they are limiting in nature. they hold back possibility. they are bare with so much potential that so many people put to waste. they stand tall in front of me and dont let me see beyond them. i dont like walls. they are all bare and white they almost blind my eyes.
Walls are supportive and they are also restrictive. They hold buildings and the keep us in a single location, blocking our view of what might be possible.
Nobody likes a wall, no sane man likes walls! Only foolish ones do, probably because thu have the ability not see them, probably because they see the walls as something that is invisible, something you can get through. I envy foolish people!
“I can walk through walls in my dreams,” his friend Harold said, “What can you do?”
He thought about this. Everyone else could do something special, like flying. Except him, who never seemed to have any special powers, whose dreams were just extensions of everyday life.
“I don’t do anything,” he said, “just do homework that disappears when I wake up.”
Hmmm. As humans, we put walls up so that others can’t really “see” who we are. It’s much more common when we are younger. As we age and gain some maturity, we realize that the effort of constructing those walls and keeping them up really isn’t worth it, and we are more willing to let the real “us” be seen.
The wall. Another brick in the Wall. Berlin Wall.
Wir fahren im Auto, D. und ich, wir dahren, rigendwo in Rheinhessen., Wirt hören Pink Floyd. Wir sind jung, die Welt gehört uns. das MAgische Geghfühl unverwundbar zu sein,
Switch
Mit C. auf der B9 richtung Germersheim. Diego, wo bist Du?
Du solltest dabei gewesen sein, Bruder.
Walls can hold in what we cannot. If I could have you within four walls, the sky as the roof and the warm earth beneath our feet, space to lean up and kiss the apples of your cheeks, I would be blessed. But if I could not have you, give me four walls to hold me up, to contain an aching heart, and to keep me from collapsing with a single breath, like a dandelion past bloom.
are to keep the house from falling down, possibly on my head, and stopping the contents being crushed and the floor caving in. They are also useful for placing windows in, to give pleasing views to the outside, perhaps tempting me out hither?
where would I be if I hadn’t built these borders to keep strangers away from this heart I’ve mined from the fields of rotten crops I had to choose from?
“You will never set foot within these walls ever again,” The man said as he threw the girl out of the gate. She skids along in the dirt, loosing her balance. She turns back around to face him, tears already on her cheeks. “But my father!” He silences her and shakes his head. “You no longer have a father. At least not here.”
Paint them make them look nice. Can try to keep you closed in, good to sometimes break down the walls and think outside of those walls. Walls also, can keep you safe and secure from outside elements.
They’re standing back to back, trying to be the pillar to the (only other) person who truly understands. They grope and grab and extend their hands, but they can’t reach what is not in front of them. He is the other person’s wall and boundary, and vice versa.
It’s funny how the one person who supports him upright is the one he can’t (touch, protect, pull into an embrace) meet face to face. They can’t be friends even if they want to.
It felt like the walls were closing in on me, crushing my very insides until I forgot how to breathe. The pressure was building up so suddenly that it was impossible to fight against it.
The walls closed in more quickly than I could have imagined.
Or perhaps they were still.
Perhaps I only imagined them moving closer, the space around me shrinking.
Someone called my name. I could barely hear them. The utter noise of the movement around me was just too great. I choked back a sob. Don’t let them see you cry, I reminded myself.
Walls keeping me in beige and old and musty and surrounding….what is this cage that keeps me stagnent still not moving suffocating within and without and not knowing how to get out move on, reshape restart or begin. How can I begin if I am not there to start the fire. How can I begin? Do I have the breathe? What is the light that fires me? What is the fire that sparks me? Where is the passion? The walls they are just like rice paper to me……I’m my own spark
walls are for decorating
talking about life and dressing them with all your experiences
walls are for proteaction
privacy
barriers to entry to the soul
time to enjoy privacy
greay black red white – what is your colour?’
sie sind überall. Diese Mauern. Eingrenzend, beengend. Und doch gleichzeitig schützend, denn sie geben uns Wärme und Geborgenheit in dieser eiskalten Zeit. Sie zu durchbrechend wird nicht einfach sein. Stück für Stück, Stein für Stein. Element für Element. Abzutragen, dabei nicht nachzudenken und schließlich dann das Fundament.
walls have always conjured confining, negative feelings for me, holding me in a place where I can’t run. When I can’t run, I’m not able to open up and engage and let it all go. My best work and thinking has always happened on the fly, when the pace is fast and fluid and split-second reactive.
The walls of the old aching house mirrored her cracked, tired face. A million memories squashed inside this living room. The carpet stain under the sofa, the school photos of her three peas in a pod, the mix of collected treasures from decades ago; they all whispered their stories.
Walls … sometimes they serve to protect us, sometimes they keep us from approaching that which we want to approach. Walls of our own making, walls put up by others. Thye can be real, or they can be a house of cards.
I have walls surrounding me, but I try to move around them. Walls can be good and bad, but they always make you move, either around, forward or through. Walls keep my fears all locked up.
Upon our last dinner I thought you would follow me out. I thought I would leave. Either way I was wrong in both accounts. You haven’t called, you don’t respond anymore, you haven’t read those books I sent your way, those truths I mailed out your way. As much as I hate being right, seeing what I see, I know it to be deeply important and necessary and I know you to be terrified of it so much so that you would quicker shut me out than experience it. It stings when you ignore my call. I’m equally as busy. Busting my back and my heart for a class I have no need for in an environment where I am not learning.
New York City is great. But there is no place to hike and discover the beauty of the land without and the land within.
I miss the trees, the views, the land, the sun on my skin and the feel of the natural ground under my boots. And I miss being able to connect with you. You are so out of reach and out of touch, I’ve slipped all the way down in your world. The worst part is you get in touch with me to acknowledge things you know I don’t care about. Rather they are things our parents would have us share. Since when have I ever longed for those moments in my life? I’m looking to find a job that will mean leaving graduation as soon as I can because I don’t want to experience the fullness of that moment and I certainly don’t want to share it with anyone. Every time I pull this laptop’s charger from the wall I hope for at least a shock, most times more. I’m sorry if those books will force that same grief on you. I don’t expect you to be able to handle it. I don’t expect you to want to try. I just want to fix you because I am overly confident that given the time I can. Knowing that kills me. Have I told you I don’t like to talk much anymore? I’m speaking much less lately. I’m around people my age a lot less lately. I enjoy the shift. It feels much better than what used to be true. I’m almost ready for another road trip. This one I need to do alone though. I need that time away. My mind speaks to me in images. But when I try to do what is called ‘active imagination’ before I sleep all I see is shadows and black curtains draping down to a silent floor, boxing me in. Maybe this city is not for me. Maybe it is too soon to tell. Maybe it is something else altogether. I don’t know.
I know I miss you. You’re changing. You are accepting a subservient role to our family. I’m sorry. I can’t follow you down that path. You could do so much better, if you dared to brave the darkest of things. I know because I’m in that cross-hair. And if I can teach myself, so can you. After all, we are but opposite sides of the same coin. Or at least we were. If you are changing in one way and I the other, where does that leave us?
They surround us everywhere. encompassing our very beings and yet they can also keep us, keep us locked and bound. unable to move or see anything else. It’s how we choose in how to see them.
The walls of the tomb were dusty and dry to the touch. He exhaled gently, blowing cobwebs out of the way.
“It says that we need to pick the third square from the right, Jacob.”
We move up and We move down. The world revolves. Time progresses as the seasons alter. Birds twitter and the river gushes forward. Motion. Its everywhere. Speed. Its everywhere. But what hinders the movement,stops this flow? Walls. So many Wsuralls. Between You, Me,Us, and All.
i sit here surrounded by walls painted with memories i cant shake. on that wall over there you pushed me up against it and made me feel your love for the first time…
Oh these walls. I want to find a way to see through the walls I construct. I want to be able to see these creative boundaries as holograms, reminding me of my structures. I’m ready to expand my sandbox. My heart calls for the transparency.
walls are meant to be torn down. when you are faced with a wall, face it. stare at it. analyze its surface. is it cracked? are there scuff marks? dents? who has stood here at this same wall and looked at is as closely as you have? who has broken through it? when you see a wall, don’t see an ending point. imagine what is behind it, and then go see for yourself.
breaking down walls from within. the walls that keep us hardened and protected from showing our vulnerability. vulnerability, the strength to show who you are.
cells walls are permeable maybe house walls are permeable too.
A white contained space filled with contrasting treasures, mingled side by side. Tales of another era, of intention and taste. A space I wish to flee. For I dream of more. A glimmer of hope. A desire for just a sprinkle of greatness.
breaking down walls from within. the walls that keep us hardened and protected from showing our vulnerability. vulnerability, the strength to show who you are.
The walls reached up to the sky. Stretched higher and higher, above and out of her reach. Not that she even tried to see how far above her fingers they would go. She simply stood in their shadows and watched them ascend to heaven without her.
They were blocking the sun, which in a way was a welcomed relief, but it still depressed her to watch the sky disappear behind them.
I have walls surrounding me, but I try to move around them. Walls can be good and bad, but they always make you move …. either around, forward or through. What do I want to do and which wall should I hang my photos on anyway?
walls are what we build out of fear.. walls are meant to be dissolved with love… walls can hold great graffitied masterpieces of faceless artists scouring the streets for free canvas… walls are illusory. created by the ego and by the heart and for often the opposite reasons then we realize.
that hold me in and keep me back and allow me to prove that I can break them down and see the mystery outside, and maybe it wouldn’t be so beautiful if I could have seen it all along…or maybe I really did see it all along and that’s why I had to break them down, it’s just a test of strength
Crisscrossed with empty hooks and patterned bizarrely with the shadows of photos long gone the walls were lonely and bereft of warmth. It was immediately evident to Deidre that her mother had died embittered and utterly alone. She was glad.
Four walls close in around me, suffocating, strangling, cold. Icy cold hands, like you’ve been out in the snow. Wet, tears fall on my cheeks, bruised where your palm landed, hard.
Walls stand between us. Too high to go over. Too long to go around. I’m coming through…
they are limiting in nature. they hold back possibility. they are bare with so much potential that so many people put to waste. they stand tall in front of me and dont let me see beyond them. i dont like walls. they are all bare and white they almost blind my eyes.
Walls are supportive and they are also restrictive. They hold buildings and the keep us in a single location, blocking our view of what might be possible.
Nobody likes a wall, no sane man likes walls! Only foolish ones do, probably because thu have the ability not see them, probably because they see the walls as something that is invisible, something you can get through. I envy foolish people!
“I can walk through walls in my dreams,” his friend Harold said, “What can you do?”
He thought about this. Everyone else could do something special, like flying. Except him, who never seemed to have any special powers, whose dreams were just extensions of everyday life.
“I don’t do anything,” he said, “just do homework that disappears when I wake up.”
Hmmm. As humans, we put walls up so that others can’t really “see” who we are. It’s much more common when we are younger. As we age and gain some maturity, we realize that the effort of constructing those walls and keeping them up really isn’t worth it, and we are more willing to let the real “us” be seen.
The wall. Another brick in the Wall. Berlin Wall.
Wir fahren im Auto, D. und ich, wir dahren, rigendwo in Rheinhessen., Wirt hören Pink Floyd. Wir sind jung, die Welt gehört uns. das MAgische Geghfühl unverwundbar zu sein,
Switch
Mit C. auf der B9 richtung Germersheim. Diego, wo bist Du?
Du solltest dabei gewesen sein, Bruder.
Walls can hold in what we cannot. If I could have you within four walls, the sky as the roof and the warm earth beneath our feet, space to lean up and kiss the apples of your cheeks, I would be blessed. But if I could not have you, give me four walls to hold me up, to contain an aching heart, and to keep me from collapsing with a single breath, like a dandelion past bloom.
are to keep the house from falling down, possibly on my head, and stopping the contents being crushed and the floor caving in. They are also useful for placing windows in, to give pleasing views to the outside, perhaps tempting me out hither?
where would I be if I hadn’t built these borders to keep strangers away from this heart I’ve mined from the fields of rotten crops I had to choose from?
“You will never set foot within these walls ever again,” The man said as he threw the girl out of the gate. She skids along in the dirt, loosing her balance. She turns back around to face him, tears already on her cheeks. “But my father!” He silences her and shakes his head. “You no longer have a father. At least not here.”
Paint them make them look nice. Can try to keep you closed in, good to sometimes break down the walls and think outside of those walls. Walls also, can keep you safe and secure from outside elements.
They’re standing back to back, trying to be the pillar to the (only other) person who truly understands. They grope and grab and extend their hands, but they can’t reach what is not in front of them. He is the other person’s wall and boundary, and vice versa.
It’s funny how the one person who supports him upright is the one he can’t (touch, protect, pull into an embrace) meet face to face. They can’t be friends even if they want to.
It felt like the walls were closing in on me, crushing my very insides until I forgot how to breathe. The pressure was building up so suddenly that it was impossible to fight against it.
The walls closed in more quickly than I could have imagined.
Or perhaps they were still.
Perhaps I only imagined them moving closer, the space around me shrinking.
Someone called my name. I could barely hear them. The utter noise of the movement around me was just too great. I choked back a sob. Don’t let them see you cry, I reminded myself.
Walls keeping me in beige and old and musty and surrounding….what is this cage that keeps me stagnent still not moving suffocating within and without and not knowing how to get out move on, reshape restart or begin. How can I begin if I am not there to start the fire. How can I begin? Do I have the breathe? What is the light that fires me? What is the fire that sparks me? Where is the passion? The walls they are just like rice paper to me……I’m my own spark
walls are for decorating
talking about life and dressing them with all your experiences
walls are for proteaction
privacy
barriers to entry to the soul
time to enjoy privacy
greay black red white – what is your colour?’
sie sind überall. Diese Mauern. Eingrenzend, beengend. Und doch gleichzeitig schützend, denn sie geben uns Wärme und Geborgenheit in dieser eiskalten Zeit. Sie zu durchbrechend wird nicht einfach sein. Stück für Stück, Stein für Stein. Element für Element. Abzutragen, dabei nicht nachzudenken und schließlich dann das Fundament.
walls have always conjured confining, negative feelings for me, holding me in a place where I can’t run. When I can’t run, I’m not able to open up and engage and let it all go. My best work and thinking has always happened on the fly, when the pace is fast and fluid and split-second reactive.
The walls of the old aching house mirrored her cracked, tired face. A million memories squashed inside this living room. The carpet stain under the sofa, the school photos of her three peas in a pod, the mix of collected treasures from decades ago; they all whispered their stories.
Walls … sometimes they serve to protect us, sometimes they keep us from approaching that which we want to approach. Walls of our own making, walls put up by others. Thye can be real, or they can be a house of cards.
I have walls surrounding me, but I try to move around them. Walls can be good and bad, but they always make you move, either around, forward or through. Walls keep my fears all locked up.
Dear brother of mine,
Upon our last dinner I thought you would follow me out. I thought I would leave. Either way I was wrong in both accounts. You haven’t called, you don’t respond anymore, you haven’t read those books I sent your way, those truths I mailed out your way. As much as I hate being right, seeing what I see, I know it to be deeply important and necessary and I know you to be terrified of it so much so that you would quicker shut me out than experience it. It stings when you ignore my call. I’m equally as busy. Busting my back and my heart for a class I have no need for in an environment where I am not learning.
New York City is great. But there is no place to hike and discover the beauty of the land without and the land within.
I miss the trees, the views, the land, the sun on my skin and the feel of the natural ground under my boots. And I miss being able to connect with you. You are so out of reach and out of touch, I’ve slipped all the way down in your world. The worst part is you get in touch with me to acknowledge things you know I don’t care about. Rather they are things our parents would have us share. Since when have I ever longed for those moments in my life? I’m looking to find a job that will mean leaving graduation as soon as I can because I don’t want to experience the fullness of that moment and I certainly don’t want to share it with anyone. Every time I pull this laptop’s charger from the wall I hope for at least a shock, most times more. I’m sorry if those books will force that same grief on you. I don’t expect you to be able to handle it. I don’t expect you to want to try. I just want to fix you because I am overly confident that given the time I can. Knowing that kills me. Have I told you I don’t like to talk much anymore? I’m speaking much less lately. I’m around people my age a lot less lately. I enjoy the shift. It feels much better than what used to be true. I’m almost ready for another road trip. This one I need to do alone though. I need that time away. My mind speaks to me in images. But when I try to do what is called ‘active imagination’ before I sleep all I see is shadows and black curtains draping down to a silent floor, boxing me in. Maybe this city is not for me. Maybe it is too soon to tell. Maybe it is something else altogether. I don’t know.
I know I miss you. You’re changing. You are accepting a subservient role to our family. I’m sorry. I can’t follow you down that path. You could do so much better, if you dared to brave the darkest of things. I know because I’m in that cross-hair. And if I can teach myself, so can you. After all, we are but opposite sides of the same coin. Or at least we were. If you are changing in one way and I the other, where does that leave us?
I don’t know.
Your loving brother,
Jason
They surround us everywhere. encompassing our very beings and yet they can also keep us, keep us locked and bound. unable to move or see anything else. It’s how we choose in how to see them.
The walls of the tomb were dusty and dry to the touch. He exhaled gently, blowing cobwebs out of the way.
“It says that we need to pick the third square from the right, Jacob.”
We move up and We move down. The world revolves. Time progresses as the seasons alter. Birds twitter and the river gushes forward. Motion. Its everywhere. Speed. Its everywhere. But what hinders the movement,stops this flow? Walls. So many Wsuralls. Between You, Me,Us, and All.
i sit here surrounded by walls painted with memories i cant shake. on that wall over there you pushed me up against it and made me feel your love for the first time…
Oh these walls. I want to find a way to see through the walls I construct. I want to be able to see these creative boundaries as holograms, reminding me of my structures. I’m ready to expand my sandbox. My heart calls for the transparency.
walls are meant to be torn down. when you are faced with a wall, face it. stare at it. analyze its surface. is it cracked? are there scuff marks? dents? who has stood here at this same wall and looked at is as closely as you have? who has broken through it? when you see a wall, don’t see an ending point. imagine what is behind it, and then go see for yourself.
breaking down walls from within. the walls that keep us hardened and protected from showing our vulnerability. vulnerability, the strength to show who you are.
cells walls are permeable maybe house walls are permeable too.
A white contained space filled with contrasting treasures, mingled side by side. Tales of another era, of intention and taste. A space I wish to flee. For I dream of more. A glimmer of hope. A desire for just a sprinkle of greatness.
breaking down walls from within. the walls that keep us hardened and protected from showing our vulnerability. vulnerability, the strength to show who you are.
walls protect me and walls set me free. they allow a sacred space inside me.
The walls reached up to the sky. Stretched higher and higher, above and out of her reach. Not that she even tried to see how far above her fingers they would go. She simply stood in their shadows and watched them ascend to heaven without her.
They were blocking the sun, which in a way was a welcomed relief, but it still depressed her to watch the sky disappear behind them.
No Walls. Great Atlanta band from the early ’90s. Now the lead singer is with Alice in Chains. William Duval. I knew him way back when. That is all.
I have walls surrounding me, but I try to move around them. Walls can be good and bad, but they always make you move …. either around, forward or through. What do I want to do and which wall should I hang my photos on anyway?
walls are what we build out of fear.. walls are meant to be dissolved with love… walls can hold great graffitied masterpieces of faceless artists scouring the streets for free canvas… walls are illusory. created by the ego and by the heart and for often the opposite reasons then we realize.
that hold me in and keep me back and allow me to prove that I can break them down and see the mystery outside, and maybe it wouldn’t be so beautiful if I could have seen it all along…or maybe I really did see it all along and that’s why I had to break them down, it’s just a test of strength
Crisscrossed with empty hooks and patterned bizarrely with the shadows of photos long gone the walls were lonely and bereft of warmth. It was immediately evident to Deidre that her mother had died embittered and utterly alone. She was glad.
Four walls close in around me, suffocating, strangling, cold. Icy cold hands, like you’ve been out in the snow. Wet, tears fall on my cheeks, bruised where your palm landed, hard.