Microphone. for making a big voice. the booming oration reserved for the masses in the palm of your hand. too much power for one man? hardly that is the force of an idea.
Step up stage left, face the crowd, make them laugh with your material, go back to your seat. Step up stage left, face the crowd, bomb, leave. Step up stage left forget your first joke, forget your second joke, stare at the crowd, hear the boos, hear the shouting, the swearing, but don’t listen. Don’t ever listen.
Ryan
I hate microphones. They’re terrifying. I like to stay in the background; microphones force me to be heard by everyone. What if I have nothing to say?
liz
the thing about microphones: they make you voice sound different than it should. doesn’t someone’s voice sound a lot louder than normal? or should it be that way. Reach more people, etc? but with loud people, it’s not necessary
charlotte
Well sometime when I sing into the microphone I have to do mic checks where I say “Check. testing one two three.” and then once it’s all set i’m good to go. and that’s that
The microphone melted into a smile, which floated into the audience like a cloud of happiness. The microphone was his greatest tool.
Katashi Yamamoto
I don’t want a microphone. I need a macrophone. I need to be loud, for once. To scream, and hear my voice bounce in between the buildings. I need to make sure you can hear me.
Loud. Powerful. Noisy. Should be confiscated from punk rockers. I love microphones. They work good for singing solos. Mrrrp!
Nate, age 11
Nathaniel
used to project voices, the microphone is object i seemed to have swallowed ,it is what makes me speak louder than everyone else. or so i though. wait. no? I speak quite softly? Oh….well to you I speak softly, but you dont matter to me. The microphone. my voice.
Katie
I have it in my hand but you know, i cant see it. even right now. i cant see it in my hands. i cant see my voice. i cant see the words. all i see is your judging face. the one that told me to be quite in childhood. the one that discoraged my from following my dream.
Microphone. Shouldn’t it be just a really small phone? Like…what’s the sense in calling some device that you sing, talk, or belch into a microphone? Might as well call it something like….the sound-maker-louder or something. I don’t get it, people just bypass all rules of logic. I mean, if I were to create something–I would have the name actually SUIT the function. You know what title suits its function? toaster. It toasts bread.
Samantha Mang
The lights are bright, they are in my eyes, I look onto the audience, you are the only smile I see and that is what gets me thru my fear. So I grab the microphone and sing my blues away.
in my hand its energizes me. i look into your eyes and i know that if i sing about that ring in your pocket i will be okay. you are my love and i am your song. we will be lyrics together. forever. with that ring. microphone.
grace
Microphones are exactly how we can share the music. I love the feeling of it in my hand and how it sounds when I voice echos through it. Like all the people in the audience are watching me, waiting to see what comes out of this piece of black metal.
Alexandra
the microphone echoed static around the hall, the man upon the stage looked out at the crowd in disdain. He hated doing this job.
“And now welcome onto the stage…”
The names blended into one and all.
They were all the same.
He walked off and inwardly shuddered
Shaun
A microphone can possibly be my best friend. I just love to sing you know? There is nothing like the rush of my voice blaring through the stereo and seeing the look on people’s faces while they listen to me words, my words coming from my mind and spilling out to the ears. And none of that would even be possible if it weren’t for the microphone.
Cierra
you use it to sing, its black and it makes your voice louder the closer you hold it to you mouth the louder you sound the music comes our speakers and cane be heard loudly throughout the room. often used in theatre and these can be on the head like headbands or also used at kareokee shows too.
Joanna
Microphones remind me of shows at the Mad Hatter or Madison Theater, which I’ve experienced quite a few times in my own life. I have been to at least 45 concerts in my life up til the age of 19, and I plan to see plenty more. Microphones are a great way of expression, physically or even in art depictons. I use microphones in my own art to express a strong desire for speech or things that I can never quite actually say to the person I wan to talk to. They are an interesting piece of equipment, and yet they are so very important in shows. Even little children are given megaphones, which are a lot like microphones, to express their own words.
Ellen
I grabbed the microphone and spoke my heart out.
“You are not who they say you are,” I said. “You are wrong.”
Tomorrow I will wake up in regret, I am sure, but for now, I live in the sky.
Rheanna
I didn’t look at the microphone as it held me, cradled me, and surrounded me in its metal glory. The brush of my own breath against this tiny head singing back to me. The EXIT sign was all I could see those globby red letters staring me straight. The microphone was what my fingers held and what my mind held on to as a security blanket as I let my wires free and soared.
I’ve always wanted to be a singer. I love the spotlight and I love the feeling of being in the center. I fantasize about being the one in the concert, everyone around you screaming your name. The thrill, just the thought of the thrill makes me happy. I’ve always wanted that, ever since I was little. I wish I could have it, I want it all. I really do.
Rev. Roberts leaned into the microphone and slyly looked out at the congregation as he had sent around the collection bucket. “Fire and brimstone!” he yelled. He jumped up and down, waving a bible and yelled, “hell and damnation!” The old ladies fanned themselves in the sticky summer heat and a couple fainted from the excitement.
With a start, he jumped out from behind the podium, screaming, to reveal his pants literally were on fire. Two cherubs descended from a shaft of sunlight through the stained glass, each playing a heavenly melody on a lyre.
The schism occurred shortly thereafter, forming the First Presbyterian Church of Cheap Puns of Little Rock, Arkansas.
“You know, if my hearing wasn’t so good, I’d have bought you a microphone a while ago.” Jeraldine said as she poked her smaller friend on the head. “You speak way too softly, Angie.”
Sheila stood frozen. It loomed large in front of her. Round, metal, with a meshed netting, it scared her witless. She was rooted to the spot. And then the terrible, terrifying sound came. Part screech, part siren, it reached the farthest reaches of the room and reverberated back. “Go on, Sheila,” Barnaby called to her softly. “There’s only one way to beat this thing.” Sheila gathered her courage, nodded bravely, and stepped forward. She took a huge breath and sang into the microphone.
Izolda
Jennifer stepped out onto the stage and smiled into the faces of her adoring fans. This is what she had waited 10 years for. This excitement. The buzz in the air. They were screaming her name and chanting “Sing! Sing!”. She grinned again and stepped up to the microphone. She was ready for this. It was her time.
Jesse
welli sold the old cadillac for a microphone makes sense taht’s a blues brothers reference btw. i wish i could focus on some sort of story let’s see the microphone stuck out like a black peak, scraping the air and the front of my lips as hot air rushed across its surface. i peeered from my height, desperate to see some reminder of what was beneath me now
Hanna Aven
Microphones look odd. They’re shaped like a funny sized ice cream cone. They make me want to hum into them and make weird whisper sounds; how obnoxious.
Autumn
un micro
les micro plantés là-bas
dans la tête de celui qui me regarde me débattre
pendant que je parle de renards et de carpes
de chauve-souris et de zoos
de cercles dans lesquels il faut sauter
et des mouches au bord des flaques de bière
de toute la ménagerie qu’il faut ménager
et soigner
et continuer à servir les cafés
en faisant des poésies qui ne comptent plus
sans qu’elles soient enregistrées
ou alors
Victoire
Sometimes I feel like I’d make an excellent star, basking in the spotlight with total control of the electronic talking stick. I even got offered a spot to do stand-up later this week, which has always been a secret dream of mine. Yet there’s a reason it stays in the fantastical dream world, maybe it’s meant for others but not for me.
jack
i’m watching the grammy’s tonight. and i just wish so bad that i could be someone up there holding a microphone and singing my heart out. that’d be so fantastic.
The microphone was invented by a deaf man. He had hoped to create something that would help him make toast…but instead he invented something that he himself would never be able to enjoy. So he threw it out. So then Alexander Gram Belle came and took it out of that dudes garbage, and took the idea for himself. Because he is a thief.
Alyssa
when i take the mic i like let it write. no need roons, dones, and microphones i’ve seen all been all and thats that fo real. i’m not a rapper.
i held the microphone to my lips, feeling my entire body tighten and quiver with each second that ticked by. my eyes slipped shut and with a breath, i opened my mouth, the sound, the music, rising around me. my dreams ticked by, coming certain and true right before me. the sound of my own voice hit my ears, astounding me. the raise of applause shook me to the core and tears slipped from my eyes in wonder.
sarahbelle
He steps to the microphone… All eyes are on him. Why, oh WHY did he let them talk him into this? He never wanted to be president of his high school anyway. Who the hell even cares about that shit? “What will I tell them? That I’ll improve lunches at the cafeteria? No, that’s just stupid!”
small loud big huge unicons talk love sappy hyper lady gaga justin bieber happy children lesbians lint roller tattoos toy story
lizzie
speaker talk sing loud silver holes crowd
T
There were three things that Anastasia Bennett wasn’t the best at. The first was trend forecasting, the second was making shark tooth friendship jewelry, and the third was singing. It would be wrong to say that she was bad at any of these things because she was actually really great at them, but her younger sister, partially messed up, hardcore Livs was better at all three. Especially singing. Livs was the lead singer in three bands and soaked up her time on stage. Give Livs a microphone and she will be entertained for hours. She had always been like that. Livs had a rock voice that she could sing anything with. Anastasia was left with a choral voice that would make anyone in the room stare, but a choral voice all the same. Her voice cracked if she tried to sing anything else rendering her useless for anything other than the choir. It was rare for proud, perfect Anastasia to be jealous of anyone, but here she was wishing she had the microphone voice of Oliva Bennett.
She sat there singing into the microphone, belting her heart out to him. He was miles away in Scotland, while she sat here in her bedroom in America. Why was he so far away? “Marry me,” Train, it screamed in her soul, her heart. Why was he so far away? He sighed, cried as he realised how far away she was.
Microphone. for making a big voice. the booming oration reserved for the masses in the palm of your hand. too much power for one man? hardly that is the force of an idea.
Step up stage left, face the crowd, make them laugh with your material, go back to your seat. Step up stage left, face the crowd, bomb, leave. Step up stage left forget your first joke, forget your second joke, stare at the crowd, hear the boos, hear the shouting, the swearing, but don’t listen. Don’t ever listen.
I hate microphones. They’re terrifying. I like to stay in the background; microphones force me to be heard by everyone. What if I have nothing to say?
the thing about microphones: they make you voice sound different than it should. doesn’t someone’s voice sound a lot louder than normal? or should it be that way. Reach more people, etc? but with loud people, it’s not necessary
Well sometime when I sing into the microphone I have to do mic checks where I say “Check. testing one two three.” and then once it’s all set i’m good to go. and that’s that
The microphone melted into a smile, which floated into the audience like a cloud of happiness. The microphone was his greatest tool.
I don’t want a microphone. I need a macrophone. I need to be loud, for once. To scream, and hear my voice bounce in between the buildings. I need to make sure you can hear me.
But, I’m not quite sure what to say.
Loud. Powerful. Noisy. Should be confiscated from punk rockers. I love microphones. They work good for singing solos. Mrrrp!
Nate, age 11
used to project voices, the microphone is object i seemed to have swallowed ,it is what makes me speak louder than everyone else. or so i though. wait. no? I speak quite softly? Oh….well to you I speak softly, but you dont matter to me. The microphone. my voice.
I have it in my hand but you know, i cant see it. even right now. i cant see it in my hands. i cant see my voice. i cant see the words. all i see is your judging face. the one that told me to be quite in childhood. the one that discoraged my from following my dream.
Microphone. Shouldn’t it be just a really small phone? Like…what’s the sense in calling some device that you sing, talk, or belch into a microphone? Might as well call it something like….the sound-maker-louder or something. I don’t get it, people just bypass all rules of logic. I mean, if I were to create something–I would have the name actually SUIT the function. You know what title suits its function? toaster. It toasts bread.
The lights are bright, they are in my eyes, I look onto the audience, you are the only smile I see and that is what gets me thru my fear. So I grab the microphone and sing my blues away.
in my hand its energizes me. i look into your eyes and i know that if i sing about that ring in your pocket i will be okay. you are my love and i am your song. we will be lyrics together. forever. with that ring. microphone.
Microphones are exactly how we can share the music. I love the feeling of it in my hand and how it sounds when I voice echos through it. Like all the people in the audience are watching me, waiting to see what comes out of this piece of black metal.
the microphone echoed static around the hall, the man upon the stage looked out at the crowd in disdain. He hated doing this job.
“And now welcome onto the stage…”
The names blended into one and all.
They were all the same.
He walked off and inwardly shuddered
A microphone can possibly be my best friend. I just love to sing you know? There is nothing like the rush of my voice blaring through the stereo and seeing the look on people’s faces while they listen to me words, my words coming from my mind and spilling out to the ears. And none of that would even be possible if it weren’t for the microphone.
you use it to sing, its black and it makes your voice louder the closer you hold it to you mouth the louder you sound the music comes our speakers and cane be heard loudly throughout the room. often used in theatre and these can be on the head like headbands or also used at kareokee shows too.
Microphones remind me of shows at the Mad Hatter or Madison Theater, which I’ve experienced quite a few times in my own life. I have been to at least 45 concerts in my life up til the age of 19, and I plan to see plenty more. Microphones are a great way of expression, physically or even in art depictons. I use microphones in my own art to express a strong desire for speech or things that I can never quite actually say to the person I wan to talk to. They are an interesting piece of equipment, and yet they are so very important in shows. Even little children are given megaphones, which are a lot like microphones, to express their own words.
I grabbed the microphone and spoke my heart out.
“You are not who they say you are,” I said. “You are wrong.”
Tomorrow I will wake up in regret, I am sure, but for now, I live in the sky.
I didn’t look at the microphone as it held me, cradled me, and surrounded me in its metal glory. The brush of my own breath against this tiny head singing back to me. The EXIT sign was all I could see those globby red letters staring me straight. The microphone was what my fingers held and what my mind held on to as a security blanket as I let my wires free and soared.
holds microphone in his raisin brown hand
two comfy champions cradle the stand
strumming, bobbing
TALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTA ERRBODY TALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALK ERRBODY
TALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALKTALK ERRBODY
**TAUREN STOMP**
errbody.
I’ve always wanted to be a singer. I love the spotlight and I love the feeling of being in the center. I fantasize about being the one in the concert, everyone around you screaming your name. The thrill, just the thought of the thrill makes me happy. I’ve always wanted that, ever since I was little. I wish I could have it, I want it all. I really do.
Rev. Roberts leaned into the microphone and slyly looked out at the congregation as he had sent around the collection bucket. “Fire and brimstone!” he yelled. He jumped up and down, waving a bible and yelled, “hell and damnation!” The old ladies fanned themselves in the sticky summer heat and a couple fainted from the excitement.
With a start, he jumped out from behind the podium, screaming, to reveal his pants literally were on fire. Two cherubs descended from a shaft of sunlight through the stained glass, each playing a heavenly melody on a lyre.
The schism occurred shortly thereafter, forming the First Presbyterian Church of Cheap Puns of Little Rock, Arkansas.
“You know, if my hearing wasn’t so good, I’d have bought you a microphone a while ago.” Jeraldine said as she poked her smaller friend on the head. “You speak way too softly, Angie.”
Sheila stood frozen. It loomed large in front of her. Round, metal, with a meshed netting, it scared her witless. She was rooted to the spot. And then the terrible, terrifying sound came. Part screech, part siren, it reached the farthest reaches of the room and reverberated back. “Go on, Sheila,” Barnaby called to her softly. “There’s only one way to beat this thing.” Sheila gathered her courage, nodded bravely, and stepped forward. She took a huge breath and sang into the microphone.
Jennifer stepped out onto the stage and smiled into the faces of her adoring fans. This is what she had waited 10 years for. This excitement. The buzz in the air. They were screaming her name and chanting “Sing! Sing!”. She grinned again and stepped up to the microphone. She was ready for this. It was her time.
welli sold the old cadillac for a microphone makes sense taht’s a blues brothers reference btw. i wish i could focus on some sort of story let’s see the microphone stuck out like a black peak, scraping the air and the front of my lips as hot air rushed across its surface. i peeered from my height, desperate to see some reminder of what was beneath me now
Microphones look odd. They’re shaped like a funny sized ice cream cone. They make me want to hum into them and make weird whisper sounds; how obnoxious.
un micro
les micro plantés là-bas
dans la tête de celui qui me regarde me débattre
pendant que je parle de renards et de carpes
de chauve-souris et de zoos
de cercles dans lesquels il faut sauter
et des mouches au bord des flaques de bière
de toute la ménagerie qu’il faut ménager
et soigner
et continuer à servir les cafés
en faisant des poésies qui ne comptent plus
sans qu’elles soient enregistrées
ou alors
Sometimes I feel like I’d make an excellent star, basking in the spotlight with total control of the electronic talking stick. I even got offered a spot to do stand-up later this week, which has always been a secret dream of mine. Yet there’s a reason it stays in the fantastical dream world, maybe it’s meant for others but not for me.
i’m watching the grammy’s tonight. and i just wish so bad that i could be someone up there holding a microphone and singing my heart out. that’d be so fantastic.
The microphone was invented by a deaf man. He had hoped to create something that would help him make toast…but instead he invented something that he himself would never be able to enjoy. So he threw it out. So then Alexander Gram Belle came and took it out of that dudes garbage, and took the idea for himself. Because he is a thief.
when i take the mic i like let it write. no need roons, dones, and microphones i’ve seen all been all and thats that fo real. i’m not a rapper.
i held the microphone to my lips, feeling my entire body tighten and quiver with each second that ticked by. my eyes slipped shut and with a breath, i opened my mouth, the sound, the music, rising around me. my dreams ticked by, coming certain and true right before me. the sound of my own voice hit my ears, astounding me. the raise of applause shook me to the core and tears slipped from my eyes in wonder.
He steps to the microphone… All eyes are on him. Why, oh WHY did he let them talk him into this? He never wanted to be president of his high school anyway. Who the hell even cares about that shit? “What will I tell them? That I’ll improve lunches at the cafeteria? No, that’s just stupid!”
small loud big huge unicons talk love sappy hyper lady gaga justin bieber happy children lesbians lint roller tattoos toy story
speaker talk sing loud silver holes crowd
There were three things that Anastasia Bennett wasn’t the best at. The first was trend forecasting, the second was making shark tooth friendship jewelry, and the third was singing. It would be wrong to say that she was bad at any of these things because she was actually really great at them, but her younger sister, partially messed up, hardcore Livs was better at all three. Especially singing. Livs was the lead singer in three bands and soaked up her time on stage. Give Livs a microphone and she will be entertained for hours. She had always been like that. Livs had a rock voice that she could sing anything with. Anastasia was left with a choral voice that would make anyone in the room stare, but a choral voice all the same. Her voice cracked if she tried to sing anything else rendering her useless for anything other than the choir. It was rare for proud, perfect Anastasia to be jealous of anyone, but here she was wishing she had the microphone voice of Oliva Bennett.
She sat there singing into the microphone, belting her heart out to him. He was miles away in Scotland, while she sat here in her bedroom in America. Why was he so far away? “Marry me,” Train, it screamed in her soul, her heart. Why was he so far away? He sighed, cried as he realised how far away she was.