dreamworld.
the railroad track spirals through the sky,
which is gold and violet and smudged around the edges.
below the track, there are a million little dream bubbles,
waiting to be popped so they can lure in the dreamer with their strange, eccentric voices.
above the track there is a surface,
where lies an unwelcome reality that all dreamers must eventually return to.
for now, however, in the black velvet of sleep,
the dreamers,
once again free and innocent,
run along the railroad tracks of dreamworld,
uncovering colorful, extraordinary, and mysterious ideas
that they will forget the instant their alarm clocks ring.
Melanie
They were running round, and round, and round. People were cheering.Suddenly, there was a halt. He had won gold. Track and field was their life. They did it
Romy
Keeping track. I hate that. I don’t like running track either. I always feel like I’m off track. I want to get on track but tracks are straight and boring and have a hard time going uphill. Maybe that’s why I resist them. Track. I need to let go of tracks!
Katie
As im running along following the track
I look around and see all the cracks
It’s like my life broken and beaten
But in the end it leads straight to him.
Chris
Track! I like to keep track of the animal tracks which imprint the snow along the railway tracks leading into the forest. By my side, in my little cabin, a tracker dog lies waiting as I check my tracker shares… Where’s this story going?
I can’t keep track….
We are living in a one track m ind world- everyone follows another mindlessly. We are all sheep and it pains me to say this. I wish there were different tracks and a map for each one. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Everyone would have their own path through life.
Thelea
“Let’s track the Gruharu”, suggested Blaise. “What for?,” asked Zaine. He’ll know what to do in this situation. “I think it’s the only way we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Blaise replied.
We’re thinking about these problems we have, and I have to admit I’m rather glad that you and I are wise and true, and I get to stay on track with you.
running. field to my right. the green grass glows. the lines guide my powerfully pumping muscles, breath heaving in and out, in and out, the oxygen pumping my lungs. sweat drips down my face and I can almost see colors in it, like those overly animated gatorade commercials. No one is watching. No one is there. I am in my head.
Sukie Baxter
Track pants: what people wear when waistbands begin to irritate them. That is code for “when the waistline grows”. Unfortunately, they look good only on slim people.
Margaret
I keep track of so many stupid things. Some times I run on the tracks and this is coming out really stupid too.
I have said stupid two times in less than a minute.
That’s so much not me… but I have not been me lately. So that’s not weird at all.
I could keep track of my improvements
Evelyn
I have a one track mind… in the pursuit of happiness :-)
paulie aragon
Track-track-track. Scheiße, das Hinterrad. Alois hatte mir gesagt, ich soll lieber nicht losfahren, er wollte noch einen Blick auf die Achse werfen. Aber ich war sauer auf ihn, ich wollte seine Hilfe nicht annehmen. Und jetzt hatte mich mein eigener Stolz von hinten erwischt. Track-track-track.
Scooter was back on track in March, serving pancakes at Bobby Pan’s diner just down the street from his grandmother’s house. His grandfather’s death, though sudden, had inspired him to get off the couch once and for all, most likely leaving a human imprint on the worn down cerulean cushions. He was glad to get away from the smell, too.
Bringing a plate of waffles laden with syrup to the pretty girl at the corner table, Scooter smiled. It was a broken toothed smile, similar to his gramps, the kind of smile they exchanged when they had gone fishing together years earlier.
Belinda Roddie
Sweat drips down his forehead and between his shoulder blades as he jogs around the track. It is an uncharacteristically hot day and he’s been here two hours already, running to clear his mind.
The chaos is still crashing in waves against his skull.
Right left, right left, is the only thing that keeps the thoughts from exploding out of him. So, he runs. He runs, and he doesn’t stop.
On the right track? You think so? Well someone must have laid it here, must go somewhere, must have something going for it. Unless they didn’t know where they were going either, unless they had gone too far before they realised they couldn’t turn back now, couldn’t rip up the path. Everyone would know they’d gone wrong.
Jane
Once apon a time there was a boy who liked to run track, but then he died and became the track ghost. So he haunted everyone who liked to run. And then someone called the ghostbusters and got rid of him.
Julia
a running track, reminds me of softball over the summer where we always had to walk over that hugee track and me and ashley would always walk together.
Claire
He kept on track, chasing that rabbit which scuttled away from before him. He was losing it though. He was on course but behind; it was disappearing as they entered the first bend. It had gotten away from him once they exited it.
He kept on track, shuttling along chasing that rabbit which scuttled away from before him. He was losing it though. He was on course but behind, it was dissapearing as they entered the first bend. It was away from him once they exited it.
Matt
it’s a long, empty track, and i am staring at it. is there no end to it? that’s what it seems like. i don’t see the point.
but then i see her. a long way off, but still reachable. she waves, her smile friendly. i wave back, wondering if i am dreaming. because this track seemed to be so empty. but now there seems to be someone here.
lillian
running, long jump, tracking shipments at GXi, track grades, sprinters, state champs, keni harrison, mollie williams, fastest runner, olympics, 800, slow, cross country.
Grace
Track suits, gym class, asphalt, gym class, running, hurdles, sweat, summer, skinny boy legs, short shorts, gym shoes, spikes, not my favorite thing, wish I could run more and wish I enjoyed it! Indoors our out, summer, winter, fall, spring, they always run around the sa
Amanda H
Track is a lot of things to me. It is a sport that I have become very much close to. It’s like a person that you don’t like but you do at the same time. It’s a fly you can’t get rid of. It just swoops in a buzzes around you until you just can’t take it anymore.
Hannah
Track
Sometimes my mind lets me do it, sometimes not. When I’m ON track, I can be sharp and witty and oh so fun. But when my mind refuses to track, I can’t even follow a simple conversation. It’s pretty sad when even a sitcom doesn’t make sense because my mind has slipped into a ditch.
CameoRoze
The haggered old lady trudged down the track, her arms laden with heavy sacks. She always collected her firewood on a Thursday. She had done this for the last twenty years.
Kimberley Stone
He was infuriatingly complacent, and Joanie tried hard not to grit her teeth–audibly at least.
Stubborn ass with a one-track mind, she thought to herself. She wanted to kick that ass so hard that it bounced. At least twice.
track track my past with a tick tock cross.
limiting the number of tragedies you define yourself by.
increasing the freedom of a flying bird. track.
run in circles my friend.
for the only thing you are fighting
is time.
and the only thing you are running from
is yourself.
Tracking down the killer. Sherlock Holmes has arrived on the scene. What can you tell us? Shut up, Anderson. I’m going to my mind palace. He went that way. Shut up, Anderson. This way. John? Follow me, please. Come on. Quickly! We have to find him.
Keeping your life on track. Setting goals. The difference between the person who writes themselves a ten thousand dollar check and puts it under their bed and the person who laughs at the idea. Keep on, keeping on. I think, in some way, i will never be on track. I will always be above or around the track. I continue to track whatever I want to track. I think
I raced around the track like a rabbit, my feet flopping against the pavement. I can’t get this get to me, I won’t let it get me. I can’t let him destroy me. So I run. I run around the track like a rabbit, my feet flopping against the pavement. I can’t let it get me.
Ashley Mills
The two men moved stealthily through the forest, their quarry unaware of their presence. Slowly they approached it; it’s death inevitable.
I am on track. It seems at time, we fall off our track and need that bump back up. I think the times when we back up and take a good look at the rails, we can see some things so plainly. Other times the mist is too think and we are blocked from view.
Sherlock gripped his knees tightly as his body spasmed a little, curling even tighter into himself. “John, PLEASE,” he begged, “Just one. Just one, just today. No more tomorrow.”
John crossed his arms, the patches clutched tightly in his left fist. “No, Sherlock, you promided. Cold turkey.” He frowned at the miserable expression on the frazzled addict’s face. “How will you know that you really need them if you don’t try without? Now come out of that chair, you’ll cramp up if you curl any tighter.”
John stuffed the patches into his desk and came closer to tug on Sherlock’s arm, coaxing him out of the chair and into a standing position. “Let’s go get some air,” he cooed, pulling Sherlock towards the door.
Sherlovk reluctantlu complied, eventually muttering “Thank you” as they made it outside.
“Hrm?” John looked up, “What for?”
“For keeping me on track.”
im gettin to be on the right track, doing the right things making the right moves, I’m aligning myself with what I was really meant to do and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
I work with girls who work the track. They work on the track. They don’t work. They are exploited. Someone is making money off of them. Someone is selling them. They are only kids. Children. There are adult men who see them on the track. They ask them how much. They buy them. They steal their childhood. Their innocence. They are just kids. They should be playing with teddy bears.
Sandy Skelaney
She ran around the track with the speed and intensity of a wild animal hunting its first meal in weeks. Nothing could move her focus. Nothing could slow her down. The wind in her hair rushed by and the noise was deafening, just as she had hoped it would be.
dreamworld.
the railroad track spirals through the sky,
which is gold and violet and smudged around the edges.
below the track, there are a million little dream bubbles,
waiting to be popped so they can lure in the dreamer with their strange, eccentric voices.
above the track there is a surface,
where lies an unwelcome reality that all dreamers must eventually return to.
for now, however, in the black velvet of sleep,
the dreamers,
once again free and innocent,
run along the railroad tracks of dreamworld,
uncovering colorful, extraordinary, and mysterious ideas
that they will forget the instant their alarm clocks ring.
They were running round, and round, and round. People were cheering.Suddenly, there was a halt. He had won gold. Track and field was their life. They did it
Keeping track. I hate that. I don’t like running track either. I always feel like I’m off track. I want to get on track but tracks are straight and boring and have a hard time going uphill. Maybe that’s why I resist them. Track. I need to let go of tracks!
As im running along following the track
I look around and see all the cracks
It’s like my life broken and beaten
But in the end it leads straight to him.
Track! I like to keep track of the animal tracks which imprint the snow along the railway tracks leading into the forest. By my side, in my little cabin, a tracker dog lies waiting as I check my tracker shares… Where’s this story going?
I can’t keep track….
We are living in a one track m ind world- everyone follows another mindlessly. We are all sheep and it pains me to say this. I wish there were different tracks and a map for each one. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Everyone would have their own path through life.
“Let’s track the Gruharu”, suggested Blaise. “What for?,” asked Zaine. He’ll know what to do in this situation. “I think it’s the only way we’ll get to the bottom of this,” Blaise replied.
We’re thinking about these problems we have, and I have to admit I’m rather glad that you and I are wise and true, and I get to stay on track with you.
Mybig brother runs track, and then so will I. It will be really fun I think. But my coach is mean. He doesn’t like me. Oh well! It should be fun.
My icy blue veins
create a track
for almost-lovers’
finger tips to
ski down slowly.
Slipping, slipping.
Sometimes,
they find my fingertips
or my belt loops
or my zipper.
Trace across the track
the tripping lane down the palm
the crease, the grease built up
from polite handshakes and
running. field to my right. the green grass glows. the lines guide my powerfully pumping muscles, breath heaving in and out, in and out, the oxygen pumping my lungs. sweat drips down my face and I can almost see colors in it, like those overly animated gatorade commercials. No one is watching. No one is there. I am in my head.
Track pants: what people wear when waistbands begin to irritate them. That is code for “when the waistline grows”. Unfortunately, they look good only on slim people.
I keep track of so many stupid things. Some times I run on the tracks and this is coming out really stupid too.
I have said stupid two times in less than a minute.
That’s so much not me… but I have not been me lately. So that’s not weird at all.
I could keep track of my improvements
I have a one track mind… in the pursuit of happiness :-)
Track-track-track. Scheiße, das Hinterrad. Alois hatte mir gesagt, ich soll lieber nicht losfahren, er wollte noch einen Blick auf die Achse werfen. Aber ich war sauer auf ihn, ich wollte seine Hilfe nicht annehmen. Und jetzt hatte mich mein eigener Stolz von hinten erwischt. Track-track-track.
Scooter was back on track in March, serving pancakes at Bobby Pan’s diner just down the street from his grandmother’s house. His grandfather’s death, though sudden, had inspired him to get off the couch once and for all, most likely leaving a human imprint on the worn down cerulean cushions. He was glad to get away from the smell, too.
Bringing a plate of waffles laden with syrup to the pretty girl at the corner table, Scooter smiled. It was a broken toothed smile, similar to his gramps, the kind of smile they exchanged when they had gone fishing together years earlier.
Sweat drips down his forehead and between his shoulder blades as he jogs around the track. It is an uncharacteristically hot day and he’s been here two hours already, running to clear his mind.
The chaos is still crashing in waves against his skull.
Right left, right left, is the only thing that keeps the thoughts from exploding out of him. So, he runs. He runs, and he doesn’t stop.
On the right track? You think so? Well someone must have laid it here, must go somewhere, must have something going for it. Unless they didn’t know where they were going either, unless they had gone too far before they realised they couldn’t turn back now, couldn’t rip up the path. Everyone would know they’d gone wrong.
Once apon a time there was a boy who liked to run track, but then he died and became the track ghost. So he haunted everyone who liked to run. And then someone called the ghostbusters and got rid of him.
a running track, reminds me of softball over the summer where we always had to walk over that hugee track and me and ashley would always walk together.
He kept on track, chasing that rabbit which scuttled away from before him. He was losing it though. He was on course but behind; it was disappearing as they entered the first bend. It had gotten away from him once they exited it.
He kept on track, shuttling along chasing that rabbit which scuttled away from before him. He was losing it though. He was on course but behind, it was dissapearing as they entered the first bend. It was away from him once they exited it.
it’s a long, empty track, and i am staring at it. is there no end to it? that’s what it seems like. i don’t see the point.
but then i see her. a long way off, but still reachable. she waves, her smile friendly. i wave back, wondering if i am dreaming. because this track seemed to be so empty. but now there seems to be someone here.
running, long jump, tracking shipments at GXi, track grades, sprinters, state champs, keni harrison, mollie williams, fastest runner, olympics, 800, slow, cross country.
Track suits, gym class, asphalt, gym class, running, hurdles, sweat, summer, skinny boy legs, short shorts, gym shoes, spikes, not my favorite thing, wish I could run more and wish I enjoyed it! Indoors our out, summer, winter, fall, spring, they always run around the sa
Track is a lot of things to me. It is a sport that I have become very much close to. It’s like a person that you don’t like but you do at the same time. It’s a fly you can’t get rid of. It just swoops in a buzzes around you until you just can’t take it anymore.
Track
Sometimes my mind lets me do it, sometimes not. When I’m ON track, I can be sharp and witty and oh so fun. But when my mind refuses to track, I can’t even follow a simple conversation. It’s pretty sad when even a sitcom doesn’t make sense because my mind has slipped into a ditch.
The haggered old lady trudged down the track, her arms laden with heavy sacks. She always collected her firewood on a Thursday. She had done this for the last twenty years.
He was infuriatingly complacent, and Joanie tried hard not to grit her teeth–audibly at least.
Stubborn ass with a one-track mind, she thought to herself. She wanted to kick that ass so hard that it bounced. At least twice.
track track my past with a tick tock cross.
limiting the number of tragedies you define yourself by.
increasing the freedom of a flying bird. track.
run in circles my friend.
for the only thing you are fighting
is time.
and the only thing you are running from
is yourself.
Tracking down the killer. Sherlock Holmes has arrived on the scene. What can you tell us? Shut up, Anderson. I’m going to my mind palace. He went that way. Shut up, Anderson. This way. John? Follow me, please. Come on. Quickly! We have to find him.
Keeping your life on track. Setting goals. The difference between the person who writes themselves a ten thousand dollar check and puts it under their bed and the person who laughs at the idea. Keep on, keeping on. I think, in some way, i will never be on track. I will always be above or around the track. I continue to track whatever I want to track. I think
I raced around the track like a rabbit, my feet flopping against the pavement. I can’t get this get to me, I won’t let it get me. I can’t let him destroy me. So I run. I run around the track like a rabbit, my feet flopping against the pavement. I can’t let it get me.
The two men moved stealthily through the forest, their quarry unaware of their presence. Slowly they approached it; it’s death inevitable.
I am on track. It seems at time, we fall off our track and need that bump back up. I think the times when we back up and take a good look at the rails, we can see some things so plainly. Other times the mist is too think and we are blocked from view.
Sherlock gripped his knees tightly as his body spasmed a little, curling even tighter into himself. “John, PLEASE,” he begged, “Just one. Just one, just today. No more tomorrow.”
John crossed his arms, the patches clutched tightly in his left fist. “No, Sherlock, you promided. Cold turkey.” He frowned at the miserable expression on the frazzled addict’s face. “How will you know that you really need them if you don’t try without? Now come out of that chair, you’ll cramp up if you curl any tighter.”
John stuffed the patches into his desk and came closer to tug on Sherlock’s arm, coaxing him out of the chair and into a standing position. “Let’s go get some air,” he cooed, pulling Sherlock towards the door.
Sherlovk reluctantlu complied, eventually muttering “Thank you” as they made it outside.
“Hrm?” John looked up, “What for?”
“For keeping me on track.”
im gettin to be on the right track, doing the right things making the right moves, I’m aligning myself with what I was really meant to do and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
I work with girls who work the track. They work on the track. They don’t work. They are exploited. Someone is making money off of them. Someone is selling them. They are only kids. Children. There are adult men who see them on the track. They ask them how much. They buy them. They steal their childhood. Their innocence. They are just kids. They should be playing with teddy bears.
She ran around the track with the speed and intensity of a wild animal hunting its first meal in weeks. Nothing could move her focus. Nothing could slow her down. The wind in her hair rushed by and the noise was deafening, just as she had hoped it would be.