patterns, do we ever think of all the patterns in our lifes? which ones good, which ones bad, or are they necessary?do patterns keep u enmeshed in conformity of is it just pretty for cloths? do the clothes keep u into conformity. can u get out of patterns?
katie
I woke up feeling a thin line of sunlight across my cheek. I was surrounded by patterns. Light came in vertically from the wide windows which were still open from last night, waving in the breeze. The light met on the shelves, reflected off their metal nails. His head, softly asleep on the pillow next to me, was a curly mess of hair, a pattern of unrulyness, his chest gently rising and falling. There were birds outside and I felt giddy, hopeful, excited. The day was ours. And we had the rest of our lives to enjoy it.
The pattern in a quilt can be very difficult to knit. I would think. I’ve never knitted a quilt, but I have seen some pretty intense patterns knitted into it. You know what else is a pattern? How un-crafty I am, and how little I know about actual crafting. I baked today, so maybe crafting will follow and I can start a knew pattern with my life.
Kyla
He stared at the pattern across the broken, scarred subway wall. Four lettered words littered its surface, a pattern of hate, rage, love, hope and help. He willed it to change, but the it still remains until the rat, the man, the sickness dies.
Looking at the pattern on my pillow, I remember all the hours it has been my friend. I’ve cried on it. I’ve dreamed on it. I’ve laughed on it. I’ve cuddled with beloved ones on it. I’ve prayed on it.
Purple and white flowers all the way across.
Never before have I really looked at the pattern.
i thought there was a pattern to life. that the pattern rang true and i thought and talked and walked and a pattern was woven but there is none. and i dont know where to go trace my fingers, much less my steps, back to the beginning.
hr
“We slipped into this terrible pattern, when you want me, I want nothing to do with you and vice versa. We’ve been through this so many times, I wish we could just make up our minds, dearest, this drives me insane. Do you want me or not?” I said, bracing myself for what the answer would be.
Pattern. Patterns are everywhere. Math, reading, writing, science, you name it. Although math patterns suck. Always. I hate them. Writing is cool. Patterns in writing is like poems. They are works of art really grasping attention.
haley
You trace the shapes imprinted on my skin from the blanket as it pressed against me. You leaned in to kiss me too soon and I can still feel the same pattern repeating time after time on my heart.
The monstrosity’s pattern was black and white stripes racing down in a spiral toward claws made of iron. His tongue like wick held the flame of his wrath and his teeth the sharp horns that blew fatal desires. I struck at his noise with a stave I had carved from an old willow tree that always seemed to be ever crying.
Belinda Roddie
The fabric looked like it should be hanging from a Scotsman`s shoulder, the pattern akin to a kilt more so than an actual skirt. Absolutely not.
The constant things in life. The thins that never change. Some patterns are planned, others simply happen. They provide security from the chaos we face everyday. Patterns are security
Abby
i saw it for the first time-a pattern which came to define every decision i made. What would my dad want me to do? my friends? my school? how would people see me differently if I did what I wanted to do?
and the pattern stops.
when i first see the word pattern the first thing i think about is a quilt, all the different peaks and valleys of the thread, how all sorts of different and contrasting hues seem to swin together into the different patterns of the quote. I like quilts in the way because they remind me to keep and eye on the big picture, you know? How it all works together in the end, no matter how different the colors and stitches are, eventually, it all fits.
Lily
I was beginning to see a pattern. He climbed to the top of my happiness and reached for the next rung, disappointed to find there was none. So he fell a few down, to always keep climbing. And you know what? He always keeps climbing, falling, climbing, falling, following the same pattern year after year.
AV
I don’t know how I feel about patterns. I like them on clothes. But I don’t like living a pattern out. But back to clothes, they can really be nice. Wearing plain clothes all the time and then transitioning to patterns: quite nice.
Jack
lots of them. everywhere. tessellating and undulating. tiles on the wall, perhaps. Or notes in a song.
olivia
There was no use in pretending the top matched the bottom. Plaid and dots just clashed in this atrocious mix of fabrics. I would be fired for this no doubt. But I hadn’t the time to change anything. My best bet was that they just wouldn’t notice the display until tomorrow.
The window opened. It was strange today. Something was off. My muscle memory challenged, I tried to find my way around. Failing. Tripping. Clearly, I was now a prisoner of patterns.
Ragini
i love patterns i love patterns this is a pattern about patterns i love lamp because its so legit like the movie step brothers with will farrell and john c reilly. its directed by adam mckay. patterns are found all around us. in flower and nature and your face and your moms face. this time is almost running out i know how to grammar. cant you tell?
kristen
Art. All art based on pattern, or lack of pattern. Repetition. All life. All of it is based on pattern. It’s the one thing our brains are always always doing is looking for it. We see it even when it’s not there. That’s Pattern.
Moose
I feel sorry for people whose biggest accomplishment post-high school is hooking up with people who are still in high school and 19, and who brag about doing a basic job that anyone with a middle school education could do. And then they have a pattern of bragging about how much everyone loves them and wants to hook up with them. Sorry but this is a sign of low self-esteem. And perhaps my writing also sounds like low self-esteem but quite honestly I just feel sorry for them and the extraordinarily low standards they have set for themselves. I have found a model for what I don’t want to become.
Pattern? Seriously? What kind of word is that? Why would I get pattern, of all the bloody things??? What am I supposed to write about pattern? … My hat has a pattern, there’s a pattern to everything? I dunno.
DMak
patterns can be made with all sorts of things. it can be polka dots or stripes. it can cover animals or be worn by people as clothes. patterns create color and a pop to everything it is on.
Merjyl
Patterns are nice, they make sense. Unlike my life, which doesn’t make any sense. I wish there was a pattern to it, I would be more sane. But here I am. Patternless.
Kay
She saw a repeating sequence. It was familiar, and she was able to know beyond that sequence. What she saw was knowledge. What she saw was pattern.
Repeating patterns within our lives
We dwell in our habits, and we dwell in repeating structures
only because repetitions are so easy to feel comfortable with
rx
the pattern was endless.. it flowed it rippled it never changed. and yet it was a web of complexities, minute differences… we would never escape we would be trapped forever…
kc
Your face is unlike it. No pattern has formed it. I can see your smile, lopsided and yet more perfect than any mold. The shape of your face is like a bruised orange. Sweet and tangy, and still…perfect.
I wished upon a pattern. It was silly, childish. Cats dancing on musical staffs. But as I sat on the hard floor of the pantry, clutching that apron around me like a shield from the blows, I wish one simple thing. I wished to be free.
Are you a part of a pattern, or something a bit more radical? I suppose it’s hard to know, for how can one know they are part of a pattern when they can’t see past themselves? We can marvel at the fact that we are so unique, and hope that we aren’t just another copy.. but will we ever know for sure? It’s doubtful.
Leah Thompson
An historical pattern, you can see it looking back. You can see that all of human history follows a pattern – and that pattern is repeated in every history. The history of America, of the last 50 years, of your life and of your friends. Of today. Of tomorrow, and of all your thoughts. Of this writing.
patterns, do we ever think of all the patterns in our lifes? which ones good, which ones bad, or are they necessary?do patterns keep u enmeshed in conformity of is it just pretty for cloths? do the clothes keep u into conformity. can u get out of patterns?
I woke up feeling a thin line of sunlight across my cheek. I was surrounded by patterns. Light came in vertically from the wide windows which were still open from last night, waving in the breeze. The light met on the shelves, reflected off their metal nails. His head, softly asleep on the pillow next to me, was a curly mess of hair, a pattern of unrulyness, his chest gently rising and falling. There were birds outside and I felt giddy, hopeful, excited. The day was ours. And we had the rest of our lives to enjoy it.
Tartan.
The pattern in a quilt can be very difficult to knit. I would think. I’ve never knitted a quilt, but I have seen some pretty intense patterns knitted into it. You know what else is a pattern? How un-crafty I am, and how little I know about actual crafting. I baked today, so maybe crafting will follow and I can start a knew pattern with my life.
He stared at the pattern across the broken, scarred subway wall. Four lettered words littered its surface, a pattern of hate, rage, love, hope and help. He willed it to change, but the it still remains until the rat, the man, the sickness dies.
The intricate pattern etched itself among the flowing lines on the quilt.
Looking at the pattern on my pillow, I remember all the hours it has been my friend. I’ve cried on it. I’ve dreamed on it. I’ve laughed on it. I’ve cuddled with beloved ones on it. I’ve prayed on it.
Purple and white flowers all the way across.
Never before have I really looked at the pattern.
i thought there was a pattern to life. that the pattern rang true and i thought and talked and walked and a pattern was woven but there is none. and i dont know where to go trace my fingers, much less my steps, back to the beginning.
“We slipped into this terrible pattern, when you want me, I want nothing to do with you and vice versa. We’ve been through this so many times, I wish we could just make up our minds, dearest, this drives me insane. Do you want me or not?” I said, bracing myself for what the answer would be.
“What on earth are you wearing?”
Astor blinked at Tobias’s question, glancing down at his attire. “What?”
“What an awful pattern,” Tobias marveled, grimacing at the trickster’s shirt. “You’re not going to wear that to the ceremony?”
“I always wear this at graduation!”
Pattern. Patterns are everywhere. Math, reading, writing, science, you name it. Although math patterns suck. Always. I hate them. Writing is cool. Patterns in writing is like poems. They are works of art really grasping attention.
You trace the shapes imprinted on my skin from the blanket as it pressed against me. You leaned in to kiss me too soon and I can still feel the same pattern repeating time after time on my heart.
The monstrosity’s pattern was black and white stripes racing down in a spiral toward claws made of iron. His tongue like wick held the flame of his wrath and his teeth the sharp horns that blew fatal desires. I struck at his noise with a stave I had carved from an old willow tree that always seemed to be ever crying.
The fabric looked like it should be hanging from a Scotsman`s shoulder, the pattern akin to a kilt more so than an actual skirt. Absolutely not.
The constant things in life. The thins that never change. Some patterns are planned, others simply happen. They provide security from the chaos we face everyday. Patterns are security
i saw it for the first time-a pattern which came to define every decision i made. What would my dad want me to do? my friends? my school? how would people see me differently if I did what I wanted to do?
and the pattern stops.
repeating, colour, happy, double, triple, change, consistent, beautiful, shapes, numbers, letters, fractals, world, life, love……..
art, geometric, can be found anywhere and in anything. Even the most simple pattern can be beautiful. behavior.
I already did this word. I’m seeing a pattern with this site.
Originally I talked about how you are not supposed to have repeating patterns in your clothes.
Next, I talked about how pattern recognition is a valuable skill to have that helps in all of life.
Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. It’s what make the world, right?
But it’s the differences that define us. Standing out of conformity, a one amidst the zeros. This gives way to color. To life. To Joy.
But then why is it that patterns are a source of pleasure, of serenity and peace to our wandering minds?
One, two, three,
the colours of ethnicity
Blinding beauty
An array of spectral prisms
when i first see the word pattern the first thing i think about is a quilt, all the different peaks and valleys of the thread, how all sorts of different and contrasting hues seem to swin together into the different patterns of the quote. I like quilts in the way because they remind me to keep and eye on the big picture, you know? How it all works together in the end, no matter how different the colors and stitches are, eventually, it all fits.
I was beginning to see a pattern. He climbed to the top of my happiness and reached for the next rung, disappointed to find there was none. So he fell a few down, to always keep climbing. And you know what? He always keeps climbing, falling, climbing, falling, following the same pattern year after year.
I don’t know how I feel about patterns. I like them on clothes. But I don’t like living a pattern out. But back to clothes, they can really be nice. Wearing plain clothes all the time and then transitioning to patterns: quite nice.
lots of them. everywhere. tessellating and undulating. tiles on the wall, perhaps. Or notes in a song.
There was no use in pretending the top matched the bottom. Plaid and dots just clashed in this atrocious mix of fabrics. I would be fired for this no doubt. But I hadn’t the time to change anything. My best bet was that they just wouldn’t notice the display until tomorrow.
The window opened. It was strange today. Something was off. My muscle memory challenged, I tried to find my way around. Failing. Tripping. Clearly, I was now a prisoner of patterns.
i love patterns i love patterns this is a pattern about patterns i love lamp because its so legit like the movie step brothers with will farrell and john c reilly. its directed by adam mckay. patterns are found all around us. in flower and nature and your face and your moms face. this time is almost running out i know how to grammar. cant you tell?
Art. All art based on pattern, or lack of pattern. Repetition. All life. All of it is based on pattern. It’s the one thing our brains are always always doing is looking for it. We see it even when it’s not there. That’s Pattern.
I feel sorry for people whose biggest accomplishment post-high school is hooking up with people who are still in high school and 19, and who brag about doing a basic job that anyone with a middle school education could do. And then they have a pattern of bragging about how much everyone loves them and wants to hook up with them. Sorry but this is a sign of low self-esteem. And perhaps my writing also sounds like low self-esteem but quite honestly I just feel sorry for them and the extraordinarily low standards they have set for themselves. I have found a model for what I don’t want to become.
Pattern? Seriously? What kind of word is that? Why would I get pattern, of all the bloody things??? What am I supposed to write about pattern? … My hat has a pattern, there’s a pattern to everything? I dunno.
patterns can be made with all sorts of things. it can be polka dots or stripes. it can cover animals or be worn by people as clothes. patterns create color and a pop to everything it is on.
Patterns are nice, they make sense. Unlike my life, which doesn’t make any sense. I wish there was a pattern to it, I would be more sane. But here I am. Patternless.
She saw a repeating sequence. It was familiar, and she was able to know beyond that sequence. What she saw was knowledge. What she saw was pattern.
Repeating patterns within our lives
We dwell in our habits, and we dwell in repeating structures
only because repetitions are so easy to feel comfortable with
the pattern was endless.. it flowed it rippled it never changed. and yet it was a web of complexities, minute differences… we would never escape we would be trapped forever…
Your face is unlike it. No pattern has formed it. I can see your smile, lopsided and yet more perfect than any mold. The shape of your face is like a bruised orange. Sweet and tangy, and still…perfect.
I wished upon a pattern. It was silly, childish. Cats dancing on musical staffs. But as I sat on the hard floor of the pantry, clutching that apron around me like a shield from the blows, I wish one simple thing. I wished to be free.
Are you a part of a pattern, or something a bit more radical? I suppose it’s hard to know, for how can one know they are part of a pattern when they can’t see past themselves? We can marvel at the fact that we are so unique, and hope that we aren’t just another copy.. but will we ever know for sure? It’s doubtful.
An historical pattern, you can see it looking back. You can see that all of human history follows a pattern – and that pattern is repeated in every history. The history of America, of the last 50 years, of your life and of your friends. Of today. Of tomorrow, and of all your thoughts. Of this writing.