of what worth is speaking if you are constantly being misunderstood, misinterpreted? sometimes it goes unheard. she can see it in the eyes, the blankness as it sets in. sometimes what is said is mocked, derided…
I felt the eyes gazing at me. Hundreds of them. Just looking at me. My sandpaper throat swallowed, trying to speak the words that were written on the note card in my clammy hands. I attempted to meet the hungry eyes but in the end noticed my shoelaces. I gulped, desperately wondering how long had I been silent for. Was it normal to be silent for that long? I took another small step forward.
Just when she starting speaking, the lights went out. That was what happened when it got windy in her neighbourhood – every time, without fail. Now nobody was paying attention to anything she had to say because they had to go find candles and flashlights. By the time that happened, the moment passed and everybody began to discuss how they’d get dinner together without power, and how long it would take for the power to return.
While he was speaking she was off in her mind day dreaming. He’d catch her eventually, but it was a few minutes to work out the details of her story some more. What did the hero do next? Well, he needed to save the girl somehow, but there was a rather large monster in the way. It seemed besotted with the fair lady.
He never talked, not often, he simply stared into the everlasting distance without any meaning or cause. Why? Not like I knew, he was a strange man with strange motives. His entire being was surreal, so why would he choose to talk now?
“It’s new” was all he said. What was new? Unless he had a motive to talk he would keep his mouth shut and continue observing the life surrounding him and events that passed him by.
As she spoke, her voice a soothing music, i could not help but focus on the suttle movements of her lip. My ears went numb and my sight blurred. Like a siren she had encaptured me with her enchanting music , and then i was doomed to fall…
It is the main way a human communicates, but is there a difference between speaking and making a noise. Most people dont think about what they say or how they say it. A person should be conscious of the effect his speech might have , good or bad.
There wasn’t any way to find out if there was to be anyone speaking in the middle of that forest, but there was the silence of birds, and even the winds. There was no dialogue, even for the forest in that area of the woods. Each step was silence, absorbed into earth, like a leaf falling, twirling endlessly before it even hit the ground.
She kept on speaking and never stopped. she ran on and on and never actualy said anything. it was as if she only spoke to hear her own voice. what an odd girl. I wonder what it would be like to be a girl like that to speak but never actualy say anything… how strange
Ruby stood on her porch and watched trashcans, cars, and the corner deli store go up in flames. The memory of the last riot sprung up like a undead friend. Within seconds a Channel 12 news van pulled up and a pretty white lady shoved a microphone towards Ruby’s face. “Why do you think they’re doing this, Ma’am?” Ruby shook her head and smiled. “Seems to be the only time you people come ’round n’ listen to us speak.”
And in this manner we communicate, or we both attempt to. Your indigance flares like a siren, lights flashing red and blue eyes like streetlights blasting, and my own stare is weary and dull, like an old bulb fading.
I try to explain what happened, and in interlocution your hands cut intersections like stale tupperware waving sadly.
I guess we didn’t win.
She was speaking, but her words and the meaning behind them were inaudible. I slouched on the couch, fiddling with my mug, nodding my head as if I agreed. One raindrop fell on the window, then there were two, then it was pouring.
Speaking to Mr. Rowley would do no good, for he was adamant that tey belonged together, which she fully disbelieved at this point. Mr. Rowley was a cruel, selfish man she should never have trusted- and thus realizing that people had warned her against th man, and said he had changed since they were children, she firmly decided that she wouldn’t repeat the mistake- Mr. Rowley was not to be trusted ever again.
“Speaking of the traitor, your majesty, what is it, exactly, that you plan on doing with her imperial highness if she’s found?”
“You mean ‘when’, of course,”
“O-of course, majesty,” he said, swallowing. “WHEN she’s found,”
Argus sighed. “I haven’t decided what to do with my wayward sister, counselor. She needs to be punished, of course, but, in the end, blood is blood, yes?”
Speaking is both the most effective and most confusing form of communication. There are so many ways that one can put emphasis and meaning into any given word or phrase. It is also helpful to be fluent in the language being spoken at the time.
of which, did you get that checked out yet?
looks kind of… infectious
there’s a speck of dust on my glasses and the xylophone won’t shut up
i’m terribly sorry but we’re out of all our fucks.
please take a number.
Hello, Mr. President?
Speaking… do you know what spoken words could do? The simple act of speaking.. of expressing the things in your head would alleviate all the doubt and confusion revolving in my head. Just one sentence, one word, one sound that’s all I ask of you. Say something!
standing on the stage, she glares out at the audience, a stiff face, fists balled at her sides, and when she speaks it’s like she screams. everyone is caught of guard; everyone is enraptured. the audience leans forward in their seats for her impassioned soliloquy. they want to hear catch every syllable, every sharp intake of breath and hold it in their hearts because her speech has the power of a hurricane and it whirls them, swirls them, takes them on a space ship and ride and they can’t return home because just the way she speaks is changing their minds so that when they land, no matter whether across the universe or in their own beds, their worlds aren’t the same.
it’s hard not to rant at a person you hate so much. when he smiles at you like you’re exactly the man he wanted to see and you just feel the blood rise in your cheeks and want to give him a stern talking to. and speaking with him is like dancing on a landmine, you never know when everything is going to explode and… you want to scream at him that he better not smile at anyone else like that, that he better not have in depth conversations about literature and language and love and nothing with anyone but you. just the casual chit-chat with your most hated person gets you this way and it hurts but you know that he whispers in your presence not because he’s shy but because he knows that’s what you want. for only you to hear.
I had this word already!! can i get a new one please?? alright, again. Speaking. It is a verb. to speak. i think speaking is good, especially to others. you can get all your thoughts out. i like a quote by john green “my thoughts are stars i cant fathom into constellations.” i feel like that often. like my thoughts just arent formulated. its better to speak with formulated thoughts.
Speaking is how we communicate and share our feelings. This allows us to blow off steam, talk about our feelings and even just to have fun with another person. Speaking is a gift, not all of us can speak, we should treat it as a gift. People need to think before they speak
Sometimes all I want is for us to be talking to each other, even if it’s mostly through text. The idea of us speaking again in person seems so far off, but I know it’ll happen again. How could it not?
Speaking had always gotten my nerves up in a whirl, but I hadn’t realized the extent of my fear until now, this moment.
Thousands of people gazed up into my face, their eyes speaking snippets of hope, faith, trust.
I would betray them all.
Mouth moving of its own accord, I began to speak, and I commenced to bring shame to most shameless society to walk this earth.
Some guest speaker I was.
I should do less of it because what comes out of my mouth is too often the truth, I’m told. Don’t tell anyone what you really think, especially if it’s harsh. That’s too much for people. You can’t argue, you have to ‘push back.’ You can’t protest, you have to ‘push back.’ These are the people I call the new pusher man. The one who doesn’t want a real opinion. God damn the pusher ma
It was so quiet. No one was talking. No words, no arguments- I would rather everyone was screaming rather than this. Then, he looked up. Smiled. Let me know it was okay.
“You don’t need to look so worried”
All I did was cry.
The faster I spoke, the more jumbled my thoughts became. I had no Idea where I was going with this. I just had to buy time. Just enough to save the world. Just enough to save Valentine.
If i were to speak. how would you listen? what would you hear. what would be said. If i were to speak. Could you understand. It’s as though in speaking — there’s an art we all need to develop. Something we need to find and ascertain.
it doesn’t work as well as I ever want it to. something gets stuck and if I push too hard, tears come first. sometimes I lose my thoughts and end up believing my own make believe words.
that’s why I like the page. if i lie to myself and/or everyone else, at least I get to choose what it looks like.
sometimes when I am about to speak I forget I have a voice. Not in the way where I forget about my own personal agency and ability to enforce positive change in the world, but in the way where I forget I have vocal cords. My therapist says that’s called dissociation.
of what worth is speaking if you are constantly being misunderstood, misinterpreted? sometimes it goes unheard. she can see it in the eyes, the blankness as it sets in. sometimes what is said is mocked, derided…
I can be good at this whole “speaking” thing. Sometimes.
It really depends on the situation.
Unfortunately, anytime I really need it, my “speaking” skills begin to fail.
Maybe that just means I’m not that good at this whole “speaking” thing.
I felt the eyes gazing at me. Hundreds of them. Just looking at me. My sandpaper throat swallowed, trying to speak the words that were written on the note card in my clammy hands. I attempted to meet the hungry eyes but in the end noticed my shoelaces. I gulped, desperately wondering how long had I been silent for. Was it normal to be silent for that long? I took another small step forward.
Just when she starting speaking, the lights went out. That was what happened when it got windy in her neighbourhood – every time, without fail. Now nobody was paying attention to anything she had to say because they had to go find candles and flashlights. By the time that happened, the moment passed and everybody began to discuss how they’d get dinner together without power, and how long it would take for the power to return.
While he was speaking she was off in her mind day dreaming. He’d catch her eventually, but it was a few minutes to work out the details of her story some more. What did the hero do next? Well, he needed to save the girl somehow, but there was a rather large monster in the way. It seemed besotted with the fair lady.
“Speaking of which, have you seen my knife?”
“No. Am I your knife’s keeper?” He smiled at the pout her mouth made.
He never talked, not often, he simply stared into the everlasting distance without any meaning or cause. Why? Not like I knew, he was a strange man with strange motives. His entire being was surreal, so why would he choose to talk now?
“It’s new” was all he said. What was new? Unless he had a motive to talk he would keep his mouth shut and continue observing the life surrounding him and events that passed him by.
loud
annoying
hard
annoying
loud
kills
don’t
stop
but I want to
but I don’t
I don’t listen much
because most people fail at
speaking properly
One cannot help it
if they stutter but, shameful
is speaking ignant!
I don’t listen much
because most people fail at
speaking properly
One cannot help it
if they stutter but, shameful
is speaking ignant!
As she spoke, her voice a soothing music, i could not help but focus on the suttle movements of her lip. My ears went numb and my sight blurred. Like a siren she had encaptured me with her enchanting music , and then i was doomed to fall…
It is the main way a human communicates, but is there a difference between speaking and making a noise. Most people dont think about what they say or how they say it. A person should be conscious of the effect his speech might have , good or bad.
There wasn’t any way to find out if there was to be anyone speaking in the middle of that forest, but there was the silence of birds, and even the winds. There was no dialogue, even for the forest in that area of the woods. Each step was silence, absorbed into earth, like a leaf falling, twirling endlessly before it even hit the ground.
She kept on speaking and never stopped. she ran on and on and never actualy said anything. it was as if she only spoke to hear her own voice. what an odd girl. I wonder what it would be like to be a girl like that to speak but never actualy say anything… how strange
Ruby stood on her porch and watched trashcans, cars, and the corner deli store go up in flames. The memory of the last riot sprung up like a undead friend. Within seconds a Channel 12 news van pulled up and a pretty white lady shoved a microphone towards Ruby’s face. “Why do you think they’re doing this, Ma’am?” Ruby shook her head and smiled. “Seems to be the only time you people come ’round n’ listen to us speak.”
You are talking. Your lips are like two rubber strips fluctuating in mistical rhythm
And in this manner we communicate, or we both attempt to. Your indigance flares like a siren, lights flashing red and blue eyes like streetlights blasting, and my own stare is weary and dull, like an old bulb fading.
I try to explain what happened, and in interlocution your hands cut intersections like stale tupperware waving sadly.
I guess we didn’t win.
She was speaking, but her words and the meaning behind them were inaudible. I slouched on the couch, fiddling with my mug, nodding my head as if I agreed. One raindrop fell on the window, then there were two, then it was pouring.
Speaking to Mr. Rowley would do no good, for he was adamant that tey belonged together, which she fully disbelieved at this point. Mr. Rowley was a cruel, selfish man she should never have trusted- and thus realizing that people had warned her against th man, and said he had changed since they were children, she firmly decided that she wouldn’t repeat the mistake- Mr. Rowley was not to be trusted ever again.
Enough speaking
Разговор. О стоить разговаривать? Стоит говорить ниочем? Как разговор влияет на мышление?
Reticent.
He spoke with the wind and sang like the sun.
She felt like the breeze and whispered like the moon.
“Speaking of the traitor, your majesty, what is it, exactly, that you plan on doing with her imperial highness if she’s found?”
“You mean ‘when’, of course,”
“O-of course, majesty,” he said, swallowing. “WHEN she’s found,”
Argus sighed. “I haven’t decided what to do with my wayward sister, counselor. She needs to be punished, of course, but, in the end, blood is blood, yes?”
Speaking is both the most effective and most confusing form of communication. There are so many ways that one can put emphasis and meaning into any given word or phrase. It is also helpful to be fluent in the language being spoken at the time.
of which, did you get that checked out yet?
looks kind of… infectious
there’s a speck of dust on my glasses and the xylophone won’t shut up
i’m terribly sorry but we’re out of all our fucks.
please take a number.
Hello, Mr. President?
Speaking… do you know what spoken words could do? The simple act of speaking.. of expressing the things in your head would alleviate all the doubt and confusion revolving in my head. Just one sentence, one word, one sound that’s all I ask of you. Say something!
standing on the stage, she glares out at the audience, a stiff face, fists balled at her sides, and when she speaks it’s like she screams. everyone is caught of guard; everyone is enraptured. the audience leans forward in their seats for her impassioned soliloquy. they want to hear catch every syllable, every sharp intake of breath and hold it in their hearts because her speech has the power of a hurricane and it whirls them, swirls them, takes them on a space ship and ride and they can’t return home because just the way she speaks is changing their minds so that when they land, no matter whether across the universe or in their own beds, their worlds aren’t the same.
it’s hard not to rant at a person you hate so much. when he smiles at you like you’re exactly the man he wanted to see and you just feel the blood rise in your cheeks and want to give him a stern talking to. and speaking with him is like dancing on a landmine, you never know when everything is going to explode and… you want to scream at him that he better not smile at anyone else like that, that he better not have in depth conversations about literature and language and love and nothing with anyone but you. just the casual chit-chat with your most hated person gets you this way and it hurts but you know that he whispers in your presence not because he’s shy but because he knows that’s what you want. for only you to hear.
I had this word already!! can i get a new one please?? alright, again. Speaking. It is a verb. to speak. i think speaking is good, especially to others. you can get all your thoughts out. i like a quote by john green “my thoughts are stars i cant fathom into constellations.” i feel like that often. like my thoughts just arent formulated. its better to speak with formulated thoughts.
Speaking is how we communicate and share our feelings. This allows us to blow off steam, talk about our feelings and even just to have fun with another person. Speaking is a gift, not all of us can speak, we should treat it as a gift. People need to think before they speak
Sometimes all I want is for us to be talking to each other, even if it’s mostly through text. The idea of us speaking again in person seems so far off, but I know it’ll happen again. How could it not?
Speaking had always gotten my nerves up in a whirl, but I hadn’t realized the extent of my fear until now, this moment.
Thousands of people gazed up into my face, their eyes speaking snippets of hope, faith, trust.
I would betray them all.
Mouth moving of its own accord, I began to speak, and I commenced to bring shame to most shameless society to walk this earth.
Some guest speaker I was.
I should do less of it because what comes out of my mouth is too often the truth, I’m told. Don’t tell anyone what you really think, especially if it’s harsh. That’s too much for people. You can’t argue, you have to ‘push back.’ You can’t protest, you have to ‘push back.’ These are the people I call the new pusher man. The one who doesn’t want a real opinion. God damn the pusher ma
It was so quiet. No one was talking. No words, no arguments- I would rather everyone was screaming rather than this. Then, he looked up. Smiled. Let me know it was okay.
“You don’t need to look so worried”
All I did was cry.
The faster I spoke, the more jumbled my thoughts became. I had no Idea where I was going with this. I just had to buy time. Just enough to save the world. Just enough to save Valentine.
If i were to speak. how would you listen? what would you hear. what would be said. If i were to speak. Could you understand. It’s as though in speaking — there’s an art we all need to develop. Something we need to find and ascertain.
it doesn’t work as well as I ever want it to. something gets stuck and if I push too hard, tears come first. sometimes I lose my thoughts and end up believing my own make believe words.
that’s why I like the page. if i lie to myself and/or everyone else, at least I get to choose what it looks like.
“Hello?”
“Yes, this is Doctor Andrews from Saint Joan’s Hospital. Is this Dani Howard?”
I could feel the lump beginning to swell in my throat. I tried to stop my hands from shaking as I held the phone. “Speaking.”
“We have some news regarding your wife, Claire. It seems that the operation went smoothly.”
“Oh.”
That was a relief, but it didn’t answer all of my concerns.
sometimes when I am about to speak I forget I have a voice. Not in the way where I forget about my own personal agency and ability to enforce positive change in the world, but in the way where I forget I have vocal cords. My therapist says that’s called dissociation.