i did a part time job recently and i worked out that no one really noticed if i spent some time in the canteen, after a few months i was there all the time and grew to love that place, they even played the radio loudly and at christmas there was a giant christmas tree!
It makes me think of war. And rationing. for some reason. It makes me think of combat fatigues and those iconic helmets that soldiers wear. It also makes me think of old westerners, swiggin’ alcohol out of an old engraved canteen. I think that’s it.
Canteen is something that I put water in. Or some other sort of liquid, like alcohol. It’s very useful in the woods especially when hiking. I like to use it for camping and such. It makes me think of wildwood movies.
i have no idea what this word is! Okay, so is it a type of container? I like the word, because it sounds vintage. I love vintage things! I like the double ee, and why does the c have to be pronounced like a k?
the canteen filled itself up magically, clear, sparkling water overflowing. I took a sip, the water fading from view, to be replaced by a lump of sand.
slow, steady. i pick my feet up and continue to walk. where? no where. why? i have no idea. i’m thirsty. dehydrated. i reach for it. bring it to my lips. the elixr of life. water. where from? my canteen.
I was in a works canteen at the local steelworks….I was 7 or 8 I thinnk, maybe a bit older. They took us to the hillside and we planted trees. Last week I went back there and walked in the woods that we planted. I turned 30 two days later. It was just so green,
Those summer days when everything just feels so out of place and you can’t quite tell where to go; I always seem to find myself at the canteen. Where the people just come and go, I do all this people watching, learning what I can so I can see further into the world. Past what I only know and on to new things.
There once was a desert traveler who rode camels in the Sahara. One day, he was very thirsty so he decided to pull out his trusty canteen and take a sip for nourishment. His name was Aladdin, and he was the Prince of Thieves.
I didn’t hear anything, just sort of reacted by stepping to the side and letting the canteen fly past my head and hit the china vase behind me. Mischa swore and came after me again, this time with his hands, as the water from the empty plastic container spilled onto the floor. I slipped in the puddle as I tried to escape and fell and hit my chin.
He pulled the canteen loose from the straps on his pack, he only had about 100 milliliters of water left. How had he reached this point? Where was he? Where did his friends go? Being stranded where he was, these questions did nothing but to occupy his mind in this hellish hole that may become his resting place.
He gently wiped the sweat from my brow and looked me in the eyes. “You’re not going to die out here tonight.” I looked back into those dark green eyes and hoped that he was right. Grabbing the canteen from his backpack he unscrewed the lid and passed it to me. Knowing our fate, I took the last drink of water. He was wrong, we were going to die. There was no escaping it.
A man is walking in the desert with no water. He sees a pool of shiny liquid at a distance. He grabs his canteen and walks painfully to fill it. He arrives at the pool. It was a mirage.
Canteens always remind me of camping. I hate camping. I hate all kinds of camping. I don’t like the dirt, and the bugs, and the tents. None of it. But it can be really beautiful, sometimes. It was really, truly beautiful to me only once. That was the time when I was 13 and I kissed a boy for the first time on a camping trip.
A man walking throught the jungle loses his canteen. when he finds it, under the large oak tree, he is astounded at the coolness from the sheltering leaves. he opens his canteen, awaiting a cooler sip, and his mouth is filled with larvae
you drink from a canteen when you’re thirsty. usually in the desert, especially if you’re a soldier. you should probably fill it with water if you’re in the desert or going hiking. fill it with beer if you’re going to a football game. or wine if you’re going to your mom’s house for thanksgiving. it’s bigger than a flask but smaller than a backpack.
Thirsty as a cactus under a winter moon, I pull up the canteen and unscrew the cap. The cool spirit of deliverance rises out of the small cistern, and I tip it back, sealing my lips to the rim so I won’t miss a drop. Flowing down my throat is the comfort of water, the pure blood of the earth.
The bell. I swept my books off the table and made a dash. Killing first years along the way as I swooped to my destination. A queue. I broke out ino an uneasy sweat. There was one roll left. It had to be mine. As I approached the desk my heart shattered into a thousand pieces as a brazen 4th year skipped the queue, and stole my destiny.
I go to eat. The food is simple and the word feels homie. Philippines. Where art thou. Your canteens make me feel special. No such thing as a cafeteria or restaurant. Canteens are where its at!
there she was, sitting alone in that ugly and dirty canteen. But what was she doing there? she saw herself lonely, sad, desconsolated. He walked in silently like as if he already know he was there, but he didn´t, he just felt it for some reason. The smell was pretty much recognizable.
I drink from a rusted canteen in the desert. The water feels cool on my lips in the smoldering sun of the Sahara. I carry it with me throughout my travels. It is my life support these days.
the canteen filled with delicious liquid oh how my thirst quenched by this vessel. A moment too late , as I emptied that canteen, I realized that bastard poisoned me.
Once upon a time there was a very thirsty cactus. He was unsure what to do with himself because he didn’t want to be considered a cannibal since he didn’t want to suck his own juices or his other cacti friends’. But luckily there was a lone traveler one day who happened to leave his canteen on the ground near said cactus.
I woke up with a canteen in my back pocket, clothes reeking of the night before.
Smelling like liquor, cigarettes, and weed. I search the house for you.
Tears roll down my cheeks, my head is splitting in two when I remember;
You’re 400 miles away. Too far to take care of me.
I hold my phone out, images blurred.
Bad signs and my heart sinks into my stomach.
The murky water tasted like pennies and dirt, the most delicious pennies and dirt I had ever had. I gulped the warm liquid down faster then I should have allowing myself little time to breath until finially I had drained the canteen dry. But my thirst was insatiable, the greedy dessert was pulling the water right through my chapped skin faster then I could replenish it. At this rate I knew I would never make it until nightfall. It was time to come to terms with the inevitable, I was going to die today and that was ok, this place was as good as any other, its golden brown sand actually suited me well, I had never been a fan of the idea of spending eternity alone in a box. At least this way I would eventually turn into this sand, and maybe then the wind would blow me back home, back to her.
I drink from a rusted canteen in the desert. The water feels cool on my lips in the hot sun of the Sahara. I enjoy carrying it with me throughout my travels.
They stared at it. Marcel kicked the tiny bit of metal shine with the toe of his boot. It resounded, water sloshing, eating at its insides. He dug it out with his heel, and picked it up. “it’s a canteen.” he said, shaking it.
When my dad was in the army, the canteen is the place where everyone bonded. It was as important as the training in the battle connections they made as man to man. Canteen, is it related to Cantina?
it reminds me of beer. canteen! or the number eighteen….i’m not sure why. i think i’m almost out of time. WOW I SUCK AT THIS. this is the worst thing i’ve ever written in my entire life! it’s awful! yuck. but yeah canteen maen makes me think of beer.
i did a part time job recently and i worked out that no one really noticed if i spent some time in the canteen, after a few months i was there all the time and grew to love that place, they even played the radio loudly and at christmas there was a giant christmas tree!
“it looks like we’re lost” she said. “atleast we have all of our stuff” Max replied. “Yea? like what?” “It appears to be a canteen”
It makes me think of war. And rationing. for some reason. It makes me think of combat fatigues and those iconic helmets that soldiers wear. It also makes me think of old westerners, swiggin’ alcohol out of an old engraved canteen. I think that’s it.
Safari, water, tanish in color with a strap. Australian. Hairy men. Sanitation. Jungle. Jeep. Annoying barbie girls.
This makes me wanna go peeeeeeeeee!
Canteen is something that I put water in. Or some other sort of liquid, like alcohol. It’s very useful in the woods especially when hiking. I like to use it for camping and such. It makes me think of wildwood movies.
i have no idea what this word is! Okay, so is it a type of container? I like the word, because it sounds vintage. I love vintage things! I like the double ee, and why does the c have to be pronounced like a k?
the canteen filled itself up magically, clear, sparkling water overflowing. I took a sip, the water fading from view, to be replaced by a lump of sand.
slow, steady. i pick my feet up and continue to walk. where? no where. why? i have no idea. i’m thirsty. dehydrated. i reach for it. bring it to my lips. the elixr of life. water. where from? my canteen.
I was in a works canteen at the local steelworks….I was 7 or 8 I thinnk, maybe a bit older. They took us to the hillside and we planted trees. Last week I went back there and walked in the woods that we planted. I turned 30 two days later. It was just so green,
Those summer days when everything just feels so out of place and you can’t quite tell where to go; I always seem to find myself at the canteen. Where the people just come and go, I do all this people watching, learning what I can so I can see further into the world. Past what I only know and on to new things.
There once was a desert traveler who rode camels in the Sahara. One day, he was very thirsty so he decided to pull out his trusty canteen and take a sip for nourishment. His name was Aladdin, and he was the Prince of Thieves.
faggotry.
I didn’t hear anything, just sort of reacted by stepping to the side and letting the canteen fly past my head and hit the china vase behind me. Mischa swore and came after me again, this time with his hands, as the water from the empty plastic container spilled onto the floor. I slipped in the puddle as I tried to escape and fell and hit my chin.
Teenagers like to play games. they can play, can can. can you do the can can? fn rebeccas young teens and JB fans. Can you dig it, suckah? Wrestling
Better grab the canteen or semanteme if you don’t wanna get stuck with the damn thing.
He pulled the canteen loose from the straps on his pack, he only had about 100 milliliters of water left. How had he reached this point? Where was he? Where did his friends go? Being stranded where he was, these questions did nothing but to occupy his mind in this hellish hole that may become his resting place.
water dripping
5 oz
what i have left
4 oz
survival or termination
3 oz
vessel of life
2 oz
how much longer now?
1oz
i.
brushing the dirt off our shoulders, we sat by the fire side, humming
romantic songs in foreign tongues.
ii.
disappointment is a mouth of sighs broken,
re-broken, then set in place
for magazine stories, the taste of
cloying sterility.
it does not heal itself quite like it should.
iii.
there was never a you&me, just
you and them
and
me.
He gently wiped the sweat from my brow and looked me in the eyes. “You’re not going to die out here tonight.” I looked back into those dark green eyes and hoped that he was right. Grabbing the canteen from his backpack he unscrewed the lid and passed it to me. Knowing our fate, I took the last drink of water. He was wrong, we were going to die. There was no escaping it.
A man is walking in the desert with no water. He sees a pool of shiny liquid at a distance. He grabs his canteen and walks painfully to fill it. He arrives at the pool. It was a mirage.
water, drink, thirsty, liquid, desert, plastic,
Canteens always remind me of camping. I hate camping. I hate all kinds of camping. I don’t like the dirt, and the bugs, and the tents. None of it. But it can be really beautiful, sometimes. It was really, truly beautiful to me only once. That was the time when I was 13 and I kissed a boy for the first time on a camping trip.
A man walking throught the jungle loses his canteen. when he finds it, under the large oak tree, he is astounded at the coolness from the sheltering leaves. he opens his canteen, awaiting a cooler sip, and his mouth is filled with larvae
you drink from a canteen when you’re thirsty. usually in the desert, especially if you’re a soldier. you should probably fill it with water if you’re in the desert or going hiking. fill it with beer if you’re going to a football game. or wine if you’re going to your mom’s house for thanksgiving. it’s bigger than a flask but smaller than a backpack.
Thirsty as a cactus under a winter moon, I pull up the canteen and unscrew the cap. The cool spirit of deliverance rises out of the small cistern, and I tip it back, sealing my lips to the rim so I won’t miss a drop. Flowing down my throat is the comfort of water, the pure blood of the earth.
The bell. I swept my books off the table and made a dash. Killing first years along the way as I swooped to my destination. A queue. I broke out ino an uneasy sweat. There was one roll left. It had to be mine. As I approached the desk my heart shattered into a thousand pieces as a brazen 4th year skipped the queue, and stole my destiny.
I go to eat. The food is simple and the word feels homie. Philippines. Where art thou. Your canteens make me feel special. No such thing as a cafeteria or restaurant. Canteens are where its at!
water bottle gone wrong
in george orwell’s 1984 the canteen is were member of the outter part would have their meals.
there she was, sitting alone in that ugly and dirty canteen. But what was she doing there? she saw herself lonely, sad, desconsolated. He walked in silently like as if he already know he was there, but he didn´t, he just felt it for some reason. The smell was pretty much recognizable.
I drink from a rusted canteen in the desert. The water feels cool on my lips in the smoldering sun of the Sahara. I carry it with me throughout my travels. It is my life support these days.
the canteen filled with delicious liquid oh how my thirst quenched by this vessel. A moment too late , as I emptied that canteen, I realized that bastard poisoned me.
Once upon a time there was a very thirsty cactus. He was unsure what to do with himself because he didn’t want to be considered a cannibal since he didn’t want to suck his own juices or his other cacti friends’. But luckily there was a lone traveler one day who happened to leave his canteen on the ground near said cactus.
I woke up with a canteen in my back pocket, clothes reeking of the night before.
Smelling like liquor, cigarettes, and weed. I search the house for you.
Tears roll down my cheeks, my head is splitting in two when I remember;
You’re 400 miles away. Too far to take care of me.
I hold my phone out, images blurred.
Bad signs and my heart sinks into my stomach.
The murky water tasted like pennies and dirt, the most delicious pennies and dirt I had ever had. I gulped the warm liquid down faster then I should have allowing myself little time to breath until finially I had drained the canteen dry. But my thirst was insatiable, the greedy dessert was pulling the water right through my chapped skin faster then I could replenish it. At this rate I knew I would never make it until nightfall. It was time to come to terms with the inevitable, I was going to die today and that was ok, this place was as good as any other, its golden brown sand actually suited me well, I had never been a fan of the idea of spending eternity alone in a box. At least this way I would eventually turn into this sand, and maybe then the wind would blow me back home, back to her.
I drink from a rusted canteen in the desert. The water feels cool on my lips in the hot sun of the Sahara. I enjoy carrying it with me throughout my travels.
They stared at it. Marcel kicked the tiny bit of metal shine with the toe of his boot. It resounded, water sloshing, eating at its insides. He dug it out with his heel, and picked it up. “it’s a canteen.” he said, shaking it.
When my dad was in the army, the canteen is the place where everyone bonded. It was as important as the training in the battle connections they made as man to man. Canteen, is it related to Cantina?
it reminds me of beer. canteen! or the number eighteen….i’m not sure why. i think i’m almost out of time. WOW I SUCK AT THIS. this is the worst thing i’ve ever written in my entire life! it’s awful! yuck. but yeah canteen maen makes me think of beer.