the sky is blue. we look at it every day. Am I the only one who finds myself wondering what the sky feels like? if one were able to say, grab a handful of sky. Would it be smooth?
The feeling of a soft blanket on a cold day held up against your face as you bury yourself in it and hide from the falling snowflakes and cold winter days. The soft skin of a newborn baby unmarred by the world and it’s cruelties.
Rachel
The texture follows me between the crack of my days and the people’s eyes. It’s like death, or something not evil but wrong aspected. I’d like say “texture” like I said mother or love. But It’s difficult, and I don’t have time.
lumpy, course, slippery. When my tea cup is empty I grab the tea bag and put it into my mouth to suck out the rest of the magic before it evaporates into the air where it’s inhaled by wasteful beings who’ll only sneeze it out or mix it with their cigarette smoke which will aid in their black lung disease or whatever those people die from.
kyrie standridge
the texture of life, the smell of roughness, the coldness of heat, the millions of threads that fill our lives, without texture there is nothingness
Sandra
Voy a fingir que es otra palabra. I’ll pretend it’s other word. La misma. The same. Not, other. Pero qué palabra… Sometimes i’m feel without a conceptual marco.
Está mal que sea sólo una palabra. Y encima en inglés. Alta paja man. Textura, ya dije, ojos, genitales, baba, gusanos dentro del iris. Quisiera hablar de un paisaje moderno lleno de mujeres tropicanas cibernéticamente viables, con sus sexos lubricados artificialmente. Pero no. Tengo que decir “texture”. Para Siempre. Sólo por hoy.
The wall felt bumpy as I ran a finger over it, the bumpiness turned to smoth as I transitioned from paint to wallpaper. Outside, deep groves bumped over my fingers as I followed the stone wall.
rough texture. smooth texture. Even people can have textures. Tough, soft, scared. The list goes on.
Chris
Odio la textura del iris humano, sus recovecos animales, llenos de grietas naturales, me recuerdan a los genitales tanto masculinos como femeninos, y deseo alejarme lo más posible de la persona para perder de vista esas texture tan particulares.
tiresias
Sleeping is such a bliss when you have a soft, comfortable blanket with an amazing print and texture. Not only do you feel good while sleeping, it also makes your bedroom look gorgeous during the day. Anyone you invite to your house will love the look of the bedroom with your beautiful bedspread, and all the surroundings handpicked to match.
The texture of you. Smooth skin, stubble on your face, so warm and soft. The contours of your abs and your chiseled arms.
the sky is blue. we look at it every day. Am I the only one who finds myself wondering what the sky feels like? if one were able to say, grab a handful of sky. Would it be smooth?
Carpeted trombone. Silken toothpaste. Minty aftertaste. Philosophy stricken puppy. Love sick guppy. Molten footprints.
The feeling of a soft blanket on a cold day held up against your face as you bury yourself in it and hide from the falling snowflakes and cold winter days. The soft skin of a newborn baby unmarred by the world and it’s cruelties.
The texture follows me between the crack of my days and the people’s eyes. It’s like death, or something not evil but wrong aspected. I’d like say “texture” like I said mother or love. But It’s difficult, and I don’t have time.
lumpy, course, slippery. When my tea cup is empty I grab the tea bag and put it into my mouth to suck out the rest of the magic before it evaporates into the air where it’s inhaled by wasteful beings who’ll only sneeze it out or mix it with their cigarette smoke which will aid in their black lung disease or whatever those people die from.
the texture of life, the smell of roughness, the coldness of heat, the millions of threads that fill our lives, without texture there is nothingness
Voy a fingir que es otra palabra. I’ll pretend it’s other word. La misma. The same. Not, other. Pero qué palabra… Sometimes i’m feel without a conceptual marco.
Está mal que sea sólo una palabra. Y encima en inglés. Alta paja man. Textura, ya dije, ojos, genitales, baba, gusanos dentro del iris. Quisiera hablar de un paisaje moderno lleno de mujeres tropicanas cibernéticamente viables, con sus sexos lubricados artificialmente. Pero no. Tengo que decir “texture”. Para Siempre. Sólo por hoy.
The wall felt bumpy as I ran a finger over it, the bumpiness turned to smoth as I transitioned from paint to wallpaper. Outside, deep groves bumped over my fingers as I followed the stone wall.
the way things feel
sandpaper rough
soft as a duck’s feather
the clouds are pillows
the tongue of a cat
the touch of life
rough texture. smooth texture. Even people can have textures. Tough, soft, scared. The list goes on.
Odio la textura del iris humano, sus recovecos animales, llenos de grietas naturales, me recuerdan a los genitales tanto masculinos como femeninos, y deseo alejarme lo más posible de la persona para perder de vista esas texture tan particulares.
Sleeping is such a bliss when you have a soft, comfortable blanket with an amazing print and texture. Not only do you feel good while sleeping, it also makes your bedroom look gorgeous during the day. Anyone you invite to your house will love the look of the bedroom with your beautiful bedspread, and all the surroundings handpicked to match.