ahhh. the seething word. everyone wants something new. something fresh. somethinbg that will take their breath away. not common- not at all. Ideas are better than duplicates.
What a completely ordinary word. I guess many things are common in all our lives, but to us, they are the biggest deal in the world. It’s hard to imagine that everything that I think is so important doesn’t even matter to almost 7 billion people, and I will never know what’s happening to them, even though it matters so much to them.
He was a common man caught in an uncommon situation. Before him stood one of the most formidable obstacles he had ever faced, and behind him was a danger he could barely comprehend. If he could have turned back, he would have, but the only option was to continue forward.
It’s regular, normal, boring even. If you don’t believe me, you should see it for yourself. Nothing extraordinary about it, nothing worth going to see twice. It’s simply dull.
Do you have to have things in common with significant other? Is it important? IS it better to have things in common, or are “things in common” an artificial connection? Isn’t Love the most important thing? To balance each other out, and not be just the same?
what do we have in common?
that are similar within ourselves to eachother?
we both tie our shoes
eat
sleep
walk along sidewalks
and wish we were somewhere sunny
we have many things uncommon
and we pay close attention to that
but what is it that can help us get along?
why dont we focus on those things instead??
to strive to find happiness with eachother.
The truth is, I don’t know why I do it. It doesn’t make me special. It doesn’t make me different. It just makes me a statistic, a trend. My scars are so common.
i really don’t like rap music.
and another thing. is it really possible to be anything but common? people wake up every morning and strive to be different, but doesn’t that just help them fit in more? we’re a bunch of fucking fish trying to hop out of the same bowl.
Everything is so common these days. You don’t see much of anything anymore that has originality. If it’s not your own, it’s someone else’s. Or someone’s else’s trying to be your own.
Her parents not being home was common. The dog sleeping peacefully in its chair was common. Her pile of laundry lying haphazardly in her room was common.
A man standing with his back to her calmly staring at her family’s photographs was not common.
Sometimes I wonder where the common ground lies. Surely it is not an appendage of no man’s land, though how it can belong to either side is beyond me. So where does it lie? On the cusp of waking and dreaming? Or is it as false an illusion as a rocking horse fly?
The common area was empty. A single plastic bag, torn in places, drifted across the concrete square, catching briefly against the worn green metal bench resting in the corner. The fading light made her shiver; it seemed unnatural for her to be so alone here.
Common. My grandmother always said that eating outside was common; that only poor people or those without manners did it. Of course she was raised poor but had climbed into the middle class. I had always been middle class so eating outside wasn’t a problem. Sitting at a bistro in Paris, I felt self-conscious.
What we have in common is a lot. I like your smile, you like smiling. I love to hear you laugh, and you love laughing. I love to watch you dance around, and you love dancing. I love you all the time, and you love me as well.
In the commons, there were all types of people. Friends, bookworms, those just passing through on their way to their rooms. They rarely interacted. We wanted to change that.
The music snapped on, the beat rang off the walls. I started to dance. Then, another. Finally, the whole room was groovin’.
I had to fix this, it was bothering me, the mistake was so obvious.
I don’t want to be common; mediocre. I want to be the best at everything that I do. But I have to face the facts and realize that I will always just blend into the background. I could be the best that I am, but will still come up shorter than the rest.
I don’t want to be common; mediocre. I don’t want to be the best at everything that I do. But I have to face the facts and realize that I will always just blend into the background. I could be the best that I am, but will still come up shorter than the rest.
how common is it to turn orange? Girls tan turn orange. People who eat too many carrots (though that may be rare) turn orange. My room mate is screaming in the next room about this. I think it’s silly.
She was outlandish. She was different. She wore her hair down, she wore dull silver earrings and heavy sweatshirts. In a land of flamingos, she was a pigeon.
Writing novels are not a common hobby of many people. But on the forums for JulNoWriMo, it is. Novelists of all ages get together for one month to hash out a fiffty thousand word novel in just a thirty-one day span of time. Insanity is welcome.
the idea of something being common is rare…in fact as i see it there is very little in life that can be seen as common. each person is a person, but in fact we are all different people so we are not common to one another at all.
It wasn’t special, just a simple stone you could find at the bottom of any pond or stream.
It was plain in appearance, grey with small black flecks of an unknown mineral spread randomly accross it.
But in those small hands handing it to me as though it were the rarest, most precious stone in the world; common became something magical.
Things we have in common determine our relationships with others, some of us are deemed common, common are words, phrases, sayings. Common. its a strange word when you think about it.
complacently engaging in pretentious pirouettes for the groundlings,
i practice my contrived connaivances upon the popular priorities.
forget personal preferences, they hold no weight over all.
Robert pulled his socks out of his suitcase and began to fold them when he heard a muffled laugh. “What?” he asked, still annoyed.
“Nothing,” replied Peter, holding up an identical pair. “Just this.”
“What about it?”
“It means we finally have something in common.”
No one will have the same commonalities as me. Even if I had a twin there would not be another person on earth like Amy Bledsoe. I’m like a potion or perfume: full of different potions and mixtures to create that one signature moment. My ingredients are being a redhead, covered in freckles, pale skin from head to toe, a great rack, sweet personality, loves to laugh but loves to love even more. These are all bottled up inside me.
Common goods are not commodities, but rather they are what’s best for us, as commoners. I’m trying to do too much, here. Screw it. Time to lower myself to the common man.
It is common for one to want roots, a place to be, he mused, letting the smoke curl around his mustache, adding on to what was already there. but don’t mistake roots for.. Roots? she asked. Precisely he said.
someone can have a lot in common with you
and when they do, i feel like you should take advantage of it. i feel like they come into your life for a reason. i mean if they can laugh at the same things and look to you to smile at the same things well then that’s gotta mean something
To be common would be but a dream. To be common would be but to live. To be comon would mean that you are the same as everyone else, but to be the same would be only hell.
looking at the girl across the room we only had one thing in common, we both wanted to kill each other. though this was true it was also true I was the only one with the means and the knowledge to do it.
ahhh. the seething word. everyone wants something new. something fresh. somethinbg that will take their breath away. not common- not at all. Ideas are better than duplicates.
What a completely ordinary word. I guess many things are common in all our lives, but to us, they are the biggest deal in the world. It’s hard to imagine that everything that I think is so important doesn’t even matter to almost 7 billion people, and I will never know what’s happening to them, even though it matters so much to them.
He was a common man caught in an uncommon situation. Before him stood one of the most formidable obstacles he had ever faced, and behind him was a danger he could barely comprehend. If he could have turned back, he would have, but the only option was to continue forward.
It’s regular, normal, boring even. If you don’t believe me, you should see it for yourself. Nothing extraordinary about it, nothing worth going to see twice. It’s simply dull.
Do you have to have things in common with significant other? Is it important? IS it better to have things in common, or are “things in common” an artificial connection? Isn’t Love the most important thing? To balance each other out, and not be just the same?
what do we have in common?
that are similar within ourselves to eachother?
we both tie our shoes
eat
sleep
walk along sidewalks
and wish we were somewhere sunny
we have many things uncommon
and we pay close attention to that
but what is it that can help us get along?
why dont we focus on those things instead??
to strive to find happiness with eachother.
everyone wants to be uncommon. but they don’t want to be different than everyone. they want to be uncommonly good at something common.
The truth is, I don’t know why I do it. It doesn’t make me special. It doesn’t make me different. It just makes me a statistic, a trend. My scars are so common.
i really don’t like rap music.
and another thing. is it really possible to be anything but common? people wake up every morning and strive to be different, but doesn’t that just help them fit in more? we’re a bunch of fucking fish trying to hop out of the same bowl.
Everything is so common these days. You don’t see much of anything anymore that has originality. If it’s not your own, it’s someone else’s. Or someone’s else’s trying to be your own.
nobody wants to be çommon and yet when we behave in any other way, we may easily be precieved to be ‘wierd’. hmmmmmm
This wasn’t common.
Her parents not being home was common. The dog sleeping peacefully in its chair was common. Her pile of laundry lying haphazardly in her room was common.
A man standing with his back to her calmly staring at her family’s photographs was not common.
And it scared her.
Sometimes I wonder where the common ground lies. Surely it is not an appendage of no man’s land, though how it can belong to either side is beyond me. So where does it lie? On the cusp of waking and dreaming? Or is it as false an illusion as a rocking horse fly?
The common area was empty. A single plastic bag, torn in places, drifted across the concrete square, catching briefly against the worn green metal bench resting in the corner. The fading light made her shiver; it seemed unnatural for her to be so alone here.
Common. My grandmother always said that eating outside was common; that only poor people or those without manners did it. Of course she was raised poor but had climbed into the middle class. I had always been middle class so eating outside wasn’t a problem. Sitting at a bistro in Paris, I felt self-conscious.
What we have in common is a lot. I like your smile, you like smiling. I love to hear you laugh, and you love laughing. I love to watch you dance around, and you love dancing. I love you all the time, and you love me as well.
In the commons, there were all types of people. Friends, bookworms, those just passing through on their way to their rooms. They rarely interacted. We wanted to change that.
The music snapped on, the beat rang off the walls. I started to dance. Then, another. Finally, the whole room was groovin’.
I had to fix this, it was bothering me, the mistake was so obvious.
I don’t want to be common; mediocre. I want to be the best at everything that I do. But I have to face the facts and realize that I will always just blend into the background. I could be the best that I am, but will still come up shorter than the rest.
I don’t want to be common; mediocre. I don’t want to be the best at everything that I do. But I have to face the facts and realize that I will always just blend into the background. I could be the best that I am, but will still come up shorter than the rest.
Her right eyebrow arches high into the tanned, smooth skin of her forehead.
A sharp, wicked expression of her skepticism.
“He’s so .. common.”
she was quite common to look at but uncommon to not require notice
how common is it to turn orange? Girls tan turn orange. People who eat too many carrots (though that may be rare) turn orange. My room mate is screaming in the next room about this. I think it’s silly.
She was outlandish. She was different. She wore her hair down, she wore dull silver earrings and heavy sweatshirts. In a land of flamingos, she was a pigeon.
Writing novels are not a common hobby of many people. But on the forums for JulNoWriMo, it is. Novelists of all ages get together for one month to hash out a fiffty thousand word novel in just a thirty-one day span of time. Insanity is welcome.
the idea of something being common is rare…in fact as i see it there is very little in life that can be seen as common. each person is a person, but in fact we are all different people so we are not common to one another at all.
It wasn’t special, just a simple stone you could find at the bottom of any pond or stream.
It was plain in appearance, grey with small black flecks of an unknown mineral spread randomly accross it.
But in those small hands handing it to me as though it were the rarest, most precious stone in the world; common became something magical.
everything I have in common with you is not so common after all. Does that make us perfect for each other of just not right at all?
They say common sense is not common either. Why is it called such? hmmm????
Things we have in common determine our relationships with others, some of us are deemed common, common are words, phrases, sayings. Common. its a strange word when you think about it.
we have nothing in common. we’re opposites. yet we’re the same.
complacently engaging in pretentious pirouettes for the groundlings,
i practice my contrived connaivances upon the popular priorities.
forget personal preferences, they hold no weight over all.
Robert pulled his socks out of his suitcase and began to fold them when he heard a muffled laugh. “What?” he asked, still annoyed.
“Nothing,” replied Peter, holding up an identical pair. “Just this.”
“What about it?”
“It means we finally have something in common.”
No one will have the same commonalities as me. Even if I had a twin there would not be another person on earth like Amy Bledsoe. I’m like a potion or perfume: full of different potions and mixtures to create that one signature moment. My ingredients are being a redhead, covered in freckles, pale skin from head to toe, a great rack, sweet personality, loves to laugh but loves to love even more. These are all bottled up inside me.
Running throuhg the dining hall at camp Schawton was common, if you wern’t carring a dragon. Jimmy had a dragon
Common goods are not commodities, but rather they are what’s best for us, as commoners. I’m trying to do too much, here. Screw it. Time to lower myself to the common man.
Common sexual actions: Fart Furst
Twiddle th’ Twat
Spank yer snatch
Go FER TH’ GOOCH
It is common for one to want roots, a place to be, he mused, letting the smoke curl around his mustache, adding on to what was already there. but don’t mistake roots for.. Roots? she asked. Precisely he said.
someone can have a lot in common with you
and when they do, i feel like you should take advantage of it. i feel like they come into your life for a reason. i mean if they can laugh at the same things and look to you to smile at the same things well then that’s gotta mean something
To be common would be but a dream. To be common would be but to live. To be comon would mean that you are the same as everyone else, but to be the same would be only hell.
everywhereeverydayeverythingoverandoverandoveragainuntilyougetoffyourassandhittheoffswitch…
much better…
looking at the girl across the room we only had one thing in common, we both wanted to kill each other. though this was true it was also true I was the only one with the means and the knowledge to do it.