there’s a wasteland here. nothing but a whole bunch of wasteland. it’s dirty. it’s scary. it’s dark. it’s miserable. i want out. there’s no life. it’s my life. nothing to do. no one to see. no one to here me complain. it’s a wasteland here, and i want out…
Jordan
My mind is a wasteland. It’s filled with bullshit I call my emotions and feelings. Actually, I think it’s bullshit. But really it’s a bunch of neurons. That make connections every time I learn something new. In fact, they’re doing that right now. They’re programmed to do so.
Sowji
It used to be the most beautiful place in the world, trees and streams and birds, but people like plastic houses and shitting all over everything they can claim. So now they all own this, a share of nothing; giant houses with windows into other giant houses where the flowers used to grow.
All that comes to mind is an artistic documentary and a song by the Who. Or honestly how the world will eventually be a wasteland. But that’s not important. Or is it? Sixty seconds is not a long time. That’s what Jessi learned today. Baba O’Reily. That’s the song.
Jessi
When you are gone, what will be left? How can you leave us, unsure of who will fill your spot? What if they can’t do it justice? What if they are a hypocrite? What if they just don’t get it? Don’t get us? What if we turn into a wasteland? Don’t leave.
a wet soogy place that everyone tries to avoid. It is wet, sogy, and has unhappy weather. Toads and wetlands dwellers are the only ones found in this place and no one wants to be found here. Very unhappy to stay at
tiffany
There is nothing here. I have been abandoned in this wasteland that is my mind. No. Not abandoned. I can see him staring at me through a window. Mocking my lonliness. He is enjoying my desolate mind.
ARussell
dark. dreary. here in the space between where we used to be and where we never will reach – we lift a drink to our lips in desperation, trying to escape everything.
Bree
A desolate place with no true inhabitant. A place that has suffered from war or conflict. A sad unhappy place with hard living conditions and tough life-styles. Home to anarchists and people with low moral values.
Cortax
a wasteland is a place where people are unhappy, where everyone is sad and there is nothing for no one. so, if there is nothing for no one how do they come back and tell everyone about this place for no one? I honestly have no clue.
Kelli Klein
I honestly can’t think of anything other than Baba O’Reilly when I hear the word wasteland. This brings me back to my junior year in high school’s field trip, sitting on the bed with my best friends while blasting the song that I know is not called Teenage Wasteland but we call it that anyway. Katie Nay is awkwardly dancing while I attempt to do a robot dance, someone is filming us and the rest are talking about how nice it is to be away from school. We were the perfect blend of comfort and fun and everything high school should be. We were young.
I feel as if my emotional life is a wasteland. No one knows about it. No one ever gets let it. It’s not their fault; many have tried, I just never feel brave enough to open up with my feelings. I’m always afraid of feeling vulnerable, of getting teased, or of someone sharing one of my secrets.
Jen
Sometimes the heart becomes a wasteland. A graveyard full of wreckage and skeletal remains of what was, of what’s been lost. When you have lost so much it is hard to look to the future. You don’t want to think about what you could have anymore, because you see only the possibility of losing it.
Brooke Farmer
the wasteland that she calls her soul
she yearned for something more
but didn’t know what
the emptiness took over
and she began to weep
as the wasteland slowly took over the rest of her
it was the end to her misery
the only choice she had
barren. dessert. unreal. un forgiving. time touched. human made. interference. accepted by the most desolate of people. knowing no other means this is perfect. this is ecsape. none to follow from preexisting knowledge.
Joshua miller
you get wasted and drunk? what the fucking god is this? waste is a liquidy stuff, and land is like wonderland so wasteland is waste wonderland? what? shut up. okay i’m done. stop moving.
linh
It was a wasteland, full of trash and slime and muck. So much rotten fruit was littered around the hills as if they were fairies of the wind, riding in on frozen chariots.
my mind is often a wasteland where different things are strewn and discarded. good ideas get lost among piles and piles of junk, and through the center of these mountains of random thought and feeling is a dry dirt path. a waste of good earth. i often close my mind up and walk through that path, thinking, “what the fuck was i thinking?”. wasteland.
talia
people might think that some places have no use, but to someone else, that may just be a paradise. Or maybe, a journey is all it takes to discover something greater within themselves, something that they never dreamed possible.
Nyla Kungiesingh
wastland is a big place with a lot of garbage that stinks and everything that we don’t use goes there wow.
Tanya
This used to be beautiful. I remember listening to the waves crash against the rocks below my window. I loved the way the crystal clear water reflected the sunlight in the mornings. And now, as I dug my toes into what used to be white sand, I could only stare at the wasteland that used to be my home.
Sarah
There is a wasteland in my mind.
tjanus1
The great wasteland of my imagination was filled with with heaps of unlikely characters. the clutter is incredible and i wouldn’t have it any other way.
Symone
I’ve read Eliot’s Wastland a few times. And while I thought it was beautiful there were parts of it that didn’t make sense. Maybe it’s because I’m not living in the time he was living. Maybe it’s because I’m shallow and stupid. Or maybe it’s because I read too much into things.
I just hope one day to be as eloquent as he is.
Kat
The Wasteland is a poem by a guy I don’t remember who lived around World War 2 times or something such like that. The poem was too boring to get through so I didn’t read it. Oh! I think it was T.S Eliot.. or maybe not. Anyway, the word reminds me of a flat surface with many cracks where sharp-biting ants occasionally crawl out of to get caught in the space between the flipflop strap and the foot.
the place you leave all of your dirty laundry and past disappoinments. a place no one can visit unless they are invited. it’s not a place of pride. but of a place that reminds you of all the things you don’t want to encounter again in the future.
welcome to wasteland. i am the mayor, and as such i present you with a welcoming gift: a jello shot! but please miss and mister, be careful these are dangerous concoctions.
I think of teenage wastleland, the song. Those days that we crave smoking and driving. Enjoying youth. Energy and friendship and peace. Happiness and joy and wonder. So much to dream about. In the wastlesand.
Josselyn
Everywhere i look in America today all i see is a wasteland. The poor, the homeless, the welfare babies and coked up kids and i cry for them and me because we are stuck here and can’t get out anymore.
Life is a wasteland. I mean, look at the earth. Everything we do goes to waste. Everything we use. Everything. Sometimes I feel like life itself is a waste. I mean, you live, only to die in the end. What is life? What is waste? Why is life so meaningless, yet so inspirational and worthwhile all at the same time? Why do we waste so much of our lives wondering instead of doing?
Rebecca
My heart is a wasteland. You have sucked it dry, made it devoid of life. The only feeling I have left is an emptiness in my chest where my soul used to sit, before it flew away with blackbird wings. Wings that fled to higher ground once they knew I was lost, lost, lost forever in this endless desert.
Horror movie. Most probably a zombie horror movie, because all wasteland post apocolyptic movies involve zombies. Also I think of the band 10 years.
Ashley
and there zooey was, trapped in the wasteland that once was her mind. Trapped like a carnival elephant, zooey screamed for help but it seemed no one was listening. In reality the six walls of rubber around her were her only friends.
elliott
The green in the middle of the housing estate was destroyed after the bonfire. A wasteland. Sara had heard that somebody had nearly set themselves on fire; it reminded her of a book but she couldn’t remember what it was. Something sad, anyway.
Everything was a wasteland. Along the mountain ridges there stood a few sparse trees, gnarled from the tangling wind. The open land in front of the mountains was dry, cracked, and grey, just like the sky. Behind those cracks, however, was the blindingly bright explosion of the sun.
Kinny Newell
It wasn’t a wasteland but I didn’t know that when I found myself there the first time in the damp foggy drizzle that seemed a solid state with the barren land and the grey clouds. It was a wonderland behind the curtains of my fevered eyes and the racking cough from the fever. It wasn’t wasted on me but I took the long way through before I learned anything at all.
nannan
The sunlight shimmers on the heaps of metal and twisted tin. Smells of compost and melting debris dance throughout the air. This place is nothing but a wasteland of memories. It is a sanctuary of tokens’ pasts, taking refuge in the prescence’s selfish anguish.
TanyaMac
The wasteland was vast and littered with old car parts, ancient TVs and various pieces of metal. He began picking his way across the field, dodging fires, starved animals, and trying not to breathe too much. The air was thick and toxic with smoke, exhaust, and the smell of rotting bodies, and rusting metal. It was suffocating.
Mahou
Lost in an ancient time. Difficult now to tell what once was, what could have been here before the destruction. Few dare to tread the forbidden, hallowed ground. By whom, it is uncertain that the judgment took place.
there’s a wasteland here. nothing but a whole bunch of wasteland. it’s dirty. it’s scary. it’s dark. it’s miserable. i want out. there’s no life. it’s my life. nothing to do. no one to see. no one to here me complain. it’s a wasteland here, and i want out…
My mind is a wasteland. It’s filled with bullshit I call my emotions and feelings. Actually, I think it’s bullshit. But really it’s a bunch of neurons. That make connections every time I learn something new. In fact, they’re doing that right now. They’re programmed to do so.
It used to be the most beautiful place in the world, trees and streams and birds, but people like plastic houses and shitting all over everything they can claim. So now they all own this, a share of nothing; giant houses with windows into other giant houses where the flowers used to grow.
All that comes to mind is an artistic documentary and a song by the Who. Or honestly how the world will eventually be a wasteland. But that’s not important. Or is it? Sixty seconds is not a long time. That’s what Jessi learned today. Baba O’Reily. That’s the song.
When you are gone, what will be left? How can you leave us, unsure of who will fill your spot? What if they can’t do it justice? What if they are a hypocrite? What if they just don’t get it? Don’t get us? What if we turn into a wasteland? Don’t leave.
a wet soogy place that everyone tries to avoid. It is wet, sogy, and has unhappy weather. Toads and wetlands dwellers are the only ones found in this place and no one wants to be found here. Very unhappy to stay at
There is nothing here. I have been abandoned in this wasteland that is my mind. No. Not abandoned. I can see him staring at me through a window. Mocking my lonliness. He is enjoying my desolate mind.
dark. dreary. here in the space between where we used to be and where we never will reach – we lift a drink to our lips in desperation, trying to escape everything.
A desolate place with no true inhabitant. A place that has suffered from war or conflict. A sad unhappy place with hard living conditions and tough life-styles. Home to anarchists and people with low moral values.
a wasteland is a place where people are unhappy, where everyone is sad and there is nothing for no one. so, if there is nothing for no one how do they come back and tell everyone about this place for no one? I honestly have no clue.
I honestly can’t think of anything other than Baba O’Reilly when I hear the word wasteland. This brings me back to my junior year in high school’s field trip, sitting on the bed with my best friends while blasting the song that I know is not called Teenage Wasteland but we call it that anyway. Katie Nay is awkwardly dancing while I attempt to do a robot dance, someone is filming us and the rest are talking about how nice it is to be away from school. We were the perfect blend of comfort and fun and everything high school should be. We were young.
I am a wasteland of emotions tonight.
I feel as if my emotional life is a wasteland. No one knows about it. No one ever gets let it. It’s not their fault; many have tried, I just never feel brave enough to open up with my feelings. I’m always afraid of feeling vulnerable, of getting teased, or of someone sharing one of my secrets.
Sometimes the heart becomes a wasteland. A graveyard full of wreckage and skeletal remains of what was, of what’s been lost. When you have lost so much it is hard to look to the future. You don’t want to think about what you could have anymore, because you see only the possibility of losing it.
the wasteland that she calls her soul
she yearned for something more
but didn’t know what
the emptiness took over
and she began to weep
as the wasteland slowly took over the rest of her
it was the end to her misery
the only choice she had
barren. dessert. unreal. un forgiving. time touched. human made. interference. accepted by the most desolate of people. knowing no other means this is perfect. this is ecsape. none to follow from preexisting knowledge.
you get wasted and drunk? what the fucking god is this? waste is a liquidy stuff, and land is like wonderland so wasteland is waste wonderland? what? shut up. okay i’m done. stop moving.
It was a wasteland, full of trash and slime and muck. So much rotten fruit was littered around the hills as if they were fairies of the wind, riding in on frozen chariots.
my mind is often a wasteland where different things are strewn and discarded. good ideas get lost among piles and piles of junk, and through the center of these mountains of random thought and feeling is a dry dirt path. a waste of good earth. i often close my mind up and walk through that path, thinking, “what the fuck was i thinking?”. wasteland.
people might think that some places have no use, but to someone else, that may just be a paradise. Or maybe, a journey is all it takes to discover something greater within themselves, something that they never dreamed possible.
wastland is a big place with a lot of garbage that stinks and everything that we don’t use goes there wow.
This used to be beautiful. I remember listening to the waves crash against the rocks below my window. I loved the way the crystal clear water reflected the sunlight in the mornings. And now, as I dug my toes into what used to be white sand, I could only stare at the wasteland that used to be my home.
There is a wasteland in my mind.
The great wasteland of my imagination was filled with with heaps of unlikely characters. the clutter is incredible and i wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve read Eliot’s Wastland a few times. And while I thought it was beautiful there were parts of it that didn’t make sense. Maybe it’s because I’m not living in the time he was living. Maybe it’s because I’m shallow and stupid. Or maybe it’s because I read too much into things.
I just hope one day to be as eloquent as he is.
The Wasteland is a poem by a guy I don’t remember who lived around World War 2 times or something such like that. The poem was too boring to get through so I didn’t read it. Oh! I think it was T.S Eliot.. or maybe not. Anyway, the word reminds me of a flat surface with many cracks where sharp-biting ants occasionally crawl out of to get caught in the space between the flipflop strap and the foot.
the place you leave all of your dirty laundry and past disappoinments. a place no one can visit unless they are invited. it’s not a place of pride. but of a place that reminds you of all the things you don’t want to encounter again in the future.
welcome to wasteland. i am the mayor, and as such i present you with a welcoming gift: a jello shot! but please miss and mister, be careful these are dangerous concoctions.
I think of teenage wastleland, the song. Those days that we crave smoking and driving. Enjoying youth. Energy and friendship and peace. Happiness and joy and wonder. So much to dream about. In the wastlesand.
Everywhere i look in America today all i see is a wasteland. The poor, the homeless, the welfare babies and coked up kids and i cry for them and me because we are stuck here and can’t get out anymore.
Life is a wasteland. I mean, look at the earth. Everything we do goes to waste. Everything we use. Everything. Sometimes I feel like life itself is a waste. I mean, you live, only to die in the end. What is life? What is waste? Why is life so meaningless, yet so inspirational and worthwhile all at the same time? Why do we waste so much of our lives wondering instead of doing?
My heart is a wasteland. You have sucked it dry, made it devoid of life. The only feeling I have left is an emptiness in my chest where my soul used to sit, before it flew away with blackbird wings. Wings that fled to higher ground once they knew I was lost, lost, lost forever in this endless desert.
Horror movie. Most probably a zombie horror movie, because all wasteland post apocolyptic movies involve zombies. Also I think of the band 10 years.
and there zooey was, trapped in the wasteland that once was her mind. Trapped like a carnival elephant, zooey screamed for help but it seemed no one was listening. In reality the six walls of rubber around her were her only friends.
The green in the middle of the housing estate was destroyed after the bonfire. A wasteland. Sara had heard that somebody had nearly set themselves on fire; it reminded her of a book but she couldn’t remember what it was. Something sad, anyway.
Everything was a wasteland. Along the mountain ridges there stood a few sparse trees, gnarled from the tangling wind. The open land in front of the mountains was dry, cracked, and grey, just like the sky. Behind those cracks, however, was the blindingly bright explosion of the sun.
It wasn’t a wasteland but I didn’t know that when I found myself there the first time in the damp foggy drizzle that seemed a solid state with the barren land and the grey clouds. It was a wonderland behind the curtains of my fevered eyes and the racking cough from the fever. It wasn’t wasted on me but I took the long way through before I learned anything at all.
The sunlight shimmers on the heaps of metal and twisted tin. Smells of compost and melting debris dance throughout the air. This place is nothing but a wasteland of memories. It is a sanctuary of tokens’ pasts, taking refuge in the prescence’s selfish anguish.
The wasteland was vast and littered with old car parts, ancient TVs and various pieces of metal. He began picking his way across the field, dodging fires, starved animals, and trying not to breathe too much. The air was thick and toxic with smoke, exhaust, and the smell of rotting bodies, and rusting metal. It was suffocating.
Lost in an ancient time. Difficult now to tell what once was, what could have been here before the destruction. Few dare to tread the forbidden, hallowed ground. By whom, it is uncertain that the judgment took place.