The air was icy cold even though the sun was shining brightly on the horizon. I rubbed my gloved hands together and pressed them against my face. Everyone was dressed head to toe in warm clothes, except for one person. He was wearing a tank top and basketball shorts, and to top it off flip flops. It was ten degrees below zero and he was dressed for a summer in Arizona, not a winter in Boston. I shoved through the throng of people until I walked next to him. Looking up at him, he was hardly an adult yet. I took off my coat which was three sizes too big since I found it at Goodwill. Money was running short, but good karma exceeded financial problems. “Here.” I said and shoved it in his face. “You look like you need it.” He pushed my hand away. Stunned by the rudeness, I snapped “What’s your problem?” Instead of reacting the way I thought he would, he signed in four quick motions. M O N K.
the magic monk, even though ambrosial
bites on being persuaded to hum up a mountain top
because their his heart feels alive again,
a stride once again,
a mend,
between him and nature!
A monk whom finds another monk
wont feel skunk,
fond of the smell of his own breed,
he there
becomes of a heed
to far from impede on what he and his fellow need!
Standing at the top of the cliff with the wind racing against his mind, the monk pondered every possible aspect of existing. He found that just being alive was enough to live his life, that just breathing out of his lungs expediated any other possible purpose. He was content being a part of the world, and being none of it.
The bald spot was tradition but pissed him the hell off. The monk mused about developing a line of toupees just for the brotherhood. But that, of course, would be frowned upon. As were his ideas for robes made of bamboo fabric, Sharpie-illuminated texts, and barbershop quartet Gregorian chant.
His billowy robes swept around his ankles as he took light, yet certain steps toward the altar. An offering in his hands, ready to be raised to the gods.
Serenity. Master of peace. Focused and dedicated. They separate themselves from world to find the true meaning of life. Detaching them from earthly matters to reach what is beyond a normal human’s understanding.
I remember watching an episode of Monk when I started feeling strange. As if I was being watched.
Later that evening, when I went to bed, I couldn’t keep off the thought of my house somehow betraying me, someone standing right beside me all the time.
Then, when I heard some footsteps down the corridor at two AM, I immediately felt better: I had a guardian.
The monk sat in the rectory, wondering where he’d gone wrong. His socks were mismatched and mud caked the soles of his slippers. The wind whistled through the rectory.
He sat shaving his head once more as the light of the sun reached over the horizon. His head, finally smooth, did not bring the comfort he thought it would when he rubbed his hand across it. For him this had always been a peaceful gesture but, not today.
He stared silently out the window of the monastery. The night was cold, the moonlight seemed harsh, and the stars distant. What had he done with his life? A sigh escapes, what should have been a prayer. No words, no words.
Monk, frer habe ich gedacht, das wŕe eine dieser total bescheuerten Fernsehserien, mit denen ich sowieso nichts anfangen kann. Wenn ich mir mal eine angeschaut hte, wŕe alles leichter gewesen. Dann hte ich mir auch den Filmdialog vorher runtergeladen und wŕe dann im Sznchronstudio nicht so ins Schwimmen gekommen.
There were several people in the room, but I was only looking at one. It was a young man, astonishingly handsome, with black hair and piercing blue eyes that looked just a bit too awake for someone who spent his whole life praying and gardening. But who was I to judge? I, of all people, should know that thoughts like these were just the product of stereotypes constructed by our ignorant society.
She put the hood over her head. “Leave me alone, Lisa.”
She heard her sister sigh and turn around to leave. “Okay, stay up here like some sort of monk or whatever, but I’m going out to live in the real world like a real person.”
The cell had been swept twice that day, in the morning after prayers, and in the evening after dinner and before prayers. The wax in the candle was still liquid when the detective arrived. The blood still spreading across the clean stone floor.
I remember watching an episode of Monk when I started feeling awkward. As if I was being watched.
Later that evening, when I went to bed, I couldn’t keep off the thought of my house betraying me. Somebody standing next to my bed all the time.
When I turned off the lights eventually, I knew the voices would be coming again. But I was prepared. I had a guardian.
The man in the orange robe took a backward step toward the door of the auditorium. Then he took a forward step. Odd, she thought. Monks were supposed to be centered, sure of where they were, thoughtful but decisive. Then again, perhaps the backing and forthing were the methods by which monks centered themselves. She would have to try it. If she could pick up all the pieces of herself that were scattered under the seats and against the walls and a few on the floor of the stage.
She thought she’d be a monk one day, living in Tibet. She established her own tea shop and made pottery instead. She married a rich woman who inherited the loot from her father, who had made a fortune on making waterproof, but still chic, boots. They adopted two bulldogs, who drooled all over the floor. And one day, while brewing chai, she said aloud, “I can’t do this anymore.”
The monk was a whithdrawn, introverted person, sick of people’s pettiness. As a child, all he wanted was to escape from the world into the quite solitude of a monastery full of books and silence. Reading, learning and praying all day, that was his wish. And now, that it is said to be came true, his days were full of the shit, the chattering and the demands of other votaries. They were as two-faced, gossipy, malevolent and odious as everybody else.
monks, are quiet solemn folk, busy with their god and their contemplation, they seldom get a chance to remember that life only matters if you live it, you must breathe and experience the sun, feel love into the root of your bones, you have to be out and about to know the meaning of anything
The temple stood mighty on the tip of a frozen mountain, surrounded by nothing but the dense white snow falling slowly through the air. A young monk stood on the edge of the porch, looking out into the barren wasteland laid before him. They don’t know what lay beyond the mountain range, and likely never will. But, sometimes the young monk can hear screams in the distance- gargled, terrible noises that make him wonder if his superiors really don’t know what’s out there, or if they are simply afraid.
She slapped me hard across the face. “Pie isn’t in your diet, Mary.” I looked at her scorn, and matched in with my best form of innocence. “But isn’t pie-eating the biggest part?”
“IT’S PIETY, MARY.”
Monks are respectable becaues they show self control. The ultimate honor is being able to control the beast within ourselves and not the ability to control the outside world. It is pure power.
spirits fly away
vaporize into thin air
a whisper pours out of the
open door
smoke fills the room and you
c h o k e
and gag
the underground souls
cackle into the night
by What do you do for a sore Achilles tendon? on 07.20.2017
The man took a giant step up the stairs towards the monastery. Too eager, he thought to himself, knowing that his cover would be blown if he were to become emotional. The one who he sought after for years, the one that left him bloodied in an alleyway with broken bones that took months to heal. Has converted into a monk and isolated himself from the world, the nerve of him to hide, the man thought. Finally he makes it to the top and scans the area for his target, but everyone is wearing identical clothing and wears the same haircut. The man knows exactly what he looks like his face burned an image in his mind and as a result can’t even get good sleep.
The air was icy cold even though the sun was shining brightly on the horizon. I rubbed my gloved hands together and pressed them against my face. Everyone was dressed head to toe in warm clothes, except for one person. He was wearing a tank top and basketball shorts, and to top it off flip flops. It was ten degrees below zero and he was dressed for a summer in Arizona, not a winter in Boston. I shoved through the throng of people until I walked next to him. Looking up at him, he was hardly an adult yet. I took off my coat which was three sizes too big since I found it at Goodwill. Money was running short, but good karma exceeded financial problems. “Here.” I said and shoved it in his face. “You look like you need it.” He pushed my hand away. Stunned by the rudeness, I snapped “What’s your problem?” Instead of reacting the way I thought he would, he signed in four quick motions. M O N K.
the magic monk, even though ambrosial
bites on being persuaded to hum up a mountain top
because their his heart feels alive again,
a stride once again,
a mend,
between him and nature!
A monk whom finds another monk
wont feel skunk,
fond of the smell of his own breed,
he there
becomes of a heed
to far from impede on what he and his fellow need!
Standing at the top of the cliff with the wind racing against his mind, the monk pondered every possible aspect of existing. He found that just being alive was enough to live his life, that just breathing out of his lungs expediated any other possible purpose. He was content being a part of the world, and being none of it.
The bald spot was tradition but pissed him the hell off. The monk mused about developing a line of toupees just for the brotherhood. But that, of course, would be frowned upon. As were his ideas for robes made of bamboo fabric, Sharpie-illuminated texts, and barbershop quartet Gregorian chant.
His bald head gleamed in the morning sun, and the ratty cloth clung to his bones. In his hands, a scratched wooden bowl.
His billowy robes swept around his ankles as he took light, yet certain steps toward the altar. An offering in his hands, ready to be raised to the gods.
“It is done.”
Serenity. Master of peace. Focused and dedicated. They separate themselves from world to find the true meaning of life. Detaching them from earthly matters to reach what is beyond a normal human’s understanding.
I remember watching an episode of Monk when I started feeling strange. As if I was being watched.
Later that evening, when I went to bed, I couldn’t keep off the thought of my house somehow betraying me, someone standing right beside me all the time.
Then, when I heard some footsteps down the corridor at two AM, I immediately felt better: I had a guardian.
The monk sat in the rectory, wondering where he’d gone wrong. His socks were mismatched and mud caked the soles of his slippers. The wind whistled through the rectory.
Monk A thinks Monk B is second rate
Monk D thinks Monk E is too prone to publicly masturbate
He sat shaving his head once more as the light of the sun reached over the horizon. His head, finally smooth, did not bring the comfort he thought it would when he rubbed his hand across it. For him this had always been a peaceful gesture but, not today.
He stared silently out the window of the monastery. The night was cold, the moonlight seemed harsh, and the stars distant. What had he done with his life? A sigh escapes, what should have been a prayer. No words, no words.
Very handful of sites that occur to become comprehensive below, from our point of view are undoubtedly well worth checking out.
there are many monks in spain, they used to help people to achive their goals.
there are many monk in field. No one of them are dangerous but are vey simpathic.
peacefully, patiently
walking with purpose
thinking with kindness
peacefully, patiently
loving with honesty
praying with hope
Monk, frer habe ich gedacht, das wŕe eine dieser total bescheuerten Fernsehserien, mit denen ich sowieso nichts anfangen kann. Wenn ich mir mal eine angeschaut hte, wŕe alles leichter gewesen. Dann hte ich mir auch den Filmdialog vorher runtergeladen und wŕe dann im Sznchronstudio nicht so ins Schwimmen gekommen.
There were several people in the room, but I was only looking at one. It was a young man, astonishingly handsome, with black hair and piercing blue eyes that looked just a bit too awake for someone who spent his whole life praying and gardening. But who was I to judge? I, of all people, should know that thoughts like these were just the product of stereotypes constructed by our ignorant society.
She put the hood over her head. “Leave me alone, Lisa.”
She heard her sister sigh and turn around to leave. “Okay, stay up here like some sort of monk or whatever, but I’m going out to live in the real world like a real person.”
There are a lot of people in the world who like monkeys
The cell had been swept twice that day, in the morning after prayers, and in the evening after dinner and before prayers. The wax in the candle was still liquid when the detective arrived. The blood still spreading across the clean stone floor.
One day i was walking down the hall and there right beside me was the big fat monkey. His name was monk.
I remember watching an episode of Monk when I started feeling awkward. As if I was being watched.
Later that evening, when I went to bed, I couldn’t keep off the thought of my house betraying me. Somebody standing next to my bed all the time.
When I turned off the lights eventually, I knew the voices would be coming again. But I was prepared. I had a guardian.
The man in the orange robe took a backward step toward the door of the auditorium. Then he took a forward step. Odd, she thought. Monks were supposed to be centered, sure of where they were, thoughtful but decisive. Then again, perhaps the backing and forthing were the methods by which monks centered themselves. She would have to try it. If she could pick up all the pieces of herself that were scattered under the seats and against the walls and a few on the floor of the stage.
She thought she’d be a monk one day, living in Tibet. She established her own tea shop and made pottery instead. She married a rich woman who inherited the loot from her father, who had made a fortune on making waterproof, but still chic, boots. They adopted two bulldogs, who drooled all over the floor. And one day, while brewing chai, she said aloud, “I can’t do this anymore.”
The monk was a whithdrawn, introverted person, sick of people’s pettiness. As a child, all he wanted was to escape from the world into the quite solitude of a monastery full of books and silence. Reading, learning and praying all day, that was his wish. And now, that it is said to be came true, his days were full of the shit, the chattering and the demands of other votaries. They were as two-faced, gossipy, malevolent and odious as everybody else.
monks, are quiet solemn folk, busy with their god and their contemplation, they seldom get a chance to remember that life only matters if you live it, you must breathe and experience the sun, feel love into the root of your bones, you have to be out and about to know the meaning of anything
The temple stood mighty on the tip of a frozen mountain, surrounded by nothing but the dense white snow falling slowly through the air. A young monk stood on the edge of the porch, looking out into the barren wasteland laid before him. They don’t know what lay beyond the mountain range, and likely never will. But, sometimes the young monk can hear screams in the distance- gargled, terrible noises that make him wonder if his superiors really don’t know what’s out there, or if they are simply afraid.
The monk was still as glass, still as stone. Yet as she hummed, her body vibrated so slightly so slightly. A piece of her yearned to move.
She slapped me hard across the face. “Pie isn’t in your diet, Mary.” I looked at her scorn, and matched in with my best form of innocence. “But isn’t pie-eating the biggest part?”
“IT’S PIETY, MARY.”
Monks are respectable becaues they show self control. The ultimate honor is being able to control the beast within ourselves and not the ability to control the outside world. It is pure power.
spirits fly away
vaporize into thin air
a whisper pours out of the
open door
smoke fills the room and you
c h o k e
and gag
the underground souls
cackle into the night
bookmarked!!, I like your web site!
The man took a giant step up the stairs towards the monastery. Too eager, he thought to himself, knowing that his cover would be blown if he were to become emotional. The one who he sought after for years, the one that left him bloodied in an alleyway with broken bones that took months to heal. Has converted into a monk and isolated himself from the world, the nerve of him to hide, the man thought. Finally he makes it to the top and scans the area for his target, but everyone is wearing identical clothing and wears the same haircut. The man knows exactly what he looks like his face burned an image in his mind and as a result can’t even get good sleep.
Slowly swaying, the line of robed men shifted down the hall in the pre-dawn darkness. Ropes and tassels hung and twitched like broken clock hands.