broadcast your love to me, across the ocean, across the breze
through the trees, broadcast your smile to me to light the way
light the way to your heart.
broadcast your love to me, illuminate my heart with your waves
stephanie
Broadcast.
Why do you tell me
whenever the television blares,
“I don’t need you.”
And so the broadcast read,
“Living in pairs is better.”
Even after the facts
you say,
“You’re worthless.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“No one is worthless.”
I start to wonder if you’re even worth the time
you prove my point,
“Stop. Your opinions are nothing.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“We all have something worth saying.”
And so I want to leave
on my own behalf,
“But you’re all I have.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“Liars are plenty.”
While the television blares
buzzing with its wise words,
“You need to listen to me.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“Do what you feel is right.”
And so I leave
walking out the door,
“Finally.”
And so the broadcast reads,
nothing.
the radio blared from the other room, filling the air with the comfort of voices, speaking in the cadence of yesteryear, broken by the crackle of static you can’t replicate, it was a different world.
I am very proud of my family values. If it weren’t for my parent’s esteem for modesty, I would love to broadcast my successes. I am naturally a very egotistic, narcissistic person. It’s discouraging, really. But I guess it’s okay, as long as I’m reasonably in check. Thanks Ma!
broadcast your feelings, broadcast your journey, tell people what it is all about. Sometimes the clouds will be low and sometimes the sun will be out, but send out your message and let the world hear you shout.
Brad
And sometimes it’s always on whenever I’m home. It’s crazy to see how much my mom really cares about the news. Its whatevers on and she’ll always call me to make sure im taking care of myself because she heard something on the news or whatever. Im not too sure if i really want to believe in everything they say, you know? like when do you stop?
Gaby
The woman stopped speaking and put her pencil down upon the script. What about the broadcast the man whispered. Enough. She stated and stood up
K8
“We are live and there is no stopping us.”
“Hah, that’s all that you think about, is being live.”
“Because that’s all that matters.”
They stared each other down across the desk, the tension in the room was palpable.
“This used to be about spreading the truth.”
Zach
after a long day of excessive production the camera crew returned to the station with little or nothing to show for it. Then Jake slipped and fell into Rachel’s arms as he tried to open the door. that was all it took.
Gene
The broadcast let out in song and we watched all the clouds follow the noise crawling against the sky. I didn’t know where to look for the shadows, so I followed your fingers as you gingerly traced patterns in the black pitch.
I’m not really sure what to write about, but I guess if nothing else, I am practicing my typing, which CLEARly I need to work on!! I am getting really bad! Wow, this is pathetic. I wonder if my students would like this or not… I’m not really sure. It could go either way, but I like that it can be sent to me.
Sarah
Shauna broadcasts her life what is with that? I don’t understand why girls do that. They just drive men crazy when they do but they still do it anyways. They let their feelings out supposedly but they are really telling people who truely don’t care about their life story.
Amanda
She signed off with her signature farewell. She turned off her mike and took off her headphones. She rolled out her blanket and pillow and laid down on the cold studio floor. She always slept in there. It was the one place where she couldn’t hear the outside, and the outside couldn’t hear her. She was at peace.
I want to broadcast it to the world, this surgery I’m undergoing. Open-heart, no anaesthesia, the surgeon’s knives carefully carve the poison out. Death lurks under the operating table, its hands kept at bay only by the surgical assistants. I want to broadcast it to the world, this blaze that consumes me, and makes one who should be dead capable of love.
I will broadcast everything about myself today.
I will announce what I have done. To myself and to the world.
The way it works is quite simple – I will switch the mic on, I will place my lips like a sweet kiss.
I will broadcast everything about my life.
Her folded arms, eyes glancing around, quick pace and tense demeanor seemed to broadcast to the darkened street that she was alone and afraid. She knew this, yet could do nothing but walk more quickly and hope she would get home soon. Suddenly, her phone’s ringtone filled the silent street, like a signal of her location. She cursed it silently, and fumbled for it in her trench coat pocket to see who was calling at this hour. “Mom.” It said. Not her again, the girl thought, rolling her eyes as she usually did when her parents were mentioned. I don’t need them. I’m fine.
C.
People
Broadcast
Their
Life
And
It
Makes
Them
Feel
Better
First, they chop off my arms and legs, pulling out my internal organs, adjusting the length of my intestines,reconstructing my body to cater to their sick standards of perfection. My body is broadcasted and plastered onto a billboard with the sloppy fashion of a two year old, hurriedly finishing me off with a splash of bleach, running out of Elmers before they could paste my mind into the equation.
Broadcasting has been my life for the last three years. I didn’t know how i’d like it when I first started; I mean its long days, no pay, and no oppertunities to be creative right? Definitely not. Even in news reporting you can still be creative. And I don’t think I’ve ever been so inspired as when I’ve had a camera in my hands. It changes the way you look at everything.
Shelby
“Broadcast ain’t easy, babe,” the radio show host said to the shaken girl next to him, puffing on a cigarette nonchalantly. “You want on my show, you’ve gotta pay for it.”
“So I can sing on the show next week?” she said in a thick Jersey accent, buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers.
“Sure babe,” he said, putting out his cigarette. “You got it. 7 o’ clock. Friday night. You’ll be the star of the show.”
“Honest? You really think I’m good?” she said, her mascara-printed, soggy eyes now looking hopeful.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “You’re a regular Shirley Temple!” Still laughing, he reached over and opened the passenger seat door. “See you next week,” he said, giving her a wink.
C.
Waves rippling through static
An ocean of sound
Transformative messages
Silence
Ownership of space
A vast continuum
A shallow wasteland
Nothingness.
C.
I really don’t like broadcasting. Honestly, it’s just a bunch of people talking about some b-shit on the news that I don’t actually give a damn about. They seem so superficial- everything- I know I’m a little pessimistic about stuff like this but just…….. Idk. Political science people sor
Michelle
The children giggled as they ran around the room gleefully, holding paper airplanes and making noises associated with those vessels. A man and his wife sat before the radio with stern expressions. The man held his hand upon his wife’s knee softly, a small gesture of comfort. A voice filled the room suddenly, and his wife put her hand to her lips in fearful anticipation. The man held his wife’s knee more firmly, his eyes drilling holes in the rug.
“We are reporting to you tonight with news on the warfront,” said a voice. The children laughed in the background, unaware of their mother’s now restlessly beating heart and their father’s crippling fear. “200 dead, 44 wounded, 8 missing. Normandy.”
The wife let out a horrified gasp and looked at her husband. His eyes were still directed at the rug, a pained expression lining his face. The children danced around, ignorant and blissful.
C.
The last survivors, their only hope was a single broadcast, a message, a call for help, a dim signal, transmitting a life-saving message. Anyone who picked it up would be considered their salvation.
A dim signal, would save their lives.
Jared Freed
journalism, what to brodcast. Broadcasting is taking ideas of your own or of your corporate associates and communicting them across a nation. There are many forms of brodcasting. Does it correspond to what
mirf
it was loud,
booming across the grounds
“the gates have broken.
repeat.
the gates have broken.
lock your doors.
board your windows.
do not leave your houses until you receive further notice.”
there was screaming.
there was groaning.
they were coming.
“One more minute, Mr. President,” came the voice in his earpiece.
Grey-haired and weathered, the 55-year-old President looked a great deal older than when he had taken office eight years ago. The lines in his face were set in his skin like rivulets around his eyes and mouth. Not having slept for over 33 hours, his dark grey eyes held a much more piercing quality than their usual twinkling charisma. Looking at the notes laid on his podium, with cameras and buzzing people and blinking lights surrounding him, he had never before felt more weighted by the tasks before him.
“Thirty seconds,” spoke the voice again.
A man from wardrobe adjusted his suit and tie with speed, giving him a quick look. The President returned with a charming smile and thanked him. He was, after all, a servant of the people to make them feel at ease in strange and uncertain times. Looking into the camera, he felt his dread and weariness seep away. He knew what he had to do.
“And we’re going live in 5, 4, 3, 2…. 1.”
The cameraman gave him a thumbs up as a red recording light flicked on.
The President took a deep breath, and with the eyes of a nation now upon him, spoke.
C.
Lucy gulped for air as she rounded the corner of the airport, her auburn hair flying. Her head instinctively whipped back to check for the police. Lucy began sobbing. How could she tell them? How could they know what horrors that James was going to do?
Lucy gasped as she looked at the electronic broadcast board. A bloody body laid in the bushed, sprawled an an awkward angle. James, thought Lucy.
She wiped her eyes with her bloody hands, dropping the knife and collapsing. They knew, she thought. They knew.
Tv. Screens glaring at you, showcasing the world and all it’s intricacies. John F. Kennedy, head blown off, blood strewn across the back seat of his car, a horrified mass watching in unison.
Michelle
The broadcast was reeling with news about a car crash somewhere in Albania. Jenny sat on the couch, drooling, as she managed to stuff a handful of stale potato chips in her mouth. Now it was on the weather. Great, thought Jenny. It’s going to snow.
The outdoors was visible outside Jenny’s apartment window, gleaming with grass and sunshine. Jenny, about fifty pounds overweight and going on seventy, was now one who observed. She just ate and did nothing that required using her brain; she didn’t have one.
Ariadne Jenkins
at night the grass rages in the park
across the river, the hill is silent
and trees broadcast earth to sky
repeating, “Life, life, life.”
i dont know about this word but i just see it on youtube , with every video .. well id like to broadcast my self broadcast this website and this experience i think its very broadcastable
Misha
“I loved you then and I love you now!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, why don’t you just broadcast it on the 6 o’clock news! I can’t do anything about it right now.”
“Tell me you don’t love me too.”
“I can’t tell you that, alright? Not right now. I’m in too deep with this little plot of ours.”
“That was your idea, Marion.”
the order form had just arrived and the news just started broadcasting on tv. the next thing i noticed was the two kids standing in the middle of my yard.
sabrina niedfeld
The only thing about broadcast that comes to mind is the radio. Like radio broadcasts. I loved the fucking radio…I fell in love in 4th grade with The Beatles and Classic Rock. If it wasn’t for the radio in my mother’s Toyota corolla, I woudn’t be the person I am today, for real.
Albie Pepe
the televisions, the radios, all that we get our information from. lost in a sea of time, lost in a sea of waves traveling vast distances to a far a way place, that neither of us will ever see. WEll never see all the things that are really worth seeing so all we can do is live, live long lie free, live true, and live till the end. I guess that sounds stupid now, but this thing said not to think so I’m trying my best not to ut i can’t help it in fact I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just writing about
ignacio
The radio broadcast was playing in the background as they drove North towards the city. It was Christmas time, and every year on Christmas Eve, the Falks drove into the city to visit their Dad. He worked for Trump and didn’t get to see his family too much. Nora looked up into the sky and watched the storm clouds roll in. Her mom was talking but she wasn’t listening. What would seeing Dad be like this year? Last year, he gave Joey and her a flat screen TV each. The year before, they’d gotten their own Vespas. “Nora, I asked if you were excited to see your father,” her mom said loudly. Nora took her head off the window and looked at her mom. “Honestly?” she asked. “No.” She titled her head back against the glass and shut her eyes.
Rory
My emotions were broadcast onto the internet. Word for word, letter by letter, I typed up my emotions. And yet, somehow, they were never seen, they were never heard. And the one who I wanted most to be on the receiving end, never received them. I was just there, talking to myself. In public.
sharon
“Silence in the studio!” The directior called, his voice booming around the room.The quiet chatter quickly died down. “Okay, were going live in 5… 4… 3..” the director counted the last two on his hand, before giving me the thumbs up, meaning cameras were rolling and I was screening on almost every tv in the country. Better not stuff up.
“Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa, I’m Julie Wright and this is One News.” I had my tv-smile plastered onto my face as I stared into the depths of the giant tv camera before me. Another late night, another top story, another few hours of desperately trying not to muck up.
Thats when the piercing noice of the fire bell rang out loud and clear throughout the building.
broadcast your love to me, across the ocean, across the breze
through the trees, broadcast your smile to me to light the way
light the way to your heart.
broadcast your love to me, illuminate my heart with your waves
Broadcast.
Why do you tell me
whenever the television blares,
“I don’t need you.”
And so the broadcast read,
“Living in pairs is better.”
Even after the facts
you say,
“You’re worthless.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“No one is worthless.”
I start to wonder if you’re even worth the time
you prove my point,
“Stop. Your opinions are nothing.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“We all have something worth saying.”
And so I want to leave
on my own behalf,
“But you’re all I have.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“Liars are plenty.”
While the television blares
buzzing with its wise words,
“You need to listen to me.”
And so the broadcast reads,
“Do what you feel is right.”
And so I leave
walking out the door,
“Finally.”
And so the broadcast reads,
nothing.
the radio blared from the other room, filling the air with the comfort of voices, speaking in the cadence of yesteryear, broken by the crackle of static you can’t replicate, it was a different world.
I am very proud of my family values. If it weren’t for my parent’s esteem for modesty, I would love to broadcast my successes. I am naturally a very egotistic, narcissistic person. It’s discouraging, really. But I guess it’s okay, as long as I’m reasonably in check. Thanks Ma!
broadcast your feelings, broadcast your journey, tell people what it is all about. Sometimes the clouds will be low and sometimes the sun will be out, but send out your message and let the world hear you shout.
And sometimes it’s always on whenever I’m home. It’s crazy to see how much my mom really cares about the news. Its whatevers on and she’ll always call me to make sure im taking care of myself because she heard something on the news or whatever. Im not too sure if i really want to believe in everything they say, you know? like when do you stop?
The woman stopped speaking and put her pencil down upon the script. What about the broadcast the man whispered. Enough. She stated and stood up
“We are live and there is no stopping us.”
“Hah, that’s all that you think about, is being live.”
“Because that’s all that matters.”
They stared each other down across the desk, the tension in the room was palpable.
“This used to be about spreading the truth.”
after a long day of excessive production the camera crew returned to the station with little or nothing to show for it. Then Jake slipped and fell into Rachel’s arms as he tried to open the door. that was all it took.
The broadcast let out in song and we watched all the clouds follow the noise crawling against the sky. I didn’t know where to look for the shadows, so I followed your fingers as you gingerly traced patterns in the black pitch.
I’m not really sure what to write about, but I guess if nothing else, I am practicing my typing, which CLEARly I need to work on!! I am getting really bad! Wow, this is pathetic. I wonder if my students would like this or not… I’m not really sure. It could go either way, but I like that it can be sent to me.
Shauna broadcasts her life what is with that? I don’t understand why girls do that. They just drive men crazy when they do but they still do it anyways. They let their feelings out supposedly but they are really telling people who truely don’t care about their life story.
She signed off with her signature farewell. She turned off her mike and took off her headphones. She rolled out her blanket and pillow and laid down on the cold studio floor. She always slept in there. It was the one place where she couldn’t hear the outside, and the outside couldn’t hear her. She was at peace.
I want to broadcast it to the world, this surgery I’m undergoing. Open-heart, no anaesthesia, the surgeon’s knives carefully carve the poison out. Death lurks under the operating table, its hands kept at bay only by the surgical assistants. I want to broadcast it to the world, this blaze that consumes me, and makes one who should be dead capable of love.
I will broadcast everything about myself today.
I will announce what I have done. To myself and to the world.
The way it works is quite simple – I will switch the mic on, I will place my lips like a sweet kiss.
I will broadcast everything about my life.
written and shared…open.
Her folded arms, eyes glancing around, quick pace and tense demeanor seemed to broadcast to the darkened street that she was alone and afraid. She knew this, yet could do nothing but walk more quickly and hope she would get home soon. Suddenly, her phone’s ringtone filled the silent street, like a signal of her location. She cursed it silently, and fumbled for it in her trench coat pocket to see who was calling at this hour. “Mom.” It said. Not her again, the girl thought, rolling her eyes as she usually did when her parents were mentioned. I don’t need them. I’m fine.
People
Broadcast
Their
Life
And
It
Makes
Them
Feel
Better
First, they chop off my arms and legs, pulling out my internal organs, adjusting the length of my intestines,reconstructing my body to cater to their sick standards of perfection. My body is broadcasted and plastered onto a billboard with the sloppy fashion of a two year old, hurriedly finishing me off with a splash of bleach, running out of Elmers before they could paste my mind into the equation.
Broadcasting has been my life for the last three years. I didn’t know how i’d like it when I first started; I mean its long days, no pay, and no oppertunities to be creative right? Definitely not. Even in news reporting you can still be creative. And I don’t think I’ve ever been so inspired as when I’ve had a camera in my hands. It changes the way you look at everything.
“Broadcast ain’t easy, babe,” the radio show host said to the shaken girl next to him, puffing on a cigarette nonchalantly. “You want on my show, you’ve gotta pay for it.”
“So I can sing on the show next week?” she said in a thick Jersey accent, buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers.
“Sure babe,” he said, putting out his cigarette. “You got it. 7 o’ clock. Friday night. You’ll be the star of the show.”
“Honest? You really think I’m good?” she said, her mascara-printed, soggy eyes now looking hopeful.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “You’re a regular Shirley Temple!” Still laughing, he reached over and opened the passenger seat door. “See you next week,” he said, giving her a wink.
Waves rippling through static
An ocean of sound
Transformative messages
Silence
Ownership of space
A vast continuum
A shallow wasteland
Nothingness.
I really don’t like broadcasting. Honestly, it’s just a bunch of people talking about some b-shit on the news that I don’t actually give a damn about. They seem so superficial- everything- I know I’m a little pessimistic about stuff like this but just…….. Idk. Political science people sor
The children giggled as they ran around the room gleefully, holding paper airplanes and making noises associated with those vessels. A man and his wife sat before the radio with stern expressions. The man held his hand upon his wife’s knee softly, a small gesture of comfort. A voice filled the room suddenly, and his wife put her hand to her lips in fearful anticipation. The man held his wife’s knee more firmly, his eyes drilling holes in the rug.
“We are reporting to you tonight with news on the warfront,” said a voice. The children laughed in the background, unaware of their mother’s now restlessly beating heart and their father’s crippling fear. “200 dead, 44 wounded, 8 missing. Normandy.”
The wife let out a horrified gasp and looked at her husband. His eyes were still directed at the rug, a pained expression lining his face. The children danced around, ignorant and blissful.
The last survivors, their only hope was a single broadcast, a message, a call for help, a dim signal, transmitting a life-saving message. Anyone who picked it up would be considered their salvation.
A dim signal, would save their lives.
journalism, what to brodcast. Broadcasting is taking ideas of your own or of your corporate associates and communicting them across a nation. There are many forms of brodcasting. Does it correspond to what
it was loud,
booming across the grounds
“the gates have broken.
repeat.
the gates have broken.
lock your doors.
board your windows.
do not leave your houses until you receive further notice.”
there was screaming.
there was groaning.
they were coming.
“One more minute, Mr. President,” came the voice in his earpiece.
Grey-haired and weathered, the 55-year-old President looked a great deal older than when he had taken office eight years ago. The lines in his face were set in his skin like rivulets around his eyes and mouth. Not having slept for over 33 hours, his dark grey eyes held a much more piercing quality than their usual twinkling charisma. Looking at the notes laid on his podium, with cameras and buzzing people and blinking lights surrounding him, he had never before felt more weighted by the tasks before him.
“Thirty seconds,” spoke the voice again.
A man from wardrobe adjusted his suit and tie with speed, giving him a quick look. The President returned with a charming smile and thanked him. He was, after all, a servant of the people to make them feel at ease in strange and uncertain times. Looking into the camera, he felt his dread and weariness seep away. He knew what he had to do.
“And we’re going live in 5, 4, 3, 2…. 1.”
The cameraman gave him a thumbs up as a red recording light flicked on.
The President took a deep breath, and with the eyes of a nation now upon him, spoke.
Lucy gulped for air as she rounded the corner of the airport, her auburn hair flying. Her head instinctively whipped back to check for the police. Lucy began sobbing. How could she tell them? How could they know what horrors that James was going to do?
Lucy gasped as she looked at the electronic broadcast board. A bloody body laid in the bushed, sprawled an an awkward angle. James, thought Lucy.
She wiped her eyes with her bloody hands, dropping the knife and collapsing. They knew, she thought. They knew.
Tv. Screens glaring at you, showcasing the world and all it’s intricacies. John F. Kennedy, head blown off, blood strewn across the back seat of his car, a horrified mass watching in unison.
The broadcast was reeling with news about a car crash somewhere in Albania. Jenny sat on the couch, drooling, as she managed to stuff a handful of stale potato chips in her mouth. Now it was on the weather. Great, thought Jenny. It’s going to snow.
The outdoors was visible outside Jenny’s apartment window, gleaming with grass and sunshine. Jenny, about fifty pounds overweight and going on seventy, was now one who observed. She just ate and did nothing that required using her brain; she didn’t have one.
at night the grass rages in the park
across the river, the hill is silent
and trees broadcast earth to sky
repeating, “Life, life, life.”
i dont know about this word but i just see it on youtube , with every video .. well id like to broadcast my self broadcast this website and this experience i think its very broadcastable
“I loved you then and I love you now!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, why don’t you just broadcast it on the 6 o’clock news! I can’t do anything about it right now.”
“Tell me you don’t love me too.”
“I can’t tell you that, alright? Not right now. I’m in too deep with this little plot of ours.”
“That was your idea, Marion.”
the order form had just arrived and the news just started broadcasting on tv. the next thing i noticed was the two kids standing in the middle of my yard.
The only thing about broadcast that comes to mind is the radio. Like radio broadcasts. I loved the fucking radio…I fell in love in 4th grade with The Beatles and Classic Rock. If it wasn’t for the radio in my mother’s Toyota corolla, I woudn’t be the person I am today, for real.
the televisions, the radios, all that we get our information from. lost in a sea of time, lost in a sea of waves traveling vast distances to a far a way place, that neither of us will ever see. WEll never see all the things that are really worth seeing so all we can do is live, live long lie free, live true, and live till the end. I guess that sounds stupid now, but this thing said not to think so I’m trying my best not to ut i can’t help it in fact I’ve gotten to the point where I’m just writing about
The radio broadcast was playing in the background as they drove North towards the city. It was Christmas time, and every year on Christmas Eve, the Falks drove into the city to visit their Dad. He worked for Trump and didn’t get to see his family too much. Nora looked up into the sky and watched the storm clouds roll in. Her mom was talking but she wasn’t listening. What would seeing Dad be like this year? Last year, he gave Joey and her a flat screen TV each. The year before, they’d gotten their own Vespas. “Nora, I asked if you were excited to see your father,” her mom said loudly. Nora took her head off the window and looked at her mom. “Honestly?” she asked. “No.” She titled her head back against the glass and shut her eyes.
My emotions were broadcast onto the internet. Word for word, letter by letter, I typed up my emotions. And yet, somehow, they were never seen, they were never heard. And the one who I wanted most to be on the receiving end, never received them. I was just there, talking to myself. In public.
“Silence in the studio!” The directior called, his voice booming around the room.The quiet chatter quickly died down. “Okay, were going live in 5… 4… 3..” the director counted the last two on his hand, before giving me the thumbs up, meaning cameras were rolling and I was screening on almost every tv in the country. Better not stuff up.
“Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa, I’m Julie Wright and this is One News.” I had my tv-smile plastered onto my face as I stared into the depths of the giant tv camera before me. Another late night, another top story, another few hours of desperately trying not to muck up.
Thats when the piercing noice of the fire bell rang out loud and clear throughout the building.