His occupancy is undeniable. He abides and lives amongst us, he leaves clues, though we do not see him. We feel him in the joy he leaves, in the songs he whispers. There is mystery to his occupancy, for we often miss he.
her mind was occupied with the thoughts of her father. why would he leave her like this, standing in the cold, frightened and alone? all she wanted was her family back. to have something to occupy the empty space in her heart but for some reason, she couldn’t have that. she couldn’t have anything anymore.
I will take up space, crowd your mind. Please do not push me out. OH, you say that there is no room for me? Too bad, I’m here with open arms. I will always to be here. Your head may be overcrowded, but it will be full of love.
here is someone
sitting
i draw closer
and realize that there
are no words
which fill the gaps
between her eyes and mine.
the gazes fall crumpled
and unsent.
i’m running out of postage.
There was only one way he could put the people that had gathered outside of the government buildings. Standing together with rage on their faces and weapons in their hands, they refused to move for riot suits and guns alike. A strange sense of bravery given only by the frustration of possible death and destruction. When such things land on your doorstep, it would seem that there was little choice in anyone’s mind but to fight for freedom.
How fitting. Right in there. The little space. There’s plenty of room if you align yourself right. Just like that over the planks there. You can crawl around. Crawl space attic, you know? I’ll be right behind you. Just watch the planks and go slow. Drag this here. Carry it forward first, just like that yeah. You’ve got it, don’t worry I’m watching ya.
The occupancy of the theater was a mere one hundred twenty, and over two hundred people tried to squish into the space in order to hear the newest, youngest mayor speak. Many were disappointed to be turned away, but instead of going home, they found a place to sit outside and had small juvenile messengers scurry in and out of the conference to bring back tidbits of information.
“Well, my son told me the mayor has a pimple on her chin,” one man sighed from the corner, understanding his child’s lack of priorities.
the occupancy was unlike no other one i had ever seen before. down in there it was cold damp wet and smelt of rotting flesh decaying by the minute. the task at hand was awkward and only people in grave need of money would try and preform it. you were told to was off dead bodies with with
…He supposed he should have been more prepared for such… /characters/. In truth, he hadn’t thought anything of it, merely going about his own business, observing, guarding… but once they had moved in, it had become strikingly obvious that he had hardly been ready for such creatures, especially since they seemed to have a knack for destroying many of the rooms he took such pride in maintaining.
The blustery cold biting at every inch of me, I stepped up to the motel door and rapped on the dirty glass. I could vaguely make out a silhouette roaming about the inside–question is, why wouldn’t they answer? I just needed a place to lay my head for the night, and then I’d be able to leave town…
My eyes then darted up to a neon red sign, blinking two words I was, unfortunately, familiar with:
“No Occupancy”.
Sighing, I wiped my runny nose and started back down the road.
I stood by the mailbox smoking what I’d given up months ago… Any second a man was to come with a thick packet asking me what kind of person I was that I wanted their apartment. Let me tell you, inquirers… I’m the kind of person to want to sit by the fireplace with Matt and cuddle until he has to go to the hospital and I have to go to school. I want a tapestry of Ganesh on the wall and some mary jane on the balcony. I want a chameleon and a yellow canary. I want to ponder my new life on the patio and kiss my husband on a cold winter’s night. And when I’m praying to your porcelain god while he holds my hair back I will have long since forgotten this pile of paper but at the moment with my cigarette in hand… It’s the only thing on my mind.
We all want something to occupy our lives. Inside, where it’s all hollow and vast and echoing. Occupancy. We try to fill it with distractions; Facebook, Tumblr, books, shows, work. Sometimes it works but sometimes you feel that void and you know it’s there’s something empty deep down in you that’ll never go away, and it’s scary, but it’s also beautiful.
The gym could hold only a 200 occupancy. This would need to be changed before the big game. Of course, money is an issue. School board members would scramble to raise the necessary funds.
The elevator creaked with an uncertain groan; simultaneously, all the passengers glanced at the fire safety certificate above the buttons. MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY: 35 people. We glanced at each other
They filled the house. All their possessions, treasures from their younger years spent robbing the neighborhood. All gathered under one roof, fittingly not theirs. “This’ll do” he said
To occupy. Occupy wall street. Occupy the world. Rebel, rebel. Change the world, if you really can. Occupy your belief, it’s ready to be occupied, to be lived in, to be filled to the brim with people.
I didn’t mean to jam my elbow underneath his ribs, but I was pushed by a mob of other drunk assholes. My gaze wandered to the maximum occupancy sign on the wall, displaying a high two-digit number that served no actual purpose.
She lived down the hall from me. I never saw her out except in the darkest hours of the night, when she would shuffle over the threadbare carpet to the vending machine and crouch down under the flickering light on the ceiling above her. Her head was always bent down to the buttons so I could only see the darkness of her hair over her shoulders. After a minute or two she would stand up with something in her hand, always different, and shuffle back to her room, shutting the door quietly, and the darkness continued as if it had never been interrupted.
I once read an article about occupancy. It was terrible. Not to mention I didnt really know what it meant. Does it mean to occupy space? Like a crowded elevator? Nah, That’d be dumb. Perhaps I should look it up on google.
Occupy wall street as the wolf
lurking behind the shepherd’s shoulder
a simple lamb skin
blood its inseams,
just a slight dripping from the wool,
when has red ever looked redder than on
the whitest white backdrop.
There was no occupancy inside the hotel. Which was a shame, really…we wanted to find a way to escape our obligations and our responsibilities, whether they were emotional, fiscal, or legal. We wanted to be together.
Your space is my mind has been voided. There’s no time left to ponder you, to realize what you were and who you shaped me.
Your toothbrush is where you left it, by the sugar-bowl curve of the sink next to a spattering of the mint toothpaste brand that you always bought that I never liked. Your side of the bed is still warm, slightly, and it smells like you on the pillow. I can’t bring myself to wash it yet.
I laid down near your grave, darling, and I touched your gravestone hoping I could still feel you through it.
All these questions like: “What’s your occupancy?”, “what’s your major?”, even “What do you want to be when you want to grow up?” Strike fear into my heart. The honest answer is, I don’t wanna grow up.
The more he threw penguins out of his tent, the more there seemed to be inside. He had no idea why. Had he taken the time to look, he would have realised that those thrown out soon found their way round to the back of the tent where it could be entered via a tear in the fabric.
“…max two person occupancy,” he finished, taking a long drag off his cigarette.
“And that’s, uh, non-negotiable?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to get on her new landlords bad side.
He shrugged. “Look, kid, to be honest, long as I don’t get any complaints, I don’t give a rats how many live here,”
She smiled, relief etched across her features. “Thank you,”
He shrugged. “Don’t thank me, kid; I meant what I said. I get even one complaint-”
“You won’t,” she said. “Promise,”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’ve reached maximum occupancy. You’ll have to leave.”
I blinked and looked up from my newspaper. A lady with a pointed expression and a plain white dress stood before me, drumming her fingers on the glass table.
“I was informed that Heaven was an infinite space. Was that false?”
She looked off to the side. “Well, uh…you’ve got to stretch the truth a little bit for the newcomers, you know. Good for business. Keeps them in the doors.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “And now you’re forcing me out of those doors.”
She gave me a condescending glare. “Okay, I understand you’re uncomfortable with change. I get that. I totally get that. But you’re supposed to be glad in these circumstances. Do you know what this means? You’re going to get a chance to begin your life all over is what this means.”
I folded up my newspaper and stood up.
the hotel was at full occupancy. Shelia thought that the night would be long and cold if she didn’t find somewhere to sleep soon. Ron had been so angry when she left the house. What had set him off this time? She really couldn’t remember. But,whatever, it was best to be away until he cooled down a bit.
The maximum occupancy for my house would probably be 10 people. It’s very small and definitely doesn’t fit my entire family. My family has like 60 people!
This spot is reserved, however, I must say, I was not aware. Now I’m sitting here, ashamed and embarrassed. I wanted to impress her tonight and to have a good time.
But, well, with him here, my ignorance humiliates me.
The occupant gazed out the window of his tiny dirty apartment. Did he live there? Yes, he was alive. But did he live? He couldn’t be sure. He was an occupant of despair. Floating through. He gazed out the window at the cars below him. What did they occupy?
No occupancy. What was I going to do? I was stuck in this cold, biting city and I knew no one, and there was no where to stay. The street? I could find a corner I supposed. But I wasn’t quite ready to accept that reality. That was when I saw him – rich, composed. My ticket out of here. I brushed my hair back and strutted over to him.
His occupancy is undeniable. He abides and lives amongst us, he leaves clues, though we do not see him. We feel him in the joy he leaves, in the songs he whispers. There is mystery to his occupancy, for we often miss he.
her mind was occupied with the thoughts of her father. why would he leave her like this, standing in the cold, frightened and alone? all she wanted was her family back. to have something to occupy the empty space in her heart but for some reason, she couldn’t have that. she couldn’t have anything anymore.
I will take up space, crowd your mind. Please do not push me out. OH, you say that there is no room for me? Too bad, I’m here with open arms. I will always to be here. Your head may be overcrowded, but it will be full of love.
here is someone
sitting
i draw closer
and realize that there
are no words
which fill the gaps
between her eyes and mine.
the gazes fall crumpled
and unsent.
i’m running out of postage.
There was only one way he could put the people that had gathered outside of the government buildings. Standing together with rage on their faces and weapons in their hands, they refused to move for riot suits and guns alike. A strange sense of bravery given only by the frustration of possible death and destruction. When such things land on your doorstep, it would seem that there was little choice in anyone’s mind but to fight for freedom.
The action or fact of occupying a space. I just read the definition, fascinating. I occupy every space, every indent of my ageing body.
Occupancy agaiiiin? I just wrote about it, please give me another word. I’m boreeeed! And hungry, even though I ate like three hours ago, or five?
How fitting. Right in there. The little space. There’s plenty of room if you align yourself right. Just like that over the planks there. You can crawl around. Crawl space attic, you know? I’ll be right behind you. Just watch the planks and go slow. Drag this here. Carry it forward first, just like that yeah. You’ve got it, don’t worry I’m watching ya.
The occupancy of the theater was a mere one hundred twenty, and over two hundred people tried to squish into the space in order to hear the newest, youngest mayor speak. Many were disappointed to be turned away, but instead of going home, they found a place to sit outside and had small juvenile messengers scurry in and out of the conference to bring back tidbits of information.
“Well, my son told me the mayor has a pimple on her chin,” one man sighed from the corner, understanding his child’s lack of priorities.
the occupancy was unlike no other one i had ever seen before. down in there it was cold damp wet and smelt of rotting flesh decaying by the minute. the task at hand was awkward and only people in grave need of money would try and preform it. you were told to was off dead bodies with with
…He supposed he should have been more prepared for such… /characters/. In truth, he hadn’t thought anything of it, merely going about his own business, observing, guarding… but once they had moved in, it had become strikingly obvious that he had hardly been ready for such creatures, especially since they seemed to have a knack for destroying many of the rooms he took such pride in maintaining.
The blustery cold biting at every inch of me, I stepped up to the motel door and rapped on the dirty glass. I could vaguely make out a silhouette roaming about the inside–question is, why wouldn’t they answer? I just needed a place to lay my head for the night, and then I’d be able to leave town…
My eyes then darted up to a neon red sign, blinking two words I was, unfortunately, familiar with:
“No Occupancy”.
Sighing, I wiped my runny nose and started back down the road.
I stood by the mailbox smoking what I’d given up months ago… Any second a man was to come with a thick packet asking me what kind of person I was that I wanted their apartment. Let me tell you, inquirers… I’m the kind of person to want to sit by the fireplace with Matt and cuddle until he has to go to the hospital and I have to go to school. I want a tapestry of Ganesh on the wall and some mary jane on the balcony. I want a chameleon and a yellow canary. I want to ponder my new life on the patio and kiss my husband on a cold winter’s night. And when I’m praying to your porcelain god while he holds my hair back I will have long since forgotten this pile of paper but at the moment with my cigarette in hand… It’s the only thing on my mind.
Occupy what? Occupy Wall Street? France? My local library? You really need to specify.
Slob. Lazy. Apartment. Commandeered. Filled. Rude. Not needed.
Occupancy has stopped looking like a word.
Occu. Pancy. Francy-pancy.
Pan. I am pan. No, not a frying pan or Pan. I am pansexual
Whee.
Octo. Occu. Hmmmmm.
I have a theory.
We all want something to occupy our lives. Inside, where it’s all hollow and vast and echoing. Occupancy. We try to fill it with distractions; Facebook, Tumblr, books, shows, work. Sometimes it works but sometimes you feel that void and you know it’s there’s something empty deep down in you that’ll never go away, and it’s scary, but it’s also beautiful.
The neon sign
is all that’s warming
your disposition.
sunset
fuchsia
and acid green
you bask in its glow
and I, in your
indecision.
The gym could hold only a 200 occupancy. This would need to be changed before the big game. Of course, money is an issue. School board members would scramble to raise the necessary funds.
The elevator creaked with an uncertain groan; simultaneously, all the passengers glanced at the fire safety certificate above the buttons. MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY: 35 people. We glanced at each other
They filled the house. All their possessions, treasures from their younger years spent robbing the neighborhood. All gathered under one roof, fittingly not theirs. “This’ll do” he said
To occupy. Occupy wall street. Occupy the world. Rebel, rebel. Change the world, if you really can. Occupy your belief, it’s ready to be occupied, to be lived in, to be filled to the brim with people.
I didn’t mean to jam my elbow underneath his ribs, but I was pushed by a mob of other drunk assholes. My gaze wandered to the maximum occupancy sign on the wall, displaying a high two-digit number that served no actual purpose.
She lived down the hall from me. I never saw her out except in the darkest hours of the night, when she would shuffle over the threadbare carpet to the vending machine and crouch down under the flickering light on the ceiling above her. Her head was always bent down to the buttons so I could only see the darkness of her hair over her shoulders. After a minute or two she would stand up with something in her hand, always different, and shuffle back to her room, shutting the door quietly, and the darkness continued as if it had never been interrupted.
She took occupancy of her large home at night in a snowstorm with her female collie in labor, and her granddaughter. She couldn’t have been happier.
I once read an article about occupancy. It was terrible. Not to mention I didnt really know what it meant. Does it mean to occupy space? Like a crowded elevator? Nah, That’d be dumb. Perhaps I should look it up on google.
Occupy wall street as the wolf
lurking behind the shepherd’s shoulder
a simple lamb skin
blood its inseams,
just a slight dripping from the wool,
when has red ever looked redder than on
the whitest white backdrop.
There was no occupancy inside the hotel. Which was a shame, really…we wanted to find a way to escape our obligations and our responsibilities, whether they were emotional, fiscal, or legal. We wanted to be together.
Your space is my mind has been voided. There’s no time left to ponder you, to realize what you were and who you shaped me.
Your toothbrush is where you left it, by the sugar-bowl curve of the sink next to a spattering of the mint toothpaste brand that you always bought that I never liked. Your side of the bed is still warm, slightly, and it smells like you on the pillow. I can’t bring myself to wash it yet.
I laid down near your grave, darling, and I touched your gravestone hoping I could still feel you through it.
The airport bathroom door said occupancy. Even though I didn’t have to pee that bad.
All these questions like: “What’s your occupancy?”, “what’s your major?”, even “What do you want to be when you want to grow up?” Strike fear into my heart. The honest answer is, I don’t wanna grow up.
The more he threw penguins out of his tent, the more there seemed to be inside. He had no idea why. Had he taken the time to look, he would have realised that those thrown out soon found their way round to the back of the tent where it could be entered via a tear in the fabric.
“…max two person occupancy,” he finished, taking a long drag off his cigarette.
“And that’s, uh, non-negotiable?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to get on her new landlords bad side.
He shrugged. “Look, kid, to be honest, long as I don’t get any complaints, I don’t give a rats how many live here,”
She smiled, relief etched across her features. “Thank you,”
He shrugged. “Don’t thank me, kid; I meant what I said. I get even one complaint-”
“You won’t,” she said. “Promise,”
This sadness has occupied my heart after the shredding vacancy it has felt.the vacancy in my heart was unbearable
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’ve reached maximum occupancy. You’ll have to leave.”
I blinked and looked up from my newspaper. A lady with a pointed expression and a plain white dress stood before me, drumming her fingers on the glass table.
“I was informed that Heaven was an infinite space. Was that false?”
She looked off to the side. “Well, uh…you’ve got to stretch the truth a little bit for the newcomers, you know. Good for business. Keeps them in the doors.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “And now you’re forcing me out of those doors.”
She gave me a condescending glare. “Okay, I understand you’re uncomfortable with change. I get that. I totally get that. But you’re supposed to be glad in these circumstances. Do you know what this means? You’re going to get a chance to begin your life all over is what this means.”
I folded up my newspaper and stood up.
.
.
.
.
.
.
./
.
.
……………………………………………………………………………………..
.
the hotel was at full occupancy. Shelia thought that the night would be long and cold if she didn’t find somewhere to sleep soon. Ron had been so angry when she left the house. What had set him off this time? She really couldn’t remember. But,whatever, it was best to be away until he cooled down a bit.
The maximum occupancy for my house would probably be 10 people. It’s very small and definitely doesn’t fit my entire family. My family has like 60 people!
This spot is reserved, however, I must say, I was not aware. Now I’m sitting here, ashamed and embarrassed. I wanted to impress her tonight and to have a good time.
But, well, with him here, my ignorance humiliates me.
The occupant gazed out the window of his tiny dirty apartment. Did he live there? Yes, he was alive. But did he live? He couldn’t be sure. He was an occupant of despair. Floating through. He gazed out the window at the cars below him. What did they occupy?
No occupancy. What was I going to do? I was stuck in this cold, biting city and I knew no one, and there was no where to stay. The street? I could find a corner I supposed. But I wasn’t quite ready to accept that reality. That was when I saw him – rich, composed. My ticket out of here. I brushed my hair back and strutted over to him.
Occupancy fills my house. It also fills my life. My family and animals have occupancy with my soul & heart. Does that make sense????