I don’t know what is statue. I go findin in google trasnslate.
Ah statue!!! Very well.
There are much statues in São Paulo, every then very stranges. The statue most beautiful is in Ibirapuera Park.
Emerson
For all these years, the statue had just been something she’d walked by without really seeing. Now she picked it carefully off the top of the fireplace, noticing how much heavier it seemed once one actually held it.
It’s amazing to me that he trusts me. But does he? Sometimes it’s as if his heart were a precariously placed statue capable of smashing to bits in the event of an earthquake or other calamity. And so he waits. He broods on that inevitable day with all the dread in the world. Yes. He trusts me. And yet he frets. Is it me he fears or death or both? Maybe. Maybe he doesn’t trust me at all. Maybe…maybe it’s all an illusion he conjures when he doesn’t want to face certain realities and I’m an avatar, not really me, but some metaphorical representation in his head. Perhaps all I will ever be, as the “other,” is an object to project things onto, oh dear, is this abstraction my own or do I fear…as the blank slate expected to behave in certain ways…my will will make itself known and this shattering is inevitable. I break the trust. That’s what it all comes down to, so between a rock and a hard place where do I turn to…because it seems that place is the only one where the answer will be closer to the truth.
A statue is something that never changes. That is, unless someone harms it, or thinks it needs to be improved.
The statue in Russia was so large and overwhelming, I could not bear to look at it for too long. It frightened me. It was like a looming reminder of a past that failed to remain in its place.
Z
The concrete statue stood right outside, next to the library steps. I hated walking by it at night, on my way in to replace the books I had gotten the week before.
It was a statue of a woman holding what must of, at one time, been a small child… and now it slightly resembled a monster.
Ace
I like Mahatma Gandhi’s statue. It reminds of great personalities once they are done. So, it is a good thing. It is very artistic thing. I appreciate it.
sanjeev
Statuen skygger for solen hvilket skæber mærkværdige mønstre på jorden. Hun havde derfor altid blikket vendt ned af når hun passerede den hver dag. Denne dag medførte det at hun ikke mødte manden der skulle redde hendes liv.
Statuer findes overalt. De viser historier, vigtige personer, fortæller om gamle begivenheder og de viser os hvad der har været vigtigt engang. Statuer kan være lavet af materiale der også viser hvad historierne har betydet og hvad folkets situation har været på daværende tidspunkt.
So there it was. The prettiest statue in all of the world. At least, in little Tina’s eyes. She never saw anything like it before, but she thinks this is the best thing in the world. The statue was of a young lady. she was hugging a basket close. What was inside? Tina liked to think it was flowers.
He had to escape. This devastating plague had no mercy, and he would be inevitably next to succumb to it. All around him, people were frozen into stone, motionless, with faces of desperation; crying out for some unknown Savior that would never come. That’s right, this plague turned people into stone statues.
The statue stood tall, rising up out of the surrounding rubble. It was all that remained of the small town. One lingering concrete reminder that people once lived and laughed and loved here.
Of course the wedding cake sinking in the heat of Esme’s car was far more concrete proof of her guilt than the missing statue. But having negotiated her way out of paying the price for family prank offences on numerous occasion, Esme anticipated that this one too should be a piece of wedding cake to wriggle out of. She smiled at Mel conspiratorially, as though he had been in on the act, and then shot him a toothy cheshire cat grin, cocking her head to the side that said, ‘Come on you know it was just a joke’. But Mel was no longer smiling.
The statue started to change. Anna did not know what to do so she stood there and stared. The statue then grew wings and took off in the direction of the Empire State Building. At that point Anna passed out. When she woke up the world had changed radically.
Maurice Williams
White marble in a cold and grey autumn park, sky scarred with sharp naked branches. Remembering the sun and the blue of the endless sea, thinking, hoping – although what’s the point, eh, these stone legs, their perfectly sculpted muscles and veins ain’t going anywhere – that maybe, if he could somehow make his way back there, back where it all began, he could become real again, breathing, you know, walking, feeling the warmth of the earth under his feet.
tirlich
it must be pretty like a woman and hard as a man!
it must be comfort like jungle and strong like storm.
Confederate flags lined the right side of the street, some from poles, others on hats and t-shirts. They were shouting at the people on the left, mostly black folks, and their liberal white friends. A hush swept through the crowd as the new Confederate Row fixture was revealed. The statue erected to honor the state’s greatest black athlete was made of white marble, and the wide smile carved on its face seemed to be mocking all of them.
A minor act of rebellion. As a six year old, Don Kilborne and I took a pencil to the statue of the Virgin Mary. We only drew scribbles around her feet, but something about it felt tremendously satisfying.
The statue that I stared at was always you. You were golden. You were always the person that I looked up too. But statue’s aren’t real. Statues aren’t alive. Statues are dead. Statues aren’t
The park was gorgeous with green beautiful grass, trees and a statue in the center of a boy and his dog looking up into the sky thanking the Universe for what it gave to them…each other.
I don’t know what is statue. I go findin in google trasnslate.
Ah statue!!! Very well.
There are much statues in São Paulo, every then very stranges. The statue most beautiful is in Ibirapuera Park.
For all these years, the statue had just been something she’d walked by without really seeing. Now she picked it carefully off the top of the fireplace, noticing how much heavier it seemed once one actually held it.
It’s dark. There isn’t anyone around for miles. She sees a statue hidden beyond the trees. It’s beautiful. It’s alone, like her.
It’s amazing to me that he trusts me. But does he? Sometimes it’s as if his heart were a precariously placed statue capable of smashing to bits in the event of an earthquake or other calamity. And so he waits. He broods on that inevitable day with all the dread in the world. Yes. He trusts me. And yet he frets. Is it me he fears or death or both? Maybe. Maybe he doesn’t trust me at all. Maybe…maybe it’s all an illusion he conjures when he doesn’t want to face certain realities and I’m an avatar, not really me, but some metaphorical representation in his head. Perhaps all I will ever be, as the “other,” is an object to project things onto, oh dear, is this abstraction my own or do I fear…as the blank slate expected to behave in certain ways…my will will make itself known and this shattering is inevitable. I break the trust. That’s what it all comes down to, so between a rock and a hard place where do I turn to…because it seems that place is the only one where the answer will be closer to the truth.
A statue is something that never changes. That is, unless someone harms it, or thinks it needs to be improved.
The statue in Russia was so large and overwhelming, I could not bear to look at it for too long. It frightened me. It was like a looming reminder of a past that failed to remain in its place.
The concrete statue stood right outside, next to the library steps. I hated walking by it at night, on my way in to replace the books I had gotten the week before.
It was a statue of a woman holding what must of, at one time, been a small child… and now it slightly resembled a monster.
I like Mahatma Gandhi’s statue. It reminds of great personalities once they are done. So, it is a good thing. It is very artistic thing. I appreciate it.
Statuen skygger for solen hvilket skæber mærkværdige mønstre på jorden. Hun havde derfor altid blikket vendt ned af når hun passerede den hver dag. Denne dag medførte det at hun ikke mødte manden der skulle redde hendes liv.
Statuer findes overalt. De viser historier, vigtige personer, fortæller om gamle begivenheder og de viser os hvad der har været vigtigt engang. Statuer kan være lavet af materiale der også viser hvad historierne har betydet og hvad folkets situation har været på daværende tidspunkt.
So there it was. The prettiest statue in all of the world. At least, in little Tina’s eyes. She never saw anything like it before, but she thinks this is the best thing in the world. The statue was of a young lady. she was hugging a basket close. What was inside? Tina liked to think it was flowers.
He had to escape. This devastating plague had no mercy, and he would be inevitably next to succumb to it. All around him, people were frozen into stone, motionless, with faces of desperation; crying out for some unknown Savior that would never come. That’s right, this plague turned people into stone statues.
The statue stood tall, rising up out of the surrounding rubble. It was all that remained of the small town. One lingering concrete reminder that people once lived and laughed and loved here.
Of course the wedding cake sinking in the heat of Esme’s car was far more concrete proof of her guilt than the missing statue. But having negotiated her way out of paying the price for family prank offences on numerous occasion, Esme anticipated that this one too should be a piece of wedding cake to wriggle out of. She smiled at Mel conspiratorially, as though he had been in on the act, and then shot him a toothy cheshire cat grin, cocking her head to the side that said, ‘Come on you know it was just a joke’. But Mel was no longer smiling.
The statue started to change. Anna did not know what to do so she stood there and stared. The statue then grew wings and took off in the direction of the Empire State Building. At that point Anna passed out. When she woke up the world had changed radically.
White marble in a cold and grey autumn park, sky scarred with sharp naked branches. Remembering the sun and the blue of the endless sea, thinking, hoping – although what’s the point, eh, these stone legs, their perfectly sculpted muscles and veins ain’t going anywhere – that maybe, if he could somehow make his way back there, back where it all began, he could become real again, breathing, you know, walking, feeling the warmth of the earth under his feet.
it must be pretty like a woman and hard as a man!
it must be comfort like jungle and strong like storm.
Confederate flags lined the right side of the street, some from poles, others on hats and t-shirts. They were shouting at the people on the left, mostly black folks, and their liberal white friends. A hush swept through the crowd as the new Confederate Row fixture was revealed. The statue erected to honor the state’s greatest black athlete was made of white marble, and the wide smile carved on its face seemed to be mocking all of them.
lskdfjdsf
A minor act of rebellion. As a six year old, Don Kilborne and I took a pencil to the statue of the Virgin Mary. We only drew scribbles around her feet, but something about it felt tremendously satisfying.
The statue that I stared at was always you. You were golden. You were always the person that I looked up too. But statue’s aren’t real. Statues aren’t alive. Statues are dead. Statues aren’t
The park was gorgeous with green beautiful grass, trees and a statue in the center of a boy and his dog looking up into the sky thanking the Universe for what it gave to them…each other.