I am this way because everything else seems dull by comparison. Were I a different X in a different Y, I’m sure it wouldn’t be so simple. But nothing is ever simple, and I’m fine with that. I have it all laid out in front of me here, I draw a line between two extremes. I walk across it, back and forth.
It means two things, and not too similar. One of them is happiness, more or less, the other one is the complementary to form. Content. I’m content. I’m full of things although my form is not so happy. Happy inside, not happy outside. Content
I write all night and read in the day , I hope to be content with the words that I say, but I reckon that it is just simply all merely word play and Now the bell tolls for all good souls.
Content, to me, describes nothing more than a state of bliss. Perhaps not bliss, actually, more the moment where you can sit back, and feel entirely attached from any given situation, and say “I would rather be no where else.” That is content.
Content is what you see when you look at something. YouTube videos, books, movies, are all content. Good content is enjoyable and something that you like. Bad content is not enjoyable and something that you hate.
Some books have good content other do not. If a book doesn’t have good content than people wouldn’t want to read it and it’ll probably be a bad or boring book. If it has good content than a lot of people will want to read it and it will be enjoyable.
I often see content on youtube and other websites. Content is all about quality. Recently youtubers have been making for content and making it not as high quality like Jake Paul.
She looked over the page, studying it with her hawk critical eye. She pursed her lips and looked up at him. “Is this it?”
He was unfazed by her scrutiny, “Yeah, it is.”
Lounging in a puddle of one’s own stillness; content with one’s own content, that’s a cute idea, becoming complacent about one’s body of work. I’ve done enough for the day, I’ve done enough for one lifetime, said the child basking in the glow of a day’s lemonade sales. OR: contentment as the product of content, the never-ending cycle of anxiety to production to complacency with the undercurrent of anxiety building once again to production. content produces contentment, contentment denies content until it self-destructs and forces the reproduction of content
Alternative health care will keep growing and one day, will possibly, work together with traditional medication. It can be a great choice for someone who feels they are out of options with traditional medicine. It is something that has been around for quite some time.
content to curl in a ball and sleep at my feet, the cat enjoyed the fire. I dreampt on, eyes going in and out of focus over a weighty tome that lulled me into a cozy sleep. The knock at the door caught me completely unawares and I had to scramble for a bathrobe while shouting “hold on a second!”
Content. something I don’t really feel too often now that I’m dealing with my anxiety spike. actually thats not completely true – I feel content a lot… that feeling just gets ruined quickly when something makes me anxious. I don’t get to feel fully content I guess. Always something to be anxious about, so being content isn’t usually possible. But I am going to take some breaths, try to stop, and do a thought log. not exactly what I want to do right now, but I know I should do it and have to do it to get better.
It’s raining outside. It’s the first week of December, the air is flirting with 50 Fahrenheit, and the pavement is as soaked as summer. Hazy rainbows cloak every streetlight and every car hisses past like an oceanic sigh. Behind us, through cracked-open screens, the rich warm aroma of steak and marinade lazily drifts, in jovial defiance of the encroaching cold. Christmas lights swirl about the porch, entwining with well-worn wood– aged, luminous, mist-touched. Our arms do the same. Content in quiet wintry perfection, life ebbs and flows all around us. It’s raining outside.
All I can think is contentious. Doesn’t that mean argumentative, challenging, difficult, annoying, not your favorite house guest? The dictionary check says, “Yes, that’s what it means. You’re right, you’re so smart, you’re super terrific, I’m proud of you.” That’s me, these days, inside my brain, inside my heart. Needing praise. Contentious. Spilling over outloud with curse words for my fellow drivers here on Oahu. When I’m the menace on the highways.
Oh well, enough said.
“They’re not real!” his frustrated arms only add to his every-growing, furious stance towering above her small frame.
But she pursues forward, her latest book strapped tightly within her whitening palms. You gotta fight for what you believe in, after all, right? “So what if they’re not ‘real’! They’re still more real to me than anyone else will be!”
At once, he stops coldly.
A smooth glare points in her direction. She withers under his obvious contemptment, her mind racing back to everything said in the past minutes. But nothing came up as particularly offensive so why was he –
He turns around, even more suddenly than when he dropped his angry posture. “I’m real, Rose.”
Then he pivots on his clicking heels and exits the room, proud and dignified.
He breathes out contently, “I love you, I love you, Iloveyou!”
He softly rests his nose top her twisting caramel tresses and steadily wraps his arms around her long neck. He knows exactly where each curve and dip of her body appears, where tiny little quirks happen upon themselves, and where he needs to places his soft, velvety hands on.
He bumps their parted lips together for a stone-cold kiss. His eyes are shut tight every time he their frosted lips touch, and he supposes hers are as well.
The faintest breath of a relieved whisper, the tiniest heart-shaped freckle curled around his lowering lashes, and the deep scars sprinkled across his calloused, rough hands – she memorizes each detail of him before she has to leave.
“I love you,” she manages to choke out into the stock still, hanging air draped around them both.
His unconscious response is to only further tangle his long, long fingers into the waterfalling locks of her straw-golden hair. A tiny puff of contentment escapes his rosy lips, and he ensnares them even more together by throwing a heavy leg across hers, snuggling in closer to her radiating heat.
She glares bittersweetly at his carefree, casual, laid-back composure, knowing fully well that the more he wraps her into his arms, the harder it’ll be for her to forcibly throw her aching legs over the side of the bed and simply leave.
But then a sly grin breaks apart his peaceful sleeping face. It’s on purpose.
She needs to tell him before he thinks he can stop her, “I still have to leave, no matter what you do to stop me.”
The goofy, lopsided, mischievous smile drops off his face, and his snow-sprinkled lashes fly open.
Wow thats a lot of unuseful content you have there. I hate writing essays and I’m sure you do too. I don’t think anyone does except for the writing freaks.
you can see it in her eyes, she is feeling loved and content. Its written in her every line on her lovely old wrinkly face …. the ages of life being kind to her
the content of my final essay today was a point of anxiety for me because i didn’t read the book in full, so my anxiety was around the fact that i basically made it all up on the spot with the book in hand. and i think it worked, but i don’t think i fooled any one
Which content. The tent that was conned? I don’t know. Maybe it was conned, maybe it wasn’t. How about the contents of a person. Are they put together like a well prepared meal, or a garden, how about a society? Is a person’s contents made form those of the society around them?
I think being content is actually what people mean when they say they want to be happy. Unless they really don’t understand that happiness is fleeting.
It is often so very difficult for us to feel “content” in life. We typically are scared when we have become stable in a situation as we constantly feel as though we should be doing more. There is nothing wrong with the feeling of contentment and perhaps this is what we should all be striving for in the world today. Society is too focused on the next life goal, purchase, or new fad—maybe what we need to focus on is being comfortable with saying “I am in control, I am content, and I am not worried about all of the unknowns ahead.”
the content of our relationship holds true to me. the contents in our relationship are origami hearts, cute, flirty little messages, talks of our exes, but most importantly, ourselves and our love.
the systems are structured
to compress
idolize regret
commercialize contemptuous
content
replace, reuse,
bonds created in bondage
puppets fighting amongst themselves
while the puppet masters eat their flesh
Drawing the distinction between happy and content can be everything. And it all depends on what kind of life one wants to lead. The one that is safe and reliable or the one that makes you work for it. Content sounds nice but I want happy.
content – what something makes up. content – being peaceful or happy
i am currently not content with my life and i do not know what to do about it. i need better time management
There was much to be done before the holidays – lights to hang up, presents to wrap, tasty sweets to consume. I had bought myself a box of candy canes to stick into mugs of hot chocolate for some friends of mine, and while sitting at the glowing fireplace, I realized that, for the first time in a long time, I was content. I wasn’t overjoyed, ecstatic, or overly energetic – but I was content. And that was enough.
are you satisfied?
or are you stuck?
is this just a play where are merely actors
or has shakespeare truly created our world
is this a tragedy or a comedy?
will our questions ever be answered?
or will we sit in the grey area?
nothing is ever black and white.
You might think someone is content, but a lot of times you never know what lurks beyond the surface. The self-hate, the self-destruction. It normally is just below what you think true content-ness should look like. We are masters of our own happiness so why don’t we let ourselves.
lack of or happy
whats in it or whats in made of
two letters away from a land mass
where people live
that are not
content
with anything
and yet
they still keep
making babies
I guess this time I’m more content with the outcome, because can you really lost what you never had in the first place? I don’t think you really can. I don’t think I’ve really lost anything. I don’t think I really found anything either… I guess I just need to chalk it up as a mistake to be learned from. It’s just not as easy as that makes it sound…
I am this way because everything else seems dull by comparison. Were I a different X in a different Y, I’m sure it wouldn’t be so simple. But nothing is ever simple, and I’m fine with that. I have it all laid out in front of me here, I draw a line between two extremes. I walk across it, back and forth.
It means two things, and not too similar. One of them is happiness, more or less, the other one is the complementary to form. Content. I’m content. I’m full of things although my form is not so happy. Happy inside, not happy outside. Content
I write all night and read in the day , I hope to be content with the words that I say, but I reckon that it is just simply all merely word play and Now the bell tolls for all good souls.
Content, to me, describes nothing more than a state of bliss. Perhaps not bliss, actually, more the moment where you can sit back, and feel entirely attached from any given situation, and say “I would rather be no where else.” That is content.
Content is what you see when you look at something. YouTube videos, books, movies, are all content. Good content is enjoyable and something that you like. Bad content is not enjoyable and something that you hate.
Some books have good content other do not. If a book doesn’t have good content than people wouldn’t want to read it and it’ll probably be a bad or boring book. If it has good content than a lot of people will want to read it and it will be enjoyable.
content is content. when people post things on places like youtube. they post content. some people have good content some have bad content.
I often see content on youtube and other websites. Content is all about quality. Recently youtubers have been making for content and making it not as high quality like Jake Paul.
She looked over the page, studying it with her hawk critical eye. She pursed her lips and looked up at him. “Is this it?”
He was unfazed by her scrutiny, “Yeah, it is.”
what is the content of your book or suitcase.
The content in some movies is really bad for children.
Lounging in a puddle of one’s own stillness; content with one’s own content, that’s a cute idea, becoming complacent about one’s body of work. I’ve done enough for the day, I’ve done enough for one lifetime, said the child basking in the glow of a day’s lemonade sales. OR: contentment as the product of content, the never-ending cycle of anxiety to production to complacency with the undercurrent of anxiety building once again to production. content produces contentment, contentment denies content until it self-destructs and forces the reproduction of content
The content of the letter was so surprising that i couldn´t even breathe. I was ill. I had cancer. And what should i do now? My tears jus
Alternative health care will keep growing and one day, will possibly, work together with traditional medication. It can be a great choice for someone who feels they are out of options with traditional medicine. It is something that has been around for quite some time.
とんでもない
口先ばかり
もう終わり
大嘘つき。
some are not content with the amount of content
it can feel intense to take on collective intents
an unseen comet hidden in an unexpected comment
content to curl in a ball and sleep at my feet, the cat enjoyed the fire. I dreampt on, eyes going in and out of focus over a weighty tome that lulled me into a cozy sleep. The knock at the door caught me completely unawares and I had to scramble for a bathrobe while shouting “hold on a second!”
Content. something I don’t really feel too often now that I’m dealing with my anxiety spike. actually thats not completely true – I feel content a lot… that feeling just gets ruined quickly when something makes me anxious. I don’t get to feel fully content I guess. Always something to be anxious about, so being content isn’t usually possible. But I am going to take some breaths, try to stop, and do a thought log. not exactly what I want to do right now, but I know I should do it and have to do it to get better.
It’s raining outside. It’s the first week of December, the air is flirting with 50 Fahrenheit, and the pavement is as soaked as summer. Hazy rainbows cloak every streetlight and every car hisses past like an oceanic sigh. Behind us, through cracked-open screens, the rich warm aroma of steak and marinade lazily drifts, in jovial defiance of the encroaching cold. Christmas lights swirl about the porch, entwining with well-worn wood– aged, luminous, mist-touched. Our arms do the same. Content in quiet wintry perfection, life ebbs and flows all around us. It’s raining outside.
All I can think is contentious. Doesn’t that mean argumentative, challenging, difficult, annoying, not your favorite house guest? The dictionary check says, “Yes, that’s what it means. You’re right, you’re so smart, you’re super terrific, I’m proud of you.” That’s me, these days, inside my brain, inside my heart. Needing praise. Contentious. Spilling over outloud with curse words for my fellow drivers here on Oahu. When I’m the menace on the highways.
Oh well, enough said.
‘content’ is only the thinning layer barely holding together falling pieces by a slowly loosening string
“They’re not real!” his frustrated arms only add to his every-growing, furious stance towering above her small frame.
But she pursues forward, her latest book strapped tightly within her whitening palms. You gotta fight for what you believe in, after all, right? “So what if they’re not ‘real’! They’re still more real to me than anyone else will be!”
At once, he stops coldly.
A smooth glare points in her direction. She withers under his obvious contemptment, her mind racing back to everything said in the past minutes. But nothing came up as particularly offensive so why was he –
He turns around, even more suddenly than when he dropped his angry posture. “I’m real, Rose.”
Then he pivots on his clicking heels and exits the room, proud and dignified.
He breathes out contently, “I love you, I love you, Iloveyou!”
He softly rests his nose top her twisting caramel tresses and steadily wraps his arms around her long neck. He knows exactly where each curve and dip of her body appears, where tiny little quirks happen upon themselves, and where he needs to places his soft, velvety hands on.
He bumps their parted lips together for a stone-cold kiss. His eyes are shut tight every time he their frosted lips touch, and he supposes hers are as well.
After all, she isn’t real.
The faintest breath of a relieved whisper, the tiniest heart-shaped freckle curled around his lowering lashes, and the deep scars sprinkled across his calloused, rough hands – she memorizes each detail of him before she has to leave.
“I love you,” she manages to choke out into the stock still, hanging air draped around them both.
His unconscious response is to only further tangle his long, long fingers into the waterfalling locks of her straw-golden hair. A tiny puff of contentment escapes his rosy lips, and he ensnares them even more together by throwing a heavy leg across hers, snuggling in closer to her radiating heat.
She glares bittersweetly at his carefree, casual, laid-back composure, knowing fully well that the more he wraps her into his arms, the harder it’ll be for her to forcibly throw her aching legs over the side of the bed and simply leave.
But then a sly grin breaks apart his peaceful sleeping face. It’s on purpose.
She needs to tell him before he thinks he can stop her, “I still have to leave, no matter what you do to stop me.”
The goofy, lopsided, mischievous smile drops off his face, and his snow-sprinkled lashes fly open.
Wow thats a lot of unuseful content you have there. I hate writing essays and I’m sure you do too. I don’t think anyone does except for the writing freaks.
you can see it in her eyes, she is feeling loved and content. Its written in her every line on her lovely old wrinkly face …. the ages of life being kind to her
the content of my final essay today was a point of anxiety for me because i didn’t read the book in full, so my anxiety was around the fact that i basically made it all up on the spot with the book in hand. and i think it worked, but i don’t think i fooled any one
Which content. The tent that was conned? I don’t know. Maybe it was conned, maybe it wasn’t. How about the contents of a person. Are they put together like a well prepared meal, or a garden, how about a society? Is a person’s contents made form those of the society around them?
I think being content is actually what people mean when they say they want to be happy. Unless they really don’t understand that happiness is fleeting.
It is often so very difficult for us to feel “content” in life. We typically are scared when we have become stable in a situation as we constantly feel as though we should be doing more. There is nothing wrong with the feeling of contentment and perhaps this is what we should all be striving for in the world today. Society is too focused on the next life goal, purchase, or new fad—maybe what we need to focus on is being comfortable with saying “I am in control, I am content, and I am not worried about all of the unknowns ahead.”
the content of our relationship holds true to me. the contents in our relationship are origami hearts, cute, flirty little messages, talks of our exes, but most importantly, ourselves and our love.
the systems are structured
to compress
idolize regret
commercialize contemptuous
content
replace, reuse,
bonds created in bondage
puppets fighting amongst themselves
while the puppet masters eat their flesh
Drawing the distinction between happy and content can be everything. And it all depends on what kind of life one wants to lead. The one that is safe and reliable or the one that makes you work for it. Content sounds nice but I want happy.
content – what something makes up. content – being peaceful or happy
i am currently not content with my life and i do not know what to do about it. i need better time management
There was much to be done before the holidays – lights to hang up, presents to wrap, tasty sweets to consume. I had bought myself a box of candy canes to stick into mugs of hot chocolate for some friends of mine, and while sitting at the glowing fireplace, I realized that, for the first time in a long time, I was content. I wasn’t overjoyed, ecstatic, or overly energetic – but I was content. And that was enough.
are you satisfied?
or are you stuck?
is this just a play where are merely actors
or has shakespeare truly created our world
is this a tragedy or a comedy?
will our questions ever be answered?
or will we sit in the grey area?
nothing is ever black and white.
You might think someone is content, but a lot of times you never know what lurks beyond the surface. The self-hate, the self-destruction. It normally is just below what you think true content-ness should look like. We are masters of our own happiness so why don’t we let ourselves.
lack of or happy
whats in it or whats in made of
two letters away from a land mass
where people live
that are not
content
with anything
and yet
they still keep
making babies
I guess this time I’m more content with the outcome, because can you really lost what you never had in the first place? I don’t think you really can. I don’t think I’ve really lost anything. I don’t think I really found anything either… I guess I just need to chalk it up as a mistake to be learned from. It’s just not as easy as that makes it sound…