt upright. Never a more exquisite creature. Soft hair poured over her shoulders like icing. So many colors and feelings. She reminded him of the cool morning air that awoke his senses.
“Well, do you want another one?” A bald man, glowing like an angel death, appeared behind the counter. Her form melted into the smoke of the bar. Her smile faded into the sick amber of his beer. He wanted to forget her. But he couldn’t forget. She had told him about the strange phone calls but he laughed, asked her if she’d been smoking funny cigarettes. Did nothing. Later he found pieces of her in her apartment. The head was stuffed with daisies. Drink. Forget.
Mycroft was gone for the day, probably off to pester the Prime Minister about Bulgaria, Sherlock had mused. He sighed softly with a relaxed smile and leaned back into the armrest of his brother’s overstuffed couch, propping his feet up just a few inches short of Mrs. Hudson’s thigh. She was soaking under the the reading lamp in the corner, her glasses propped up on her nose as she shared a companionable silence with friend and tenant. The two of them spent the afternoon reading; Mrs. Hudson slowly fingered her way down each page of a Victorian romance novel as Sherlock leafed through the pathology indexes of the river-borne species in various parts of Africa.
The grandfather clock ticked steadily away from next to the kitchen, where John had just finished his lesson with the Holmes family culinary servants. He was just making note of the last few steps in a creole casserole recipe as he wandered into the sitting room to find Sherlock. One glance at the peaceful literary scene changed his mind, and he instead set about exploring the rest of Mycroft’s mansion. The floorboards barely creaked as he snuck his way upstairs to the mysterious man’s living quarters.
Before long, both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock looked up from their books at the tinkling sound of piano notes from the floor above. A few random keys, then a stroke down along the length, and John let his hand drop. He had been surprised to find the old upright stuffed into the corner of Mycroft’s study.
Firstly, that the older Holmes was a musician- though now that the doctor thought about it, he supposed they both would have been forced to learn an instrument at the same age. He wondered if Mycroft was as brilliant at it as his sibling.
Secondly, that it was this little cherry-sided upright which adorned Mycroft’s personal study. John would have expected a flashier display of wealth, perhaps a Steinway baby grand. Moving on to the next room, he put on his “Sherlock-cap” and puzzled about it as he vaguely toured his way through the grand staircases and personal galleries. The secluded location indicated that the piano was kept for personal reasons- sentimentality or privacy. Its keys were clean, so it likely was not devoid of use. John shook his head and promised himself he’d ask Sherlock about it later, why his brother wouldn’t want anyone knowing about his musical habits.
Your hands branch out towards me
As you gurgle and giggle
and I can’t help but think that the smile of Apollo himself
could not rival that of yours
And your soft fingers grapple with mine
As I carry you in my arms
Until I realize your posture is as upright as ever
Standing in an upright position, she began to scold herself in the mirror. She had written a speech to recite when she was feeling the pressure weighing on her.
Sitting upright, Kristen’s tired eyes bore into the dim grey of her window curtains. Beams of light burst through the small holes and spaces between the clothes, speckled in colorless dust that made it’s way through the room. Today was a bright day, sunny–a good day in most peoples’ eyes, but not Kristen’s. She sighed heavily and made her way to the restroom to begin her day.
I wanted to be an upright citizen. But a citizen of what country? Whose laws to a prescribe to, and pride myself on following? Do I think about the ways other countries are living and remove myself from their circumstances with labels that dehumanize? How could I live with myself if I didn’t at least think of them as just a worthy as me?
I leaned the ladder against the back of our garage. With a huff I wiped the sweat from my brow that had been building from the afternoon sun. I looked up at the upright ladder and smiled, happy the house had finally been painted. It was the last step to remodeling this once ugly, worn down home.
Standing quickly upright, the Ninja Babe looked out the window. Jensen had heard it, too. Tracked vehicles were in the vicinity. “Tracked vehicles?” Jensen thought. “WTF?”
Creaking floorboards set you on edge, rudely awakening you from a good dream and making you sit bold upright in your bed. Moonlight filters in lazily, catching dancing dust motes. You pause, wait. One… two… three seconds pass. You hear the creaking again, followed by a thump. You hope wildly that you actually remembered to lock your bedroom door this time.
I sat there staring at the teacher. She hates slouchers. She thinks they are lazy and good for nothing. She stared at me and said” young lady, sit upright”. I won’t have any nonsense in my classroom.
I see the old women who walk around like bent tree branches and I worry. With every pang from my hip; every creak of my knee…I wonder, will I become one of them someday? transformed into a whithered twig who can no longer stand erect on her own?
Words are words, and that’s fine because I spend too much time of thinking about them and find my self on a philosophical merry-go-round (“when I’m thinking about words, are the still words if they’re in my mind? What about words that look like what they stand for, like “bed”? Why do other languages have completely awesome words that stand for something we encounter all them time– shandenfreude, for example. If they rhyme, do they still rhyme in my mind? And if people have different accents, should they have a different rhyming dictionary? Why does slant rhyme sound to weird until your here it performed on a Shakespearian stage? Old Billy did invent a lot of words, but now we’ve got all of these ridiculous words that never seem like real words– spatula… syzgy… and on, and on, and on…)
Writing this post really highlights my excellent procrastination skills, as well as a probable need for Ritalin or something.
Anyway, why do we call in upright? Is this some kind of subliminal belief in a good and bad equality linked with a specific position and location? Living in the penthouse is usually considered far better than living in the ground floor. Like having a word map that always has North America on the top and South America on the bottom seems to convey the message that North America is better than South America (and if this debate comes around at all, I say we settle it with a global Soccer tournament which would indefinitely show the superiority of nearly all South American countries. Ok, we’ve got some pretty great stuff going on up here, but I really think that we’d get our asses kicked in any kind of sports matchup). On the other hand, I think that I’d freak the hell out if this changed, since, you know– I hate change and the burden of making decision.
It was an upright lie! I mean it. Nobody had ever said anything like that before. She just upright lied like a rug. This is what happened the teacher said no chewing gum in class. Guess what she did. She spit it on my hair.
The chair is upright.
I stand upright.
Being upright citizen.
Upright is better than being upside down.
Upright citizen is good.
Upright is better than uptight.
Upright is being able to stand up for yourself and others.
Sometimes people think they are “upright” when they are not. Some people place a lot of importance on being upright. Some people idolize being upright. I hope that I am not as delusinal as they are. I would rather be honest.
A meteor carrying spores crashes into an uninhabited planet. Millions of years go by and slowly life crawls out of the oceans depths. Eventually monkeys leave the jungle for plains, searching for new food sources. They stumble upon cow dung with mushrooms underneath being reunited with the spores that once carried their genome to this planet. As they trip balls one of the monkeys says to the other “Have you heard of our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”
Louis is barely upright when they find him. He’s smashed, and he giggles and sags against them. He finds Harry right away, always looking for him and he turns away from the others to press his face in against Harry’s neck. “Will you dance with me?” Louis asks. Harry laughs and touches the lines of Louis’ suspenders. “It’s too late to dance.”
I have a constant battle inside that I know what’s right but always want to do bad things. Self destructive or damaging to others. Not everything is black and white though is it.
As the dragons came from the sky, people screamed in fright: the reign of terror had finally begun. Top politicians didn’t do shit for the people they’re supposed to protect but instead they saved their own asses instead. Moral of the story: trust no one.
She stood there, finally at her destination, and stared down the tracks. She wondered when the train would come. She sat on the rail, keeping her spine straight, upright. There wasn’t much going on, spare the highway below her. Maybe she should run to Burger King and grab a snack before death.
missed hearing yesterday, so i will write about that. This week has made me aware by the number of times I have been caught yawning in class. Its not because the thing that I am learning is boring, but its because I am usually tired or am lost in what the teacher is saying. I can’t hear the message, so I open my mouth in silence.
Upright. I don’t do this enough. I’m not sure of what to say, mentioning vertical lines and measurements and time and how it is on the most difficult things to measure.
IT was taller than me. Mama said it was made of Rosewood but I didnt see any roses in the wood. I thought it was grand……..but Mama said it was an Upright.
Standing tall, you pull me up. Stronger, I believe. You move me, shudder, shake my bones; yet I remain still. Standing.
She was afraid of going to sleep and missing something great. That was still part of her childhood that had stayed upright even after the second part of her life began. The deaths, the phonies, the lies, and the aches would never make her eyes close. She remained curious and determined and stubborn. She hated outright and loved without question, and sometimes she wasn’t enough. That’s when she hid and waited for something bigger than the star in which she was stuck; that’s when the thoughts caught up with her. And that’s when the constellations exploded overhead, and she fell asleep immediately.
My x boyfriend plays the upright bass. That reminds me of the cello? that Susan Surrandon played so hard that her hair blew up huge and she got sexually excited. I wonder if that happens to him, too. Ha. Eew.
One day at a time. Having balance in life is important and managing this by standing upright and moving forward wherever possible demonstrates actual balance. With my low expectations, this is success.
I have read that sitting down shortens your life and try to do it as little as possible. The belief may be a fiction, one of those perceptional illusions that humans cling to. Why would being vertical give you more lIfe? Life may just appear to be passing more slowly when you are moving, as though through your self-engineered movement you are adding years to your life. In my dark moments I think that it may be just that you will soon running, building up speed and leaving reality far behind.
I just went to my 8th grade promotion dance tonight:) upright.. how it relates… idk… everything felt upright? idk it was just fun and i lost my voice. got my hair curled for like the first time.. well the first time ppl saw me with curly hair. so yah.
I shot up and sat upright with my fingers in my hair. It was just a dream. It’s fine.
I thought, she rolled over and slowly asked, “Hey, are you all right?” her voice cracking.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I mumbled. She pushed my hair onto one shoulder and kissed my neck, quietly asking if I was sure. I felt a smile tugging on the corner of my mouth, and laid back down pulling her arms around me, “Mmhmm, I’m okay.”
she was upright and bold but in the eyes of world she was base and vulnerable, until she was drowned saving one of them did they appreciate her true worth.
stop being so upright, you uptight freak, what an oxymoron. i don’t care. but still do, that’s the best part. just let it happen -jimmy eat world, i love you. like water.
fuck upright. you’re so uptight. just stop and recognize that it’s more fucking beautiful to just let go of your inhibitions and just let it happen. jimmy eat world song
Nathaniel is leaning against his upright sword, the tip buried deep in the sand, and I’m running towards him, shouting at the top of my lungs, trying to get him to stand, trying to get to him before they get to him first. All I can do is shout and run. I wish I could fly. I wish that I could save him. But I know I’m not fast enough. And all I can do is hope that he can stand up and fight because I don’t think I can save him this time.
Upright, uptight John Watson. Always so proper with his manners and military gestures. One thing that’s NOT upright with him is his number of girlfriends. Sherlock doesn’t know why he keeps on dating such dull women when he can be blogging about the latest case or even helping him with one. (sorry, so sleepy -_-)
When she entered the room, he sat bolt upright. Never a more exquisite creature. Soft hair poured over her shoulders like icing. So many colors and feelings. She reminded him of the cool morning air that awoke his senses.
“Well, do you want another one?” A bald man, glowing like an angel death, appeared behind the counter. Her form melted into the smoke of the bar. Her smile faded into the sick amber of his beer. He wanted to forget her. But he couldn’t forget. She had told him about the strange phone calls but he laughed, asked her if she’d been smoking funny cigarettes. Did nothing. Later he found pieces of her in her apartment. The head was stuffed with daisies. Drink. Forget.
Mycroft was gone for the day, probably off to pester the Prime Minister about Bulgaria, Sherlock had mused. He sighed softly with a relaxed smile and leaned back into the armrest of his brother’s overstuffed couch, propping his feet up just a few inches short of Mrs. Hudson’s thigh. She was soaking under the the reading lamp in the corner, her glasses propped up on her nose as she shared a companionable silence with friend and tenant. The two of them spent the afternoon reading; Mrs. Hudson slowly fingered her way down each page of a Victorian romance novel as Sherlock leafed through the pathology indexes of the river-borne species in various parts of Africa.
The grandfather clock ticked steadily away from next to the kitchen, where John had just finished his lesson with the Holmes family culinary servants. He was just making note of the last few steps in a creole casserole recipe as he wandered into the sitting room to find Sherlock. One glance at the peaceful literary scene changed his mind, and he instead set about exploring the rest of Mycroft’s mansion. The floorboards barely creaked as he snuck his way upstairs to the mysterious man’s living quarters.
Before long, both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock looked up from their books at the tinkling sound of piano notes from the floor above. A few random keys, then a stroke down along the length, and John let his hand drop. He had been surprised to find the old upright stuffed into the corner of Mycroft’s study.
Firstly, that the older Holmes was a musician- though now that the doctor thought about it, he supposed they both would have been forced to learn an instrument at the same age. He wondered if Mycroft was as brilliant at it as his sibling.
Secondly, that it was this little cherry-sided upright which adorned Mycroft’s personal study. John would have expected a flashier display of wealth, perhaps a Steinway baby grand. Moving on to the next room, he put on his “Sherlock-cap” and puzzled about it as he vaguely toured his way through the grand staircases and personal galleries. The secluded location indicated that the piano was kept for personal reasons- sentimentality or privacy. Its keys were clean, so it likely was not devoid of use. John shook his head and promised himself he’d ask Sherlock about it later, why his brother wouldn’t want anyone knowing about his musical habits.
Your hands branch out towards me
As you gurgle and giggle
and I can’t help but think that the smile of Apollo himself
could not rival that of yours
And your soft fingers grapple with mine
As I carry you in my arms
Until I realize your posture is as upright as ever
“What are you doing down there?” she said with a laugh.
I peeked out at her from under the table. Her head was bent over, so it looked like she was about to be folded in half.
Standing in an upright position, she began to scold herself in the mirror. She had written a speech to recite when she was feeling the pressure weighing on her.
Jimmy sat upright in bed. What was that sound? He was sure he had heard it from somewhere within the house.
Sitting upright, Kristen’s tired eyes bore into the dim grey of her window curtains. Beams of light burst through the small holes and spaces between the clothes, speckled in colorless dust that made it’s way through the room. Today was a bright day, sunny–a good day in most peoples’ eyes, but not Kristen’s. She sighed heavily and made her way to the restroom to begin her day.
a man, tall lanky,
he stands by the post where he
is waiting for the train, eyes gazing
wandering as he glances about
upright he stands, straight
dignified
he has an aura of confidence though
not arrogant
he is powerful in his actions
in his words and in his step
a point of obviousness in the way
he holds himself.
Back straight. Eyes focus. the ticking of the clock is taunting me. but i no longer want to be an enemy to math. why can’t we be friends?
I wanted to be an upright citizen. But a citizen of what country? Whose laws to a prescribe to, and pride myself on following? Do I think about the ways other countries are living and remove myself from their circumstances with labels that dehumanize? How could I live with myself if I didn’t at least think of them as just a worthy as me?
I leaned the ladder against the back of our garage. With a huff I wiped the sweat from my brow that had been building from the afternoon sun. I looked up at the upright ladder and smiled, happy the house had finally been painted. It was the last step to remodeling this once ugly, worn down home.
Standing quickly upright, the Ninja Babe looked out the window. Jensen had heard it, too. Tracked vehicles were in the vicinity. “Tracked vehicles?” Jensen thought. “WTF?”
Creaking floorboards set you on edge, rudely awakening you from a good dream and making you sit bold upright in your bed. Moonlight filters in lazily, catching dancing dust motes. You pause, wait. One… two… three seconds pass. You hear the creaking again, followed by a thump. You hope wildly that you actually remembered to lock your bedroom door this time.
I sat there staring at the teacher. She hates slouchers. She thinks they are lazy and good for nothing. She stared at me and said” young lady, sit upright”. I won’t have any nonsense in my classroom.
I see the old women who walk around like bent tree branches and I worry. With every pang from my hip; every creak of my knee…I wonder, will I become one of them someday? transformed into a whithered twig who can no longer stand erect on her own?
Words are words, and that’s fine because I spend too much time of thinking about them and find my self on a philosophical merry-go-round (“when I’m thinking about words, are the still words if they’re in my mind? What about words that look like what they stand for, like “bed”? Why do other languages have completely awesome words that stand for something we encounter all them time– shandenfreude, for example. If they rhyme, do they still rhyme in my mind? And if people have different accents, should they have a different rhyming dictionary? Why does slant rhyme sound to weird until your here it performed on a Shakespearian stage? Old Billy did invent a lot of words, but now we’ve got all of these ridiculous words that never seem like real words– spatula… syzgy… and on, and on, and on…)
Writing this post really highlights my excellent procrastination skills, as well as a probable need for Ritalin or something.
Anyway, why do we call in upright? Is this some kind of subliminal belief in a good and bad equality linked with a specific position and location? Living in the penthouse is usually considered far better than living in the ground floor. Like having a word map that always has North America on the top and South America on the bottom seems to convey the message that North America is better than South America (and if this debate comes around at all, I say we settle it with a global Soccer tournament which would indefinitely show the superiority of nearly all South American countries. Ok, we’ve got some pretty great stuff going on up here, but I really think that we’d get our asses kicked in any kind of sports matchup). On the other hand, I think that I’d freak the hell out if this changed, since, you know– I hate change and the burden of making decision.
Maybe it’s just a skill. To be able to sit upright. You know what it really is; a privilege
It was an upright lie! I mean it. Nobody had ever said anything like that before. She just upright lied like a rug. This is what happened the teacher said no chewing gum in class. Guess what she did. She spit it on my hair.
The chair is upright.
I stand upright.
Being upright citizen.
Upright is better than being upside down.
Upright citizen is good.
Upright is better than uptight.
Upright is being able to stand up for yourself and others.
It was a quadruped, but it stood upright to overlook the rocks as they fell and broke upon the others.
Sometimes people think they are “upright” when they are not. Some people place a lot of importance on being upright. Some people idolize being upright. I hope that I am not as delusinal as they are. I would rather be honest.
A meteor carrying spores crashes into an uninhabited planet. Millions of years go by and slowly life crawls out of the oceans depths. Eventually monkeys leave the jungle for plains, searching for new food sources. They stumble upon cow dung with mushrooms underneath being reunited with the spores that once carried their genome to this planet. As they trip balls one of the monkeys says to the other “Have you heard of our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”
Louis is barely upright when they find him. He’s smashed, and he giggles and sags against them. He finds Harry right away, always looking for him and he turns away from the others to press his face in against Harry’s neck. “Will you dance with me?” Louis asks. Harry laughs and touches the lines of Louis’ suspenders. “It’s too late to dance.”
I have a constant battle inside that I know what’s right but always want to do bad things. Self destructive or damaging to others. Not everything is black and white though is it.
As the dragons came from the sky, people screamed in fright: the reign of terror had finally begun. Top politicians didn’t do shit for the people they’re supposed to protect but instead they saved their own asses instead. Moral of the story: trust no one.
She stood there, finally at her destination, and stared down the tracks. She wondered when the train would come. She sat on the rail, keeping her spine straight, upright. There wasn’t much going on, spare the highway below her. Maybe she should run to Burger King and grab a snack before death.