Substance. What substance. There is nothing here. Nothing to see. What are you asking of me. What is it? I lost what I am. What I was. What I was before this substance. This drug. I pretend I do not know, I can not see. I refuse to admit what I know. I am the substance.
It was a strange substance. One she had never seen before. The light seemed to reflect off of the surface, but also seemed to be contained inside of it at the same time. She crept closer, curious to touch it. As she raised a cautious hand, she heard a bang and whipped her head around.
It’s hard, you know, to talk to people about subjects of substance. It implies you have some sort of stake in the matter, that what you’re pouring your heart about to someone you — think you — trust is of utmost importance to you. You want, hope that the other person takes it kindly and doesn’t laugh in your face or dismiss you a fool.
She couldn’t write anything of substance now. Her advises seemed hollow and forced. Yet she lived in her blissful utopia where sentences formed from the back of her hand.
I suppose I can talk to you all day. It’s beautiful how you make things interesting. I like hearing your thoughts. It’s like a good movie I’m excited to share but would like to keep some things for myself though.
“It has no…substance. Do you get what I mean?”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t frown about it too much, though, all you need to do is find a better story.”
Yeah, easier said than done. I gather my portfolio and exit the building of my dreams. What makes a good story? Isn’t it all in the eye of the beholder?
Substance,
but it’s a French word!
And I’m French too.
What should I say about this word?
I’m not really at ease about the subject, the substance should I say (ha ha ha).
I realize I feel much more comfortable with smells.
BTW, what smell turns you on?
Heavy blue drops dripping from above, where – I can’t exactly see – a dome of moist darkness above our heads. Is this what we came here for, that magic substance capable of reversing the cursed illness, of giving us hope?
Days passed. Lucy proved to be a capable investigator, and was posing no problems. With her help he could work more targets at the same time, so progress was good. Doyle had been trying to reach one Congressman for several days now, but he was not answering his mobile phone, and that morning, in the car, the radio news told him why. The Congressman had been found dead, overdosed on a painkiller that was normally used for horses. Doyle could barely hide his shock, mainly because he was distracted by the lack of reaction shown by his companion. Watching her closely, without actually giving away that he was doing so, he commented; “Holy Cow, where the hell did he get hold of a substance like that?” “It’s known as a painkiller and a stimulant, and is reasonably easy to get hold of in D.C.” Her answer was just a little too fast, and much too prepared, for Doyle’s liking.
She was looking for a man of substance. And what that meant to her was a man whom would not give up when things got tough, a man who would fight for her, and for their dream.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with it. She was such a nice girl….and , man, her body, was epic!! He just had to find out what she was like in the sack. He took the substance his friend and had given him and slowly mixed it into her drink while she was not looking and waited for it to happen…
There’s a vast misunderstanding what creates the substance of a man. When You look at the word itself, it consists of two parts. Sub and stance. To stand beneath something. Think about it. What stands beneath You, what is Your substance?
The teacher slammed the essay onto the table furiously. “Okay, Tim, you’ve been trained for all these years in rhetoric and B.S. but what you wrote has… no… substance!! No wait where are you going??”
Tim grabbed the paper and ran off. He had the fingerprints. Now all that was left was to set up the crime scene.
After two years and four months, they continued on where they left off. But two years and four months is a long time to continue where they left off. A breeze of redundancy wafts in the air as they do this game of charades once again. Wondering if they still have substance to be intimate with each other on such petty things from long time ago.
A white substance was found in the corespondence, and fear rose all over the room. Was there an attack? Is that poison. We found out later that is was powder, but who could have known?
show me the moonshine
when i’m intoxicated
i can’t find my way
the substance of a beautiful play
all the days that fell into nights
all the tears that you started to cry
all for you
you, you said we couldn’t get away
there was another way
look into your eyes and see glass eyed thoughts
and blue eyed hues
said you won’t be here tomorrow
said you loved me
but that was another day
another way
so far, far away
are youi amazed by the sun
not quite unbelievable
you’re expecting too much
can’t feel the miracle
stayed in straight substance
insisted instruments interest
front forward we look
to wit to towards the thunder
roaring as it empties us
and we’re vacant
The thing i only crave, a person with substance, a meal with substance, a life with… well you get the point. I am in a sea of air and all i long for is mass that makes me feel as if this word is what really makes a diffrence and these words make no sense… because im intoxicated.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s nothing of substance in that tiny little brain of yours.’
What am I doing? I’ve put my mouth on autopilot. I’m gazing through my eyes and I see her soul shattering one by one through those eyes. And you know what? I don’t give a fuck anymore. You hear that? See if I care.
In shock, she cowered in the corner of the room, her knuckles turning white as her hands flailed looking for something to tighten its grip on.
The substance on the laboratory table was growing, rapidly; pulsing, mutating grotesquely into distorted figures as it made its way towards her.
No one heard her horrified scream as it consumed her.
oily slick it slides across her skin, in her nose, in her mouth, filling her lungs, her guts, winding through her, drowning her. She claws at nothing, at herself, at it. she clings to hope that something will reach her, free her. she wants to wipe her face, her eyes, cough up the thick tar that pulls her down, fills her
Substance is a funny thing. We all search for it in others. Hoping that someday we’ll find someone with just the right amount. Is it really what we want though? Simplicity is often more underrated and overlooked.
their relationship doesn’t hold that substance, the heavy love that connected them, anymore. they’re slowly coming undone at the seams and they don’t have the energy to sew the loose string back in place.
The substance in the bottle was green, glowing, and thick. Yet she still drank it down- seemingly used to it. He grimaced as she emptied the glass container of its contents.
Substance. Oh gosh, this is such a difficult first word. Let’s talk about clothes. Clothes are substances right. They are made of materials and elements? What is a substance anyway? Yep, clothes are definitely substances. Anyways, I love clothes and shopping for them. I love to shop for substances like clothing.
Substance is something new for me. I don´t know why. Maybe I am discover the life substance right now. Or not. Maybe life is cheating me…one more time. It is weird. Like a rabbit down the tree. Or I just want to cheat life, But how? I cannot even imagine what I am going to do. I do not know me and what my purpose in life is. Hell. I want to be Batman.
Substance abuse. How immune I once felt to it. I always considered myself to be one of the strongs, someone who was innately resistant to the temptations of the world. How wrong I was. Substances fill you, they inundate you. You’re complete, finally.
Why would a complete work seek to be incomplete once again?
The police claimed that they had found an illegal substance on the man’s person, but they wouldn’t specify as to what said substance was. Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me. I had been working with the ACLU for quite some time now, supporting various victims of a cruel and oppressive justice system as the authorities attempted to punish them, very harshly for either crimes they did not commit or crimes that did not merit such discipline. This man in particular felt crucial to me, given his role in a lot of activism carried out by black people such as himself.
The substance was leaking out of my mouth. I wasn’t too sure what it was but I saw my glass topple over, and the tequila spilled out. My vision got blurry and my nerve endings felt shot. I couldn’t move or feel anything. I was scared and then I saw a shadow come over me.
I’d like to think I’m someone with substance. That I am more than just a shell, an outward appearance. My substance is made up of my likes, dislikes, memories, hobbies – my life. People with substance are the best kind of people. Substance is a good thing to have.
Substance. What substance. There is nothing here. Nothing to see. What are you asking of me. What is it? I lost what I am. What I was. What I was before this substance. This drug. I pretend I do not know, I can not see. I refuse to admit what I know. I am the substance.
It was a strange substance. One she had never seen before. The light seemed to reflect off of the surface, but also seemed to be contained inside of it at the same time. She crept closer, curious to touch it. As she raised a cautious hand, she heard a bang and whipped her head around.
It’s hard, you know, to talk to people about subjects of substance. It implies you have some sort of stake in the matter, that what you’re pouring your heart about to someone you — think you — trust is of utmost importance to you. You want, hope that the other person takes it kindly and doesn’t laugh in your face or dismiss you a fool.
She couldn’t write anything of substance now. Her advises seemed hollow and forced. Yet she lived in her blissful utopia where sentences formed from the back of her hand.
I suppose I can talk to you all day. It’s beautiful how you make things interesting. I like hearing your thoughts. It’s like a good movie I’m excited to share but would like to keep some things for myself though.
“It has no…substance. Do you get what I mean?”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t frown about it too much, though, all you need to do is find a better story.”
Yeah, easier said than done. I gather my portfolio and exit the building of my dreams. What makes a good story? Isn’t it all in the eye of the beholder?
Substance,
but it’s a French word!
And I’m French too.
What should I say about this word?
I’m not really at ease about the subject, the substance should I say (ha ha ha).
I realize I feel much more comfortable with smells.
BTW, what smell turns you on?
Heavy blue drops dripping from above, where – I can’t exactly see – a dome of moist darkness above our heads. Is this what we came here for, that magic substance capable of reversing the cursed illness, of giving us hope?
Days passed. Lucy proved to be a capable investigator, and was posing no problems. With her help he could work more targets at the same time, so progress was good. Doyle had been trying to reach one Congressman for several days now, but he was not answering his mobile phone, and that morning, in the car, the radio news told him why. The Congressman had been found dead, overdosed on a painkiller that was normally used for horses. Doyle could barely hide his shock, mainly because he was distracted by the lack of reaction shown by his companion. Watching her closely, without actually giving away that he was doing so, he commented; “Holy Cow, where the hell did he get hold of a substance like that?” “It’s known as a painkiller and a stimulant, and is reasonably easy to get hold of in D.C.” Her answer was just a little too fast, and much too prepared, for Doyle’s liking.
She was looking for a man of substance. And what that meant to her was a man whom would not give up when things got tough, a man who would fight for her, and for their dream.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to go through with it. She was such a nice girl….and , man, her body, was epic!! He just had to find out what she was like in the sack. He took the substance his friend and had given him and slowly mixed it into her drink while she was not looking and waited for it to happen…
Inside the pill, which he shouldn’t have broken, was some kind of substance that leaked out onto his tongue and made him vomit.
There’s a vast misunderstanding what creates the substance of a man. When You look at the word itself, it consists of two parts. Sub and stance. To stand beneath something. Think about it. What stands beneath You, what is Your substance?
The teacher slammed the essay onto the table furiously. “Okay, Tim, you’ve been trained for all these years in rhetoric and B.S. but what you wrote has… no… substance!! No wait where are you going??”
Tim grabbed the paper and ran off. He had the fingerprints. Now all that was left was to set up the crime scene.
After two years and four months, they continued on where they left off. But two years and four months is a long time to continue where they left off. A breeze of redundancy wafts in the air as they do this game of charades once again. Wondering if they still have substance to be intimate with each other on such petty things from long time ago.
A white substance was found in the corespondence, and fear rose all over the room. Was there an attack? Is that poison. We found out later that is was powder, but who could have known?
show me the moonshine
when i’m intoxicated
i can’t find my way
the substance of a beautiful play
all the days that fell into nights
all the tears that you started to cry
all for you
you, you said we couldn’t get away
there was another way
look into your eyes and see glass eyed thoughts
and blue eyed hues
said you won’t be here tomorrow
said you loved me
but that was another day
another way
so far, far away
are youi amazed by the sun
not quite unbelievable
you’re expecting too much
can’t feel the miracle
stayed in straight substance
insisted instruments interest
front forward we look
to wit to towards the thunder
roaring as it empties us
and we’re vacant
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t have any substance, any, like, spirit.”
“Tim, it looks fine.”
“No, it doesn’t, why would I want to go out like this?”
“Tim, really, you look fine. You’re over thinking this.”
“How am I over thinking this? You’ve seen my hair, right?”
The thing i only crave, a person with substance, a meal with substance, a life with… well you get the point. I am in a sea of air and all i long for is mass that makes me feel as if this word is what really makes a diffrence and these words make no sense… because im intoxicated.
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s nothing of substance in that tiny little brain of yours.’
What am I doing? I’ve put my mouth on autopilot. I’m gazing through my eyes and I see her soul shattering one by one through those eyes. And you know what? I don’t give a fuck anymore. You hear that? See if I care.
In shock, she cowered in the corner of the room, her knuckles turning white as her hands flailed looking for something to tighten its grip on.
The substance on the laboratory table was growing, rapidly; pulsing, mutating grotesquely into distorted figures as it made its way towards her.
No one heard her horrified scream as it consumed her.
“Ahh water!It will kill us!”Bob exclaimed
“No!Water is substance that’s liquid!”Dave responded
A liquid is a substance that can be seen through(Some of the time),unlike gases and solids, can move much more faster!
“Did you hear that” Dave told Bob
“Ahh! Juice!!”Bob screamed
“Oh no……”Dave sighed….
oily slick it slides across her skin, in her nose, in her mouth, filling her lungs, her guts, winding through her, drowning her. She claws at nothing, at herself, at it. she clings to hope that something will reach her, free her. she wants to wipe her face, her eyes, cough up the thick tar that pulls her down, fills her
Substance is a funny thing. We all search for it in others. Hoping that someday we’ll find someone with just the right amount. Is it really what we want though? Simplicity is often more underrated and overlooked.
their relationship doesn’t hold that substance, the heavy love that connected them, anymore. they’re slowly coming undone at the seams and they don’t have the energy to sew the loose string back in place.
it’s just not working and they both know.
The substance in the bottle was green, glowing, and thick. Yet she still drank it down- seemingly used to it. He grimaced as she emptied the glass container of its contents.
Substance. Oh gosh, this is such a difficult first word. Let’s talk about clothes. Clothes are substances right. They are made of materials and elements? What is a substance anyway? Yep, clothes are definitely substances. Anyways, I love clothes and shopping for them. I love to shop for substances like clothing.
Substance is something new for me. I don´t know why. Maybe I am discover the life substance right now. Or not. Maybe life is cheating me…one more time. It is weird. Like a rabbit down the tree. Or I just want to cheat life, But how? I cannot even imagine what I am going to do. I do not know me and what my purpose in life is. Hell. I want to be Batman.
Substance abuse. How immune I once felt to it. I always considered myself to be one of the strongs, someone who was innately resistant to the temptations of the world. How wrong I was. Substances fill you, they inundate you. You’re complete, finally.
Why would a complete work seek to be incomplete once again?
The substance inside the bottle bubbled furiously.
“Look out!” Lacy exclaimed as she hid under the table, pulling Mitchel with her.
Neither one of them had ever done very well in Chemistry, but they didn’t expect their project to blow up on them.
The police claimed that they had found an illegal substance on the man’s person, but they wouldn’t specify as to what said substance was. Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me. I had been working with the ACLU for quite some time now, supporting various victims of a cruel and oppressive justice system as the authorities attempted to punish them, very harshly for either crimes they did not commit or crimes that did not merit such discipline. This man in particular felt crucial to me, given his role in a lot of activism carried out by black people such as himself.
The substance was leaking out of my mouth. I wasn’t too sure what it was but I saw my glass topple over, and the tequila spilled out. My vision got blurry and my nerve endings felt shot. I couldn’t move or feel anything. I was scared and then I saw a shadow come over me.
I’d like to think I’m someone with substance. That I am more than just a shell, an outward appearance. My substance is made up of my likes, dislikes, memories, hobbies – my life. People with substance are the best kind of people. Substance is a good thing to have.