What is real?
What we see?
What we feel?
What we think?
What does “real” even mean?
What’s present?
What’s past?
What about the future?
Will it last?
Will “real” prevail?
Kellyn
What is real? How do I know my dreams aren’t real and what I am seeing now is a distorted form of reality? Is love real? Can you be linked to someone in such a manner? Is it natural? The topic of real is much like that of truth for me. All it does is bring me questions.
Real? That has to be the hardest word to free write on ever? How do you know what is real? Eveveryone’s perception is different and is what we perceive real at all or is it ll illusion? Maybe reality is an “illusion” because it is someo
This is real. Its real. This is finally happening. My life seems like its going somewhere. the taxi window is dotted with raindrops and i laugh as they ‘race’ each other down the glass. I see the cab driver shoot me a strange look from the front seat.
Amanda
Sometimes we dream, we imagine, and sometimes we see what truly is. People often fear that they don’t truly know what is ‘real’, and i feel this is irrational. What we feel is real, how we achieve that is unimportant. Irrelevant. The emotions and memories matter most.
Alisander K.A.
real friend, real love, real trust, really, I don’t see anything real in this world since a few days. it only seems fake. people aren’t real. I wish i could meet a REAL person. who isn’t fake. cause I’m tired of thse bitches.I wish his feeling were real.. I wish our friendship was real…I don’t think he’s being real to me. Got nothing else to say about real.
whabogni
I want to be real. That the sky is filled with clouds and birds sing sweet songs when they’re happy real. I want you to see that I feel your love from the breadth of your fingers ’cause it’s real. We’re real, love. Believe in us.
It’s not synthetic, he thought, but how could it be genuine? After all, it’s basically crushed dinosaur remains. But wait, what’s that say on the label? ‘Baby?’ They crushed babies into oil!?! And he thought he had it rough.
Really? How am I supposed to believe in the reality. The reality of the moment is so fragile as it slips from our grasps and enters the same real, but different time elapse in reality, which makes it real.
Allie Vaccaro
Skin, hair, eyes, lips, nose, legs, Fitness body, awesome, real life. Fantasy, dream world, incredible, live your dream. feel alive, no plastic surgery beautiful the way good made it.
Natasha
What is real? real is everything that happenes in this fucked up world. real is love. real is caring and emotion and expression. Realism is a whole particular part of the art world. Ironically realism is the absence of real.
Alexandra
what is real? reality? real time? Are we living in the now the real world? or are we in our own world that our minds created? and are constantly creating? whats better? does living to the fullest have to be in the real world?
Kate Scott
“You really want to know?” She rolled over to her stomach and craned her head back to look at me.
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” She wrinkled her nose. “What do you want me to say?”
“Something? Something different.”
“Exactly how different?”
“Just…tell me…tell me you’re real.”
Those cherry red lips quirked into a pout and then she rolled over again, this time to lie on her back. she waved me forward, with both arms, beckoning, as she stared up at me, upside down to her view.
“What?” I tried again.
She winked, gesturing again.
I leaned down, careful not to overbalance, only to wobble dangerously when she reached up and yanked me down to her level.
Those cherry red lips really did taste like cherries–and they were soft and firm at the same time. It was a kiss to remember among kisses and when we parted, I was sure. She was definitely, very, very–real.
Imagine all the reality. Its clear and there in your thoughts. How do you believe in it. Does it shape the world? Can i trust this meaning..?
rebecca
I know that this is real. I am positive with every fiber of my being. I have never known someone so in tune with my own soul; the funny part is that I have known him for so long. I don’t know exactly what it is that changed over the 3 years we were apart but it is as if our souls and minds have been molded into puzzle pieces that fit but hadn’t fit before.
Krista
He’s real. I can not believe it. I thought he was just part of my imagination. But now he is really here. I go up and say hi and hug him. He steps back and doesn’t realize who I am. I start to let tears fall down my face. He doesn’t remember anything about us.
What is real? Few of us can say, locked in this miasmatic home that they call the Gatehouse. This is where dreams and horrors go to die. However, they never can die, really… So they come here, to torment those poor mortal souls trapped here on accident. I have faith, in time that all of us shall become horrors, too.
Sometimes,
it gets hard to tell if it’s real.
Is it just me or
do you feel it too?
Am I going crazy?
But, then
you say that I’m not alone
and those night-thoughts are concrete.
It’s real.
It’s true.
M
it’s not. it’s always shifting, so it can’t always be. But that’s fine.
Dana
I couldn’t believe it was real. I had dreamed of this day my whole life. Seeing the beautiful buildings, the shining city. It was all real. The place of my dreams was here. Paris.
Kellyn
Are you for real? You’re really going to treat me like that? But I guess this is real, and what I want is fake. I prefer fake a lot more.
“A realidade é tudo aqui que não é ilusão. E o que não é ilusão? Tudo parece miragem. Certa sombra de algo que não se pode alcançar.” Pensava o faxineiro que ouvia a música de Crostovisk Land. A realidade é uma vassoura. Vai limpando as nossas ilusões.
Marcos
I want to write.
I want to be one of those people for whom words flow, real and tangible and simply unstoppable. I wish I didn’t have to force them out in staccato bursts of mediocrity. I’m not sure what my problem is; I can compose entire novels in my mind during class hours that I should spend focusing on math problems. But when I finally sit down and try to shape my thoughts into physical being, the words always escape me.
abandoning all sense of time and space,
reality fades away to reaveal something
much more wonderful and amazing,
soaking our thoughs with dreams and desires,
imaginaion is what makes our own realaliies.
Oh my this is for real, so real, as real as it gets; this life. I like reality, I’m good at living in it and for it. The present moment is the realist moment that we ever get to know and it’s wonderful and amazing and oh so real.
charlie
Everything around me is real, yet I am not real. I feel like a ghost, simply a presence floating around the lively crowds enjoying the grass between their toes and the feeling of the hot sun beating down on the park. I feel as alive as the cracked china dolls that sit on my bedside table. No one acknowledges my existence, therefore I am not real. I am fake.
What is real? Some say it something you can touch, but not what you can imagine. What I can imagine seems more real to me, because it tells my story. It is mine.
Geordan Burks
What is real. Well everything in the world around us is real. There are facts and myths in the whole world. Scientific evidence will explain the facts. Mythology is for the myths. Not everything you see and hear may be real, but science can prove what real. People may have their own religious beliefs as well as I do that may explain certain things that are real that contradict with what science says. Some people believe big foot is real while some do not. Scientific evidence from the government supports big foot is not real while mythology does support big foot is real. Is God real to you? He is to me, but he may not be to others because of others different beliefs. Everyone has their own perspective on what is real. Not everyone can agree on what is real which causes debate.
Real? What is real? Real can be many of things like the love between a man and a woman. but Real love between man woman and God is better. Just saying.
Dominic
THE STRUGGLE IS REAL. Seriously. I’m not going to turn this into an angsty post, but brother, the struggle is real. Work is building up and i am getting back into my old habits. Also, there is constantly a slight lag with my keyboard caps lock key. ANNOYING. I hope I have a single next year.
gk
“Is it real?” she asked as they stared into the beauty. It wasn’t an overdone beauty, one that knocks you to your feet and brings up heavenly emotions. It was beautiful because it was pure, because it was right, it was created and meant to be.
Real. You have to stop all this imaginary bullshit and start living in the real world. Real World? I asked. She looked at me with this air of snooty omniscience. Yeah, one of these days you’re gonna have to face it that you aren’t some special unique little snowflake and get on with it. No words could describe all of the things that were bubbling up to the edge of my mouth ready to explode in violent vomit all over his self-righteous hypocrisy. I just stood up and signed the universal message for FUCK YOU. A few people laughed, a few clapped, and a few just stopped talking mid sentence and looked astonished that someone would dare do such a thing in their presence. At the end of the day that had to be one of the better blind dates I’d been on. I’m definitely not calling her again though.
The most real thing in life is corruption. There is corruption in the government, the schools, and life in general. I’m afraid to trust in anyone right now. Someone, though I barely know him, I will always trust him; he is touchable, he is real.
Mandy
He wined and dined her liked no other man ever had. He treated her like a queen, and took her to the most expensive places, but she knew when something was too good to be to be true, it was rarely the real thing.
Sheila Good
“What I want is a -real- woman,” he said, and sat back to drink his coke.
“Your first mistake was thinking that your opinion matters at all, to me, or to any women.”
“And the second,” he asked and smirked.
She clenched her fingers into a fist as she stood up, and spoke as she swung. “Opening your fucking mouth.”
Everything is real. Even when you don’t want it to be real, Problems are real. He’s real. My past is real. I guess what hurts the most is that i have to wake up and realized that he really is gone. That my past with him is real. It’s so real that it hurts even when one year has passed. I hate this feeling. Im afraid to let people in, but most importantly im afraid to kick him out of my life.
Is it real. Is all of this real? Or is it a figment of my imagination? How will we ever know how real this life is. I throw myself into it and see how real it can be. Sometimes real is fearful. Most times real is relevant. I know what I feel is real. Or do I?
not even sure what this is anymore. it seems as if whats real is only so in a moment. the moment passes and real fades/morphes/develops into something not formerly realized. there isn’t anything wrong with this fading/morphing/developing but it neglects to house my trust. trust and lack there of—not much realer than that.
really i am just exhausted
of my life
and trying to fit in
really i am just lost
in a maze
of social expectations
and hormones
really
i just want to be real
zzz
Real? Is it? I don’t know anymore. The colours, the shapes, the voices… Are they real? Or just another figment? I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
What is real?
What we see?
What we feel?
What we think?
What does “real” even mean?
What’s present?
What’s past?
What about the future?
Will it last?
Will “real” prevail?
What is real? How do I know my dreams aren’t real and what I am seeing now is a distorted form of reality? Is love real? Can you be linked to someone in such a manner? Is it natural? The topic of real is much like that of truth for me. All it does is bring me questions.
Real? That has to be the hardest word to free write on ever? How do you know what is real? Eveveryone’s perception is different and is what we perceive real at all or is it ll illusion? Maybe reality is an “illusion” because it is someo
This is real. Its real. This is finally happening. My life seems like its going somewhere. the taxi window is dotted with raindrops and i laugh as they ‘race’ each other down the glass. I see the cab driver shoot me a strange look from the front seat.
Sometimes we dream, we imagine, and sometimes we see what truly is. People often fear that they don’t truly know what is ‘real’, and i feel this is irrational. What we feel is real, how we achieve that is unimportant. Irrelevant. The emotions and memories matter most.
real friend, real love, real trust, really, I don’t see anything real in this world since a few days. it only seems fake. people aren’t real. I wish i could meet a REAL person. who isn’t fake. cause I’m tired of thse bitches.I wish his feeling were real.. I wish our friendship was real…I don’t think he’s being real to me. Got nothing else to say about real.
I want to be real. That the sky is filled with clouds and birds sing sweet songs when they’re happy real. I want you to see that I feel your love from the breadth of your fingers ’cause it’s real. We’re real, love. Believe in us.
It’s not synthetic, he thought, but how could it be genuine? After all, it’s basically crushed dinosaur remains. But wait, what’s that say on the label? ‘Baby?’ They crushed babies into oil!?! And he thought he had it rough.
Really? How am I supposed to believe in the reality. The reality of the moment is so fragile as it slips from our grasps and enters the same real, but different time elapse in reality, which makes it real.
Skin, hair, eyes, lips, nose, legs, Fitness body, awesome, real life. Fantasy, dream world, incredible, live your dream. feel alive, no plastic surgery beautiful the way good made it.
What is real? real is everything that happenes in this fucked up world. real is love. real is caring and emotion and expression. Realism is a whole particular part of the art world. Ironically realism is the absence of real.
what is real? reality? real time? Are we living in the now the real world? or are we in our own world that our minds created? and are constantly creating? whats better? does living to the fullest have to be in the real world?
“You really want to know?” She rolled over to her stomach and craned her head back to look at me.
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” She wrinkled her nose. “What do you want me to say?”
“Something? Something different.”
“Exactly how different?”
“Just…tell me…tell me you’re real.”
Those cherry red lips quirked into a pout and then she rolled over again, this time to lie on her back. she waved me forward, with both arms, beckoning, as she stared up at me, upside down to her view.
“What?” I tried again.
She winked, gesturing again.
I leaned down, careful not to overbalance, only to wobble dangerously when she reached up and yanked me down to her level.
Those cherry red lips really did taste like cherries–and they were soft and firm at the same time. It was a kiss to remember among kisses and when we parted, I was sure. She was definitely, very, very–real.
Imagine all the reality. Its clear and there in your thoughts. How do you believe in it. Does it shape the world? Can i trust this meaning..?
I know that this is real. I am positive with every fiber of my being. I have never known someone so in tune with my own soul; the funny part is that I have known him for so long. I don’t know exactly what it is that changed over the 3 years we were apart but it is as if our souls and minds have been molded into puzzle pieces that fit but hadn’t fit before.
He’s real. I can not believe it. I thought he was just part of my imagination. But now he is really here. I go up and say hi and hug him. He steps back and doesn’t realize who I am. I start to let tears fall down my face. He doesn’t remember anything about us.
What is real? Few of us can say, locked in this miasmatic home that they call the Gatehouse. This is where dreams and horrors go to die. However, they never can die, really… So they come here, to torment those poor mortal souls trapped here on accident. I have faith, in time that all of us shall become horrors, too.
Sometimes,
it gets hard to tell if it’s real.
Is it just me or
do you feel it too?
Am I going crazy?
But, then
you say that I’m not alone
and those night-thoughts are concrete.
It’s real.
It’s true.
it’s not. it’s always shifting, so it can’t always be. But that’s fine.
I couldn’t believe it was real. I had dreamed of this day my whole life. Seeing the beautiful buildings, the shining city. It was all real. The place of my dreams was here. Paris.
Are you for real? You’re really going to treat me like that? But I guess this is real, and what I want is fake. I prefer fake a lot more.
“A realidade é tudo aqui que não é ilusão. E o que não é ilusão? Tudo parece miragem. Certa sombra de algo que não se pode alcançar.” Pensava o faxineiro que ouvia a música de Crostovisk Land. A realidade é uma vassoura. Vai limpando as nossas ilusões.
I want to write.
I want to be one of those people for whom words flow, real and tangible and simply unstoppable. I wish I didn’t have to force them out in staccato bursts of mediocrity. I’m not sure what my problem is; I can compose entire novels in my mind during class hours that I should spend focusing on math problems. But when I finally sit down and try to shape my thoughts into physical being, the words always escape me.
abandoning all sense of time and space,
reality fades away to reaveal something
much more wonderful and amazing,
soaking our thoughs with dreams and desires,
imaginaion is what makes our own realaliies.
Oh my this is for real, so real, as real as it gets; this life. I like reality, I’m good at living in it and for it. The present moment is the realist moment that we ever get to know and it’s wonderful and amazing and oh so real.
Everything around me is real, yet I am not real. I feel like a ghost, simply a presence floating around the lively crowds enjoying the grass between their toes and the feeling of the hot sun beating down on the park. I feel as alive as the cracked china dolls that sit on my bedside table. No one acknowledges my existence, therefore I am not real. I am fake.
What is real? Some say it something you can touch, but not what you can imagine. What I can imagine seems more real to me, because it tells my story. It is mine.
What is real. Well everything in the world around us is real. There are facts and myths in the whole world. Scientific evidence will explain the facts. Mythology is for the myths. Not everything you see and hear may be real, but science can prove what real. People may have their own religious beliefs as well as I do that may explain certain things that are real that contradict with what science says. Some people believe big foot is real while some do not. Scientific evidence from the government supports big foot is not real while mythology does support big foot is real. Is God real to you? He is to me, but he may not be to others because of others different beliefs. Everyone has their own perspective on what is real. Not everyone can agree on what is real which causes debate.
Real? What is real? Real can be many of things like the love between a man and a woman. but Real love between man woman and God is better. Just saying.
THE STRUGGLE IS REAL. Seriously. I’m not going to turn this into an angsty post, but brother, the struggle is real. Work is building up and i am getting back into my old habits. Also, there is constantly a slight lag with my keyboard caps lock key. ANNOYING. I hope I have a single next year.
“Is it real?” she asked as they stared into the beauty. It wasn’t an overdone beauty, one that knocks you to your feet and brings up heavenly emotions. It was beautiful because it was pure, because it was right, it was created and meant to be.
Real. You have to stop all this imaginary bullshit and start living in the real world. Real World? I asked. She looked at me with this air of snooty omniscience. Yeah, one of these days you’re gonna have to face it that you aren’t some special unique little snowflake and get on with it. No words could describe all of the things that were bubbling up to the edge of my mouth ready to explode in violent vomit all over his self-righteous hypocrisy. I just stood up and signed the universal message for FUCK YOU. A few people laughed, a few clapped, and a few just stopped talking mid sentence and looked astonished that someone would dare do such a thing in their presence. At the end of the day that had to be one of the better blind dates I’d been on. I’m definitely not calling her again though.
The most real thing in life is corruption. There is corruption in the government, the schools, and life in general. I’m afraid to trust in anyone right now. Someone, though I barely know him, I will always trust him; he is touchable, he is real.
He wined and dined her liked no other man ever had. He treated her like a queen, and took her to the most expensive places, but she knew when something was too good to be to be true, it was rarely the real thing.
“What I want is a -real- woman,” he said, and sat back to drink his coke.
“Your first mistake was thinking that your opinion matters at all, to me, or to any women.”
“And the second,” he asked and smirked.
She clenched her fingers into a fist as she stood up, and spoke as she swung. “Opening your fucking mouth.”
Everything is real. Even when you don’t want it to be real, Problems are real. He’s real. My past is real. I guess what hurts the most is that i have to wake up and realized that he really is gone. That my past with him is real. It’s so real that it hurts even when one year has passed. I hate this feeling. Im afraid to let people in, but most importantly im afraid to kick him out of my life.
Is it real. Is all of this real? Or is it a figment of my imagination? How will we ever know how real this life is. I throw myself into it and see how real it can be. Sometimes real is fearful. Most times real is relevant. I know what I feel is real. Or do I?
not even sure what this is anymore. it seems as if whats real is only so in a moment. the moment passes and real fades/morphes/develops into something not formerly realized. there isn’t anything wrong with this fading/morphing/developing but it neglects to house my trust. trust and lack there of—not much realer than that.
really i am just exhausted
of my life
and trying to fit in
really i am just lost
in a maze
of social expectations
and hormones
really
i just want to be real
Real? Is it? I don’t know anymore. The colours, the shapes, the voices… Are they real? Or just another figment? I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
Real? Maybe not.