…pull it twice, or enough to make it ring. Bring your hands together for two small claps, bow your head just as many times, and clap once to begin your prayer. I don’t know if Gods exist, but I feel an immense respect for time and place, for the natural world, for the people who’ve undoubtedly attended this shrine for generations, within these ancient woods. Everything is alive! The air is filled with sound of a million cicadas that make silence an after thought, the humidity makes it thick, like walking through a dream, and the occasional cold breeze reminds me I’m alive. I will chase this feeling to the ends of the earth, though I continue to find it in every step.
September 21st, 2017:
Pull it thrice, clap your hands as many times. Bow your head, clap once more, and….what is this again…? Ah, yes, this is the 28th time I’ve come to the foot of this shrine. I know this because I visit it on the 7th and 21st day of each month, and it has been 14 months. I think that makes this…September, that’s right. Come to think of it, the first time I came to this country I had spent just as long saving an amount of money just scrape up a living for two months in this quiet part of the Japanese countryside. The only exception I’d make for wasting coins was throwing them in the offering boxes here. Now I notice the sound of metal hitting wood stops the Cicadas, so I’m more fiscal with it, even though my pockets are heavier. It takes more for that donation to feel…special. This heat, too, carrying all this heavy shit through the mountains has become a bit of a chore. Still, it’s worth the sights, worth the view at the top, where I get a few minutes to think about what I’m doing tomorrow, and maybe for the rest of the week.
Just a few free minutes, that’s all I fight for these days.
She was ordinary. Her face was plain; no one ever noticed her in a crowd.
She had grown used to being overlooked.
Until one day, she wasn’t.
He came up to her, seemingly out of no where, and would soon destroy every last part of her life. Yet, in that moment, she had never felt so extraordinary.
She was ordinary. Her face was plain; no one ever noticed her in a crowd.
She had grown used to being overlooked.
Until one day, she wasn’t
He came up to her, seemingly out of no where, and would soon destroy every last part of her life. Yet, in that moment, she had never felt so extraordinary.
Stevie
I am a ordinary lady with Ordinary thinking…To become extraordinary i need to put in lots of efforts.I think about it for hours together.What best can i do to be my best today..But some how its just in thinking terms not in actual works..
Princess
Nothing was ordinary anymore. Lucas had turned into an octopus, run faster than Quicksilver, and then stuck himself to the ceiling. He coudn’t call himself an ordinary kid anymore. He was a mutant. He needed to find out what happened to the other mutants, and see if someone could help him before he turned into a rock and couldn’t turn back.
Zhelana
the price of house as well as foods，cars，is expensive to ordinary people in China
perrus
I’m not sure what that word means. You think you do, but then you find out that everyone and everything that you think is ordinary is not. Either things are exceptional and are much higher than your expectations, or someone or something disappoint you severely. I’m not sure that ordinary actually exists.
I used to think I was ordinary. I’m pretty average now, but I think life is getting better day by day. One day I hope to be less ordinary.
Gena
I was not very ordinary growing up. I wanted to be a ballerina and a fairy princess since I was only 2! Now I am 13 and the same. Sure, I don’t believe in fairy’s, and I know I will never be a princess, but I am still the extremely creative person that I always have been. And I am on the right track to being a professional ballerina.
I always hated the phrase “The difference between extraordinary and ordinary is that little extra”. It’s aggravated me since I was little. What’s to say someone plain, middle of the road, average can’t in their own way be the center of someone’s universe? What’s to say, the girl with a stable job without drama and who’s always going to pick up the phone when you call, isn’t the sun to someone’s day? Ordinary, so demeaning. To say that something is ordinary almost comes with a taste in your mouth of plain white rice. No salt, no seasoning, barely enough water to make it wiggle down your gullet. Some people need the ordinary, some people want the on par and long for the mediocre. Some people cringe at the extraordinary, want the simplicity that comes with consistency. How is that a bad thing? Yes, it’s always nice to strive for that ‘extra’, to get our your crazed sense of self and wave it like a light wave of brilliance. To go over the top, to not stop, to jump and hop on any chair or stage that gives you the time of day. To stretch yourself so thin, so minuscule, so soccer mom of the year there for everyone to cheer at the highlight of the Facebook news feed. But, what about the person with the same number for ten years? The one who always had that red backpack you could see from across the street that no matter how many feet or years came between you, it was them? What about the kid, struggling just for a B to pass his class, not top of the Dean’s list but trying his hardest for a state of “Just enough”? The difference between extraordinary, and ordinary, is just five silly squiggles and a change of perspective.
Most days I feel ordinary. I wish I felt special. Some lift within to share my flame, as the magazines would have it. I sing, and sometimes I need to stand out. Standing out feels good but scary. I want to blaze! But you can’t blaze all the time. Sometimes I settle for smoulder.
Valerian
As if a final nail in his own coffin, a horrid, personality-defining tic had developed in his daily routine, turning him into the kind of person he swore he’d never be: his fingers dully thunked on his desk, each one hitting the surface after the other in succession, like a wave of vexation for him, and for anyone forced to listen. He could see through the blinds in one window, and he stared through it with intensity, thinking of all the ways he could get there.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he’d say, and no one would bat an eye.
Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.
He liked to think the only thing stopping him was the fact he had nothing to actually accomplish there. If he was on the other side of the glass, what would he do? He’d seen all the trees, knew the curves of all the hills. He wanted out there because he was in here, but once out there, he would still want more. A new place. A more dangerous place. A more unbelievable place. He could see his life expanding to fit it all. A better-paying job. A more reputable job. A more exciting job. A new hobby, a harder hobby, a new home, new people…
He cleared his throat and shifted, opening a new window on his monitor’s screen. Something new. He would keep going along, looking for more, for the next step, but how could he enjoy each step up the ladder knowing that he’d never stop, and now the next one was harder? It was all a great exercise in bettering himself, but what when he hit his limit? When there wasn’t anything more beautiful than before to see, nothing more dangerous he could survive, the novelty of new hobbies, homes, and people wore out? Could he face endless days like this one, but with no promises for more accomplishment, the little marks that he was moving forward, like signatures on his lease to live?
A sigh, and his fingers start tapping the keyboard instead. He had already wasted too much time today; he’d need every minute to get to that ominous point.
Nothing is ever really ordinary. If you look closely there’s always something unique, something extraordinary in everything, in everyone you meet. You just need to pay attention.
Ann Graham
the evocative form of the ordinary ordinance is engrained in my brain after dawns and sunsets of trivial occurrences until they impregnate my intimacy and I theirs so our existences become intertwined in such a way a cup of coffee only makes sense sitting near me and I near it.
the evocative form of the ordinary ordinance is engrained in my brain after dawns and sunsets of trivial occurrences until they impregnate my intimacy and I theirs so our existences become intertwined in such a way a cup of coffee only makes sense near me and I near it.
estef
Ordinary, that’s me! or is it? What is ordinary? Can ordinary be extraordinary? The beauty lies within the ordinary, it is the seams of what carries us through existence and furthermore.
How many times can one walk down the same street and find something new to glance upon? How often do people say “Huh, I’ve never noticed this before”. How many times has a person been shocked by another due to a previously unseen aspect of them. Life is rarely ever ordinary.
Amy Stark
An ordinary person is not interesting. They are ordinary. Ordinary is not fun, ordinary is boring. To be a real interesting person you can not be ordinary. In a sense you want to be orderly but not ordinary. Be different, be casual but not ordinary. We all have ordinary things that make us ordinary but not you.
Martin Demjan
ordinary wishes become doctrine dishes
elicit temptation radiates absurd revelations
back stabbing until we dissappear
have no fear
humans release their own pleasures
from their own control systems
some like to dissmiss christmas
others fringe at the sinister whispers
just live life, allow the eyes
to roam to onlly beatfic significations:
the little dipper can teach the soul
the hardcore-lush among Long Beach’s beach can reach the soul !
Two things. 1.) Ordinary is a very weird word. I mean, just say it. ORDINARY….. 2.) I’m bored.
Mystery Girl
Nobody is ordinary. In fact, we are all extra-ordinary. Which means that no one is exactly the same. Everyone is different.
Julianne Engel
What is ordinary? Who decides what is ordinary, normal average? Everyone has a different understanding of what is ordinary or mundane or day to day. When do you make the switch from ordinary to extraordinary?
Andrew
normal with no special or distinctive features; normal
tyrece
original
cedrez
When you don’t have no special or distinctive features and you’re like normal.
Breasia M.
People like to say that that day was an ordinary day. But that was the day the planes began circling the state capitol, and that was the day the citizens started roaming the streets like they had lost their way. And that was the day I sat up in my bed and let my hand wander to my face, and the scar I had worn for twenty-six years was gone. Just as everything began to deteriorate, I was growing stronger.
Belinda Roddie
Nobody is ordinary. Everyone has some quality which elevates him or her above the crowd.
It can be a smile, a gesture, a talent, red hair. It is our duty when we meet people to find out what lifts each one above the ordinary.
Robin
I won’t try to take away there’s an ordinary world sometimes I have to fly. And as I try to make my way through the ordinary world, I will learn to survive. Ordinary and comfortable go hand in hand. Not a good thing, eh? Get over it!
She’s just an ordinary girl. She doesn’t wear fancy, uptown clothing, nor is she an athlete or a straight-A student. Mention her name, and the majority of her schoolmates and teachers would be confused with unfamiliarity.
Yet, it’s when the unexpected occurs to people like her, then do they blink their eyes open, and step out to face this new twist in their lives, with hearts of warmth, bravery and undiscovered strength.
She was anything but ordinary. She was beautiful. When someone looked at her, she made an impact. Her protruding bones were exactly what everyone wanted. Her light frame was one that could be lifted like a feather with a sigh of the wind.
She sat at the table and looked around the cafe, sort of amazed that she was being allowed to do this. Everyone kept going on with their lives as though nothing was unusual about today, as if it wasn’t monumentally important that she was sitting among them in a cafe. She glanced at her reflection in the glass of the pastry case. She looked normal. So normal.
I won’t cry for yesterday because everything changes in this ordinary world. Even a love that burns so hot, despite being well attended, will die out in the hearth. All passions rendered into ashes – even the hearth can’t escape entropy. But it’s ok, that’s just the way of things and it’s actually rather freeing to realize everything ends because it imbues the present with an intensity infused through thoughts of the past and future alike. You’re alive, simply alive.
July 7th, 2012:
…pull it twice, or enough to make it ring. Bring your hands together for two small claps, bow your head just as many times, and clap once to begin your prayer. I don’t know if Gods exist, but I feel an immense respect for time and place, for the natural world, for the people who’ve undoubtedly attended this shrine for generations, within these ancient woods. Everything is alive! The air is filled with sound of a million cicadas that make silence an after thought, the humidity makes it thick, like walking through a dream, and the occasional cold breeze reminds me I’m alive. I will chase this feeling to the ends of the earth, though I continue to find it in every step.
September 21st, 2017:
Pull it thrice, clap your hands as many times. Bow your head, clap once more, and….what is this again…? Ah, yes, this is the 28th time I’ve come to the foot of this shrine. I know this because I visit it on the 7th and 21st day of each month, and it has been 14 months. I think that makes this…September, that’s right. Come to think of it, the first time I came to this country I had spent just as long saving an amount of money just scrape up a living for two months in this quiet part of the Japanese countryside. The only exception I’d make for wasting coins was throwing them in the offering boxes here. Now I notice the sound of metal hitting wood stops the Cicadas, so I’m more fiscal with it, even though my pockets are heavier. It takes more for that donation to feel…special. This heat, too, carrying all this heavy shit through the mountains has become a bit of a chore. Still, it’s worth the sights, worth the view at the top, where I get a few minutes to think about what I’m doing tomorrow, and maybe for the rest of the week.
Just a few free minutes, that’s all I fight for these days.
I am unique.
Peeling off a new layer,
And discovering a new aspect.
I am unique.
I have my own voice,
And my own body.
I am unique.
I control my own fate,
And let no one control my path.
I am unique.
I have my own habits,
And my own way of coping
But now I am ordinary,
Because this is the way
Everyone lives their lives.
She was ordinary. Her face was plain; no one ever noticed her in a crowd.
She had grown used to being overlooked.
Until one day, she wasn’t.
He came up to her, seemingly out of no where, and would soon destroy every last part of her life. Yet, in that moment, she had never felt so extraordinary.
She was ordinary. Her face was plain; no one ever noticed her in a crowd.
She had grown used to being overlooked.
Until one day, she wasn’t
He came up to her, seemingly out of no where, and would soon destroy every last part of her life. Yet, in that moment, she had never felt so extraordinary.
I am a ordinary lady with Ordinary thinking…To become extraordinary i need to put in lots of efforts.I think about it for hours together.What best can i do to be my best today..But some how its just in thinking terms not in actual works..
Nothing was ordinary anymore. Lucas had turned into an octopus, run faster than Quicksilver, and then stuck himself to the ceiling. He coudn’t call himself an ordinary kid anymore. He was a mutant. He needed to find out what happened to the other mutants, and see if someone could help him before he turned into a rock and couldn’t turn back.
the price of house as well as foods，cars，is expensive to ordinary people in China
I’m not sure what that word means. You think you do, but then you find out that everyone and everything that you think is ordinary is not. Either things are exceptional and are much higher than your expectations, or someone or something disappoint you severely. I’m not sure that ordinary actually exists.
She popped her gum as she walked down the street wearing uggs, a sorority sweatshirt, and leggings. She thought she was special but she wasn’t.
I walked past her wearing combat boots, black jeans, and a military jacket thinking the same.
I used to think I was ordinary. I’m pretty average now, but I think life is getting better day by day. One day I hope to be less ordinary.
I was not very ordinary growing up. I wanted to be a ballerina and a fairy princess since I was only 2! Now I am 13 and the same. Sure, I don’t believe in fairy’s, and I know I will never be a princess, but I am still the extremely creative person that I always have been. And I am on the right track to being a professional ballerina.
For me, Go means stop. It means think of every possible thing that can go wrong or stop me.
After I parse every possibility, then it’s go time!
I always hated the phrase “The difference between extraordinary and ordinary is that little extra”. It’s aggravated me since I was little. What’s to say someone plain, middle of the road, average can’t in their own way be the center of someone’s universe? What’s to say, the girl with a stable job without drama and who’s always going to pick up the phone when you call, isn’t the sun to someone’s day? Ordinary, so demeaning. To say that something is ordinary almost comes with a taste in your mouth of plain white rice. No salt, no seasoning, barely enough water to make it wiggle down your gullet. Some people need the ordinary, some people want the on par and long for the mediocre. Some people cringe at the extraordinary, want the simplicity that comes with consistency. How is that a bad thing? Yes, it’s always nice to strive for that ‘extra’, to get our your crazed sense of self and wave it like a light wave of brilliance. To go over the top, to not stop, to jump and hop on any chair or stage that gives you the time of day. To stretch yourself so thin, so minuscule, so soccer mom of the year there for everyone to cheer at the highlight of the Facebook news feed. But, what about the person with the same number for ten years? The one who always had that red backpack you could see from across the street that no matter how many feet or years came between you, it was them? What about the kid, struggling just for a B to pass his class, not top of the Dean’s list but trying his hardest for a state of “Just enough”? The difference between extraordinary, and ordinary, is just five silly squiggles and a change of perspective.
Most days I feel ordinary. I wish I felt special. Some lift within to share my flame, as the magazines would have it. I sing, and sometimes I need to stand out. Standing out feels good but scary. I want to blaze! But you can’t blaze all the time. Sometimes I settle for smoulder.
As if a final nail in his own coffin, a horrid, personality-defining tic had developed in his daily routine, turning him into the kind of person he swore he’d never be: his fingers dully thunked on his desk, each one hitting the surface after the other in succession, like a wave of vexation for him, and for anyone forced to listen. He could see through the blinds in one window, and he stared through it with intensity, thinking of all the ways he could get there.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he’d say, and no one would bat an eye.
Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.
He liked to think the only thing stopping him was the fact he had nothing to actually accomplish there. If he was on the other side of the glass, what would he do? He’d seen all the trees, knew the curves of all the hills. He wanted out there because he was in here, but once out there, he would still want more. A new place. A more dangerous place. A more unbelievable place. He could see his life expanding to fit it all. A better-paying job. A more reputable job. A more exciting job. A new hobby, a harder hobby, a new home, new people…
He cleared his throat and shifted, opening a new window on his monitor’s screen. Something new. He would keep going along, looking for more, for the next step, but how could he enjoy each step up the ladder knowing that he’d never stop, and now the next one was harder? It was all a great exercise in bettering himself, but what when he hit his limit? When there wasn’t anything more beautiful than before to see, nothing more dangerous he could survive, the novelty of new hobbies, homes, and people wore out? Could he face endless days like this one, but with no promises for more accomplishment, the little marks that he was moving forward, like signatures on his lease to live?
A sigh, and his fingers start tapping the keyboard instead. He had already wasted too much time today; he’d need every minute to get to that ominous point.
Nothing is ever really ordinary. If you look closely there’s always something unique, something extraordinary in everything, in everyone you meet. You just need to pay attention.
the evocative form of the ordinary ordinance is engrained in my brain after dawns and sunsets of trivial occurrences until they impregnate my intimacy and I theirs so our existences become intertwined in such a way a cup of coffee only makes sense sitting near me and I near it.
the evocative form of the ordinary ordinance is engrained in my brain after dawns and sunsets of trivial occurrences until they impregnate my intimacy and I theirs so our existences become intertwined in such a way a cup of coffee only makes sense near me and I near it.
Ordinary, that’s me! or is it? What is ordinary? Can ordinary be extraordinary? The beauty lies within the ordinary, it is the seams of what carries us through existence and furthermore.
How many times can one walk down the same street and find something new to glance upon? How often do people say “Huh, I’ve never noticed this before”. How many times has a person been shocked by another due to a previously unseen aspect of them. Life is rarely ever ordinary.
An ordinary person is not interesting. They are ordinary. Ordinary is not fun, ordinary is boring. To be a real interesting person you can not be ordinary. In a sense you want to be orderly but not ordinary. Be different, be casual but not ordinary. We all have ordinary things that make us ordinary but not you.
ordinary wishes become doctrine dishes
elicit temptation radiates absurd revelations
back stabbing until we dissappear
have no fear
humans release their own pleasures
from their own control systems
some like to dissmiss christmas
others fringe at the sinister whispers
just live life, allow the eyes
to roam to onlly beatfic significations:
the little dipper can teach the soul
the hardcore-lush among Long Beach’s beach can reach the soul !
Two things. 1.) Ordinary is a very weird word. I mean, just say it. ORDINARY….. 2.) I’m bored.
Nobody is ordinary. In fact, we are all extra-ordinary. Which means that no one is exactly the same. Everyone is different.
What is ordinary? Who decides what is ordinary, normal average? Everyone has a different understanding of what is ordinary or mundane or day to day. When do you make the switch from ordinary to extraordinary?
normal with no special or distinctive features; normal
original
When you don’t have no special or distinctive features and you’re like normal.
People like to say that that day was an ordinary day. But that was the day the planes began circling the state capitol, and that was the day the citizens started roaming the streets like they had lost their way. And that was the day I sat up in my bed and let my hand wander to my face, and the scar I had worn for twenty-six years was gone. Just as everything began to deteriorate, I was growing stronger.
Nobody is ordinary. Everyone has some quality which elevates him or her above the crowd.
It can be a smile, a gesture, a talent, red hair. It is our duty when we meet people to find out what lifts each one above the ordinary.
I won’t try to take away there’s an ordinary world sometimes I have to fly. And as I try to make my way through the ordinary world, I will learn to survive. Ordinary and comfortable go hand in hand. Not a good thing, eh? Get over it!
She’s just an ordinary girl. She doesn’t wear fancy, uptown clothing, nor is she an athlete or a straight-A student. Mention her name, and the majority of her schoolmates and teachers would be confused with unfamiliarity.
Yet, it’s when the unexpected occurs to people like her, then do they blink their eyes open, and step out to face this new twist in their lives, with hearts of warmth, bravery and undiscovered strength.
She was anything but ordinary. She was beautiful. When someone looked at her, she made an impact. Her protruding bones were exactly what everyone wanted. Her light frame was one that could be lifted like a feather with a sigh of the wind.
She sat at the table and looked around the cafe, sort of amazed that she was being allowed to do this. Everyone kept going on with their lives as though nothing was unusual about today, as if it wasn’t monumentally important that she was sitting among them in a cafe. She glanced at her reflection in the glass of the pastry case. She looked normal. So normal.
there was a pebble,
glass, as green as hope,
embedded in the asphalt
the sun loved it,
this little thing in a sea of
stone, slate, grey.
humans may tread on it daily,
as they do all things.
creaking on with lives that go down
grey roads to grey places.
as a function of this,
they never know what ‘special’ means.
nothing is unique anymore.
dead.
I won’t cry for yesterday because everything changes in this ordinary world. Even a love that burns so hot, despite being well attended, will die out in the hearth. All passions rendered into ashes – even the hearth can’t escape entropy. But it’s ok, that’s just the way of things and it’s actually rather freeing to realize everything ends because it imbues the present with an intensity infused through thoughts of the past and future alike. You’re alive, simply alive.