Time slipped between his toes and clung to the carpet like some odorous cheese-smell and he couldn’t tell if this was because his legs were bereft of kneecaps or if maybe his hands weren’t grasping enough of the floating pollen spinning from the ceiling.
I had caught him in a lie. But who did he think he was fooling? I am a man who had the misfortune of being raised by a pair of liars. So as wolf boy learned to hunt with tooth and nail, I learned to lie, secreting a venom.
catcher and the rye? havent seen the movie or read the book. Dreamcatcher. hahaha funny how i remember a few things about this word. it feels wrong. dream catcher. cant we call the players of baseball catchers? hmm
The boy runs nimbly through the rye fields
Following the sun toward the Blue Ridge Mountains
He held his hand up quite high,
Though he was short,
And jumped towards the glowing light
Hoping, one day, to catch it
In his palms.
dream catcher. The one who protected me all these years. it drew the bad things away from me i felt pleasant and glad that this catcher was there for my life. The catcher is amazing. When i look at it i see a better future
pat v
the catcher in the rye is an old book about a guy who goes nuts. I saw a macro about it the other day, where the title was replaced with “white people problems” I thought it was pretty accurate. I sent it to the friend who leant me the book. I liked catcher in the rye
kat
The catcher is the rye. Apparently it can be re-titled white people problems. I hope not. Those books are boring. It already swore on the first page, so at least it isn’t going to be boring. I like books, but having to read this in class for Junior year may just ruin it. Best to finish up as a freshman.
BASEBALL. Woohooo! The catcher is the person with the funnky gear who looks like a midget and who’s knees probably hurt tons because they constantly kneel. Also, baseball is amazing. It’s fun to watch and fun to play and it’s fun to tie-dye baseball pants. Yes that is what catchers make me think of.
“What did he say to you?” Her eyes implored him, not wavering.
“He was a catcher for the Sacramento Dolphins.” He said flatly, not looking up from his paper.
“How did he die?”
“They are saying it’s murder.”
if there was a purple thing on the table, he would probably pick it up. especially edible things. grapes. the small sweet ones.
he has lots purple jackets. they don’t smell quite as sweet. more like sweat. he dances hard and calls it purple. the energy. it’s purple, he says. that’s why i like it.
‘it’ meaning dance or ‘it’ meaning purple, i didn’t ask. they were probably the same thing to him, ingrained into the stitches of his purple hoodie.
The catcher stood, poised and ready. He was there to receive, whatever came at him, with full presence and knowing that it was exactly what he needed to do. However it showed up, it was his duty!
The mound seemed to sit atop the field in a way that made it almost disconnected. From below, adorning his perch behind the dirtied plate, he signaled. The sounds, crickets of humans behind him, complemented the walls of “Firesale Mattresses” and “2 for 1 Steak Night.” He was no longer in the big time. His knees creaked as the ball was released, a wince slicing his face before the ball even arrived.
Why is it that dream catcher stop working when we grow up, it seems like those are time we need them the most.
Time slipped between his toes and clung to the carpet like some odorous cheese-smell and he couldn’t tell if this was because his legs were bereft of kneecaps or if maybe his hands weren’t grasping enough of the floating pollen spinning from the ceiling.
catch me, weak legs … i think it was the 90 mph ball that smacked me in the kneecaps … i swoon over this catcher =]
I had caught him in a lie. But who did he think he was fooling? I am a man who had the misfortune of being raised by a pair of liars. So as wolf boy learned to hunt with tooth and nail, I learned to lie, secreting a venom.
catcher and the rye? havent seen the movie or read the book. Dreamcatcher. hahaha funny how i remember a few things about this word. it feels wrong. dream catcher. cant we call the players of baseball catchers? hmm
The boy runs nimbly through the rye fields
Following the sun toward the Blue Ridge Mountains
He held his hand up quite high,
Though he was short,
And jumped towards the glowing light
Hoping, one day, to catch it
In his palms.
dream catcher. The one who protected me all these years. it drew the bad things away from me i felt pleasant and glad that this catcher was there for my life. The catcher is amazing. When i look at it i see a better future
the catcher in the rye is an old book about a guy who goes nuts. I saw a macro about it the other day, where the title was replaced with “white people problems” I thought it was pretty accurate. I sent it to the friend who leant me the book. I liked catcher in the rye
The catcher is the rye. Apparently it can be re-titled white people problems. I hope not. Those books are boring. It already swore on the first page, so at least it isn’t going to be boring. I like books, but having to read this in class for Junior year may just ruin it. Best to finish up as a freshman.
catchers catch.
BASEBALL. Woohooo! The catcher is the person with the funnky gear who looks like a midget and who’s knees probably hurt tons because they constantly kneel. Also, baseball is amazing. It’s fun to watch and fun to play and it’s fun to tie-dye baseball pants. Yes that is what catchers make me think of.
“What did he say to you?” Her eyes implored him, not wavering.
“He was a catcher for the Sacramento Dolphins.” He said flatly, not looking up from his paper.
“How did he die?”
“They are saying it’s murder.”
if there was a purple thing on the table, he would probably pick it up. especially edible things. grapes. the small sweet ones.
he has lots purple jackets. they don’t smell quite as sweet. more like sweat. he dances hard and calls it purple. the energy. it’s purple, he says. that’s why i like it.
‘it’ meaning dance or ‘it’ meaning purple, i didn’t ask. they were probably the same thing to him, ingrained into the stitches of his purple hoodie.
The catcher stood, poised and ready. He was there to receive, whatever came at him, with full presence and knowing that it was exactly what he needed to do. However it showed up, it was his duty!
The mound seemed to sit atop the field in a way that made it almost disconnected. From below, adorning his perch behind the dirtied plate, he signaled. The sounds, crickets of humans behind him, complemented the walls of “Firesale Mattresses” and “2 for 1 Steak Night.” He was no longer in the big time. His knees creaked as the ball was released, a wince slicing his face before the ball even arrived.
The person who stands behind the batter at a baseball game.