A sense of intrigue, curiosity, and delight ran through the woman as she entered the den she had been forbidden from entering. She had been told that the place was filled with sin and horror. She would disagree.
His voice radiated throughout the bisy city streets. Guitar aided as a melody passed through his lips. As I near the voice the more I wonder who’s face is behind such wonderful lyrics. Surely they are not his own. I envy his voice and as I turn the corner to see him I gasp as my eyes meet with the one and only: Gray Bloomberg. Ever since elementary school this boy has intrigued me. Now standing before me belting out words so tragic, I watch as his fingers expertly trace the strings of his guitar.
I find myself swaying as he closes up the song with one last goodbye. A wave of applause erupts around him, including my own colliding hands. I walk over to him and his eyes meet mine for the first time in years.
“Jessica?” My heart stops, he remembers me?
Humphrey Bogart in “The Maltese Falcon”. Matt Damon in the “Bourne” movies. Ben Affleck as Jack Ryan. Harrison Ford as Jack Ryan. Sherlock Holmes stories. My son’s hitting coach.
She’s hard to ignore. Her delicate fingers, dancing along the hem of a scandalously short skirt, twirling through her soft, brown curls, brushing across her mouth as if to distract from her upturned lips when in reality they only further draw you in – her fingers are hard to ignore.
Those fingers haunt my dreams, ghosting like a memory across my skin.
At night I see it all: how I’ll take her and her teasing fingers to make them mine, even if she fights it for a time. I toss and turn and intrigue all the ways to make her mine.
She loved traveling; the thought of all the worlds she had never explored intrigued her to such an extent that one day, she forgot where she had come from. She became a gypsy, traveling lands far and wide, and hoping that one day, she would find the end of the rainbow she had stared at so longingly as a child.
His entire being engaged me in a terrible attraction, my skin was on fire and it felt as if my entire being being was being filled with an incredible warmth but also not to forget the fear and wonder that came with it. I would not know where to go from here other than to find this wonder of a man.
He was walking down the street when something caught her eye. The young child was flitting about, back and forth, trying to dodge the watchful eyes of those around her. There was something hidden in her hand, but no way of telling what it was. He followed as she went around a corner…
His words intrigued me. I leaned in closer. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” He smiled, the corners of his lips practically curling.
“W-well. It would seem like you have yourself a deal.”
His grin widened. “It was a pleasure to do business with you.”
How all the whiteness intrigues me,
your vintage voice haunts my soul.
In paisleys, and in ohms —
you are vixen incarnate,
and I melt at the very thought of you.
if he sees me without shoes on, the morning after, if he sees me laugh too loud or talk too much and if i show him my veins and my blood then he’ll know how fucked up i am, and the intrigue will be gone and i will be left alone but i love him and can’t stop
It’s not what drives me to success that makes me happy. It’s the intrigue that I inspire in others. Narcissistic? Of course. But you’ll never see me bored, ever see me alone at a party. The intrigue that others have in you are what can inspire others to be great.
When I find the walls closing in, I think about my strategies. Keep it narrow. Keep it wide. Look at it from all sides, then act with all my focus as my guide.
The students appeared to look on with intrigue at first, but as the presentation wore on, it was clear to see that they were losing focus. Initially, the use of media, slideshows, and even live animals to make scientific points had been mind-grappling. Now, it was all just talking, pandering to philosophy more than biology. Many students couldn’t listen with a strong focus. But Elizabeth could.
She flipped her auburn hair behind her shoulders and lifted the round blue and black patterned sunglasses from her eyes. She tilted her head, like a puppy who doesn’t understand, and said the only thing she could to such a dubious offer. “Why should I go with you?”
“Because you can’t resist.”
maskes me think about mystery, something that leads me to read more of the story or watch a movie. I am intriguied with weriting poetry and with words in general.
I was intrigued by her proposal. It wasn’t often that the Scarlet Assassin offered to work with a partner. She was, after all, the best in the business. The best looking, too. Her flaming hair fell down each side of her beautiful face like lavafalls. This was going to be an interesting evening.
“I hate all this intrigue,” Ella cried, throwing down the ransom note. “I just want life to be normal again!”
The old wizard looked at her through his thick brow, “You can never go back. The cycle dictates that you must follow through with this; that is the only way you will succeed.”
Intrigued, I dusted the blueprint off and looked at the blueprint closer. There was my room..and the kitchen and the bathroom and the guest room..and wait, there was an extra room! There was an extra room in my house?
I’ve always been…well… intrigued, by… secrets. Ever since I was little. Once, when I was about 3, I actually found the Christmas present draw and opened up every single present. Mine was a Po toy, the red bear thing from the Teletubbies. The look my mother gave me when she came in and found me, shit everywhere, that look has stuck with me forever. Does your Mum give you ‘the look’? I guess I should have learnt my lesson then. Some secrets are better left wrapped up in the present drawer in the back of your parents wardrobe.
She rolls over, pulls a clump of dirt out of her hair, long enough for the audience to think they are ‘safe,’ and then she looks up at them. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”
Then she might smudge some dirt off her body in some way and turn back over.
The intrigue of following a squirrel back it its home has its merits, but I would prefer to you set here and watch at least one of our seven kids. If you had that much time to stuff 13 acorns in your mouth, maybe you could also take the time to clean some vomit once and awhile. Anyway, if you’re reading this I’m probably long gone by now. Thanks.
the mystery. it was a burning desire to know, and a thirst for the darkness life was shrouded in. the dim lamplight in the street corners, the quiet search, the tentative movements. she would always be creeping through the night, looking for the answers. hiding behind dumpsters just to hear the whispers, the scratchy voices wandering by, hinting at strange things. the mystery she lived for.
He was intrigued by her sudden appearance. She had, after all, only buried her father that morning, as the sun was rising over the hills surrounding the cottage. Perhaps this was her way to forget her sorrow and turn her tears of grief into energy, passion, and if he was lucky, maybe even love.
Intrigue is overrated. I like simple, predictable, monotony. Call me boring if you wish. I call it safe. Safety in the known. Safety in numbers. Numbers are solid, numbers are a sure thing. Intrigue, after all, is what led to many a demise, including the demise of my career, marriage, and personality.
“Did you bring the goods?” he asked.
“Yeah. Did you bring the cheese?” she replied, looking over her shoulder.
He opened his briefcase to reveal ten pounds of Gouda.
“Yes,” she said, running her hand over it. “That’s the stuff.”
She smelled like smoke and only looked half as good as the women on the screen. Still, it was a valiant effort. Sometimes she’d slip and say something just a little too campy, but really, wasn’t this whole thing just as fake? I turned to the wall. Painted plaster.
“Don’t you wanna ditch this joint?” I’d say, trying for nonchalance and nearly succeeding. And so she sucked on her menthol for a good long while before replying.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
She stared into the mirror, intrigued at the magic she was learning. She turned to look at her tutor, Marshall, but he looked pain. Alarmed, she went to him and grabbed his sleeve.
“But what’s the matter? I’ve finally learned to skry!”
“I know, my dear, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, but…” He looked down, eyes misting over.
“But what? What could possibly be wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I will just be very sad to see you go. I can teach you no more. It is time for you to face the trials of the (insert cool name here for a group of elite magician/warriors).” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Your time has come my child. Come, let us get you ready.”
Some folks thrive on intrigue…take Lola for example. She was always trying to stir things up behind the scenes. She was the “arch-typical” fifth business
so i had this dream last night it was about me thinking black skinhead by Kanye was an old micheal jackson song. it was still tight but i didnt really do anything but think it was real. it left me kinda where you should be right now if you were reading this. you know without any intrigue something like that…..
What happened to the world of intrigue and mystery.
Today everything is transparent–tell-all, nothing hidden.
Wasn’t it more exciting when something was left to the imagination?
It is intriguing that I do not know if I love you.
I think I do. I think maybe, perhaps, just so maybe, that I do love you. Or that I am falling in love with you.
I cannot understand this. I cannot seem to make sense why and how this has come to be.
You intrigue me. You intrigue me like a boy in Singapore watching snow for the first time. Yet we are so different, so maganimously different that I don’t know how to address you or how to know you.
I’m… desperate for some love, some kind of love by someone, and I don’t know.
i am intrigued
by everything around me
from towers to clocks
and people and dogs
whoever understands
please come here and explain
because i know i’m young
but trapped beyond
any understand.
you might not comprehend
i am intrigued
by everything around me
from towers to clocks
and people and dogs
however understands
please come here and explain
i know i am young
and trapped beyond
any understand.
you might not comprehend
A sense of intrigue, curiosity, and delight ran through the woman as she entered the den she had been forbidden from entering. She had been told that the place was filled with sin and horror. She would disagree.
His voice radiated throughout the bisy city streets. Guitar aided as a melody passed through his lips. As I near the voice the more I wonder who’s face is behind such wonderful lyrics. Surely they are not his own. I envy his voice and as I turn the corner to see him I gasp as my eyes meet with the one and only: Gray Bloomberg. Ever since elementary school this boy has intrigued me. Now standing before me belting out words so tragic, I watch as his fingers expertly trace the strings of his guitar.
I find myself swaying as he closes up the song with one last goodbye. A wave of applause erupts around him, including my own colliding hands. I walk over to him and his eyes meet mine for the first time in years.
“Jessica?” My heart stops, he remembers me?
Humphrey Bogart in “The Maltese Falcon”. Matt Damon in the “Bourne” movies. Ben Affleck as Jack Ryan. Harrison Ford as Jack Ryan. Sherlock Holmes stories. My son’s hitting coach.
She’s hard to ignore. Her delicate fingers, dancing along the hem of a scandalously short skirt, twirling through her soft, brown curls, brushing across her mouth as if to distract from her upturned lips when in reality they only further draw you in – her fingers are hard to ignore.
Those fingers haunt my dreams, ghosting like a memory across my skin.
At night I see it all: how I’ll take her and her teasing fingers to make them mine, even if she fights it for a time. I toss and turn and intrigue all the ways to make her mine.
She loved traveling; the thought of all the worlds she had never explored intrigued her to such an extent that one day, she forgot where she had come from. She became a gypsy, traveling lands far and wide, and hoping that one day, she would find the end of the rainbow she had stared at so longingly as a child.
His entire being engaged me in a terrible attraction, my skin was on fire and it felt as if my entire being being was being filled with an incredible warmth but also not to forget the fear and wonder that came with it. I would not know where to go from here other than to find this wonder of a man.
Asleep in a hollow shell
Beside the sighing ocean
A rhythm restored
In blindness
We walk crooked miles daily
Passing ghosts
Of each was, will
Warmed, chilled
Rebuilding oneness
Could we slip beyond the sea
As easily as slip in
If the rapture was packaged, sold
What then but you
And I
Now
He was walking down the street when something caught her eye. The young child was flitting about, back and forth, trying to dodge the watchful eyes of those around her. There was something hidden in her hand, but no way of telling what it was. He followed as she went around a corner…
His words intrigued me. I leaned in closer. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” He smiled, the corners of his lips practically curling.
“W-well. It would seem like you have yourself a deal.”
His grin widened. “It was a pleasure to do business with you.”
How all the whiteness intrigues me,
your vintage voice haunts my soul.
In paisleys, and in ohms —
you are vixen incarnate,
and I melt at the very thought of you.
if he sees me without shoes on, the morning after, if he sees me laugh too loud or talk too much and if i show him my veins and my blood then he’ll know how fucked up i am, and the intrigue will be gone and i will be left alone but i love him and can’t stop
It’s not what drives me to success that makes me happy. It’s the intrigue that I inspire in others. Narcissistic? Of course. But you’ll never see me bored, ever see me alone at a party. The intrigue that others have in you are what can inspire others to be great.
When I find the walls closing in, I think about my strategies. Keep it narrow. Keep it wide. Look at it from all sides, then act with all my focus as my guide.
“Intrigue,” what an intriguing word that has the intriguing power to intrigue even the most intriguing of individuals.
The students appeared to look on with intrigue at first, but as the presentation wore on, it was clear to see that they were losing focus. Initially, the use of media, slideshows, and even live animals to make scientific points had been mind-grappling. Now, it was all just talking, pandering to philosophy more than biology. Many students couldn’t listen with a strong focus. But Elizabeth could.
I am intriguing. I have intriguing thoughts. I have intriguing ideas. I have never met a person I would rather intrigue than you.
She flipped her auburn hair behind her shoulders and lifted the round blue and black patterned sunglasses from her eyes. She tilted her head, like a puppy who doesn’t understand, and said the only thing she could to such a dubious offer. “Why should I go with you?”
“Because you can’t resist.”
I guess my hair intrigues people.
maskes me think about mystery, something that leads me to read more of the story or watch a movie. I am intriguied with weriting poetry and with words in general.
My breath is leaving me. You are so close, as soft pianostrings. Dont you break on me
I was intrigued by her proposal. It wasn’t often that the Scarlet Assassin offered to work with a partner. She was, after all, the best in the business. The best looking, too. Her flaming hair fell down each side of her beautiful face like lavafalls. This was going to be an interesting evening.
“I hate all this intrigue,” Ella cried, throwing down the ransom note. “I just want life to be normal again!”
The old wizard looked at her through his thick brow, “You can never go back. The cycle dictates that you must follow through with this; that is the only way you will succeed.”
Intrigued, I dusted the blueprint off and looked at the blueprint closer. There was my room..and the kitchen and the bathroom and the guest room..and wait, there was an extra room! There was an extra room in my house?
I’ve always been…well… intrigued, by… secrets. Ever since I was little. Once, when I was about 3, I actually found the Christmas present draw and opened up every single present. Mine was a Po toy, the red bear thing from the Teletubbies. The look my mother gave me when she came in and found me, shit everywhere, that look has stuck with me forever. Does your Mum give you ‘the look’? I guess I should have learnt my lesson then. Some secrets are better left wrapped up in the present drawer in the back of your parents wardrobe.
She rolls over, pulls a clump of dirt out of her hair, long enough for the audience to think they are ‘safe,’ and then she looks up at them. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”
Then she might smudge some dirt off her body in some way and turn back over.
The intrigue of following a squirrel back it its home has its merits, but I would prefer to you set here and watch at least one of our seven kids. If you had that much time to stuff 13 acorns in your mouth, maybe you could also take the time to clean some vomit once and awhile. Anyway, if you’re reading this I’m probably long gone by now. Thanks.
the mystery. it was a burning desire to know, and a thirst for the darkness life was shrouded in. the dim lamplight in the street corners, the quiet search, the tentative movements. she would always be creeping through the night, looking for the answers. hiding behind dumpsters just to hear the whispers, the scratchy voices wandering by, hinting at strange things. the mystery she lived for.
He was intrigued by her sudden appearance. She had, after all, only buried her father that morning, as the sun was rising over the hills surrounding the cottage. Perhaps this was her way to forget her sorrow and turn her tears of grief into energy, passion, and if he was lucky, maybe even love.
Intrigue is overrated. I like simple, predictable, monotony. Call me boring if you wish. I call it safe. Safety in the known. Safety in numbers. Numbers are solid, numbers are a sure thing. Intrigue, after all, is what led to many a demise, including the demise of my career, marriage, and personality.
the place I work is a den of intrique. No opium den had any less secrets, clusions,or fears. I work in an operating room.
“Did you bring the goods?” he asked.
“Yeah. Did you bring the cheese?” she replied, looking over her shoulder.
He opened his briefcase to reveal ten pounds of Gouda.
“Yes,” she said, running her hand over it. “That’s the stuff.”
She smelled like smoke and only looked half as good as the women on the screen. Still, it was a valiant effort. Sometimes she’d slip and say something just a little too campy, but really, wasn’t this whole thing just as fake? I turned to the wall. Painted plaster.
“Don’t you wanna ditch this joint?” I’d say, trying for nonchalance and nearly succeeding. And so she sucked on her menthol for a good long while before replying.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
She stared into the mirror, intrigued at the magic she was learning. She turned to look at her tutor, Marshall, but he looked pain. Alarmed, she went to him and grabbed his sleeve.
“But what’s the matter? I’ve finally learned to skry!”
“I know, my dear, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, but…” He looked down, eyes misting over.
“But what? What could possibly be wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I will just be very sad to see you go. I can teach you no more. It is time for you to face the trials of the (insert cool name here for a group of elite magician/warriors).” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Your time has come my child. Come, let us get you ready.”
Some folks thrive on intrigue…take Lola for example. She was always trying to stir things up behind the scenes. She was the “arch-typical” fifth business
so i had this dream last night it was about me thinking black skinhead by Kanye was an old micheal jackson song. it was still tight but i didnt really do anything but think it was real. it left me kinda where you should be right now if you were reading this. you know without any intrigue something like that…..
What happened to the world of intrigue and mystery.
Today everything is transparent–tell-all, nothing hidden.
Wasn’t it more exciting when something was left to the imagination?
It is intriguing that I do not know if I love you.
I think I do. I think maybe, perhaps, just so maybe, that I do love you. Or that I am falling in love with you.
I cannot understand this. I cannot seem to make sense why and how this has come to be.
You intrigue me. You intrigue me like a boy in Singapore watching snow for the first time. Yet we are so different, so maganimously different that I don’t know how to address you or how to know you.
I’m… desperate for some love, some kind of love by someone, and I don’t know.
i am intrigued
by everything around me
from towers to clocks
and people and dogs
whoever understands
please come here and explain
because i know i’m young
but trapped beyond
any understand.
you might not comprehend
i am intrigued
by everything around me
from towers to clocks
and people and dogs
however understands
please come here and explain
i know i am young
and trapped beyond
any understand.
you might not comprehend
“Ah, yes, little bit of intrigue,” Brett said. The first time I’d heard it I’d laughed. Today I only smiled, shaking my head. Fuckin Brett, man.
“Yeah, quite,” I conceded. “So I just kinda sauntered on after him, right?”
“You /followed/ him?” he squawked.
“I wouldn’t say /followed,/ but actually yeah. You’re missing the point, pay attention.”