corners corners i can count the corners! Where are all the corners? Down in the depths of the deep blue sea!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cutting corners seemed like a good idea. Until a letter arrived in her mailbox. Not the kind that she opened on her computer, no, the mailbox that she rarely found items since the arrival of the internet. In fact, her mailbox became a dusty old cave the held junk every now and then. She checked the tiny cave every Friday, more so out of habit. There was never anything important in the box nowadays. At least until this Friday. With interest and a bit of concern, she opened the letter. The first four works brought her to her knees. “you have been caught.”
What is lurking around the next corner. What surprise is in store? Something new, bright ,exciting, yummy? So many positive possibilities. Corners hide things and it is so easy to make it to the reveal. It only takes seconds to see what is hidden by so solid an object as a corner.
Looking around corners. Looking to see what is hidden and what, in such a short time, will be revealed. The amazing ness is going to be worth it. Just think of the possibilities.
She cut the corners off of the square sheet cake, the four sides becoming eight. It was an experiment, perhaps she was trying to see if she could make the cake round instead. She kind of had lost her round cake pan a couple of weeks ago and hadn’t gotten around to buying a new one. She was being a bit picky this time, she bought a cheap one last time.
You’re always cutting corners. In utero, even, pretending the rules didn’t apply to you. And here, now, kneeling in the dirt, spreading the seeds without the proper treatment. Though, maybe, it is less about corners this time and more about a specific kind of revolt. Against the older women looking over your shoulder, against the presence of your mother underneath your knees, and against the earth itself, so righteous. As if by planting these seeds all wrong you will undo the weight of them pressing in on you, recoiling in revulsion. Imagining the relief you think maybe you will walk from this sacred ground, find another; tend to the soil and plant yourself with such tenderness. With the relief you think you will cultivate all your withdrawn limbs, let them tangle around the scenery, up the building walls and the legs of your friends. Slowly making your way to their ankles, they feel your touch and begin to whisper your name, coaxing you further–a whisper-chant that you store inside your cytoplasm until you grow so long, so big that you don’t remember your name. Or the names of the older women looking over your shoulder. Or even the name of corner that you cut coming into the world–though, it is etched in stone, somewhere, far away, bare are lacking the love / of your embrace.
You try to get all the corners this time. Gather the cobwebs into your palms and try to make yourself less afraid of the world. A tiny speck crawls along your life line, trapped in a maze until the fan spins back around and it tumbles, over the soft edge of your hand or, to it, the end of the earth. You think to crouch down, take it up into your care again but instead you lose yourself in the perspective imagined: the disrupt, a home invaded and the free fall into oblivion.
And the next second you remember, you were trying to get all the corners this time and your legs extend / bringing you exactly where you want to go.
How many corners have you sent me to? Sitting there, in the chair, facing the intersection? How many corners have I studied with my fingertips? How many times have you studied my back, hunched over in obedience? How many corners have I send myself to and watched myself / from afar?
Why do we put children who misbehave in corners? Does it make them feel trapped? Is it meant be shameful? I don’t think that being put in a corner would be an effective punishment on me. All I can do when I am told to “think about what I’ve done” is sit and stew over how mad I am at the person who put me in time out.
at every corner of the room, there was dust. Dust is so fucking disgusting, he thinks. He doesn’t like nasty things, even though he’s used to them. Dust fucking sucks.
He hates it.
oh jodi
you figured out the corners of my heart
and you creased them all for you
i got text stood up
i want a boom or a bang
will i ever see you again?
i got a Voltaire wish
to claim my stake with you
it’s this Hawthorne life
now that i’m far apart from you
the corners
of my wrinkled paper heart
are cut from the same cloth
as the fabric
of your dresses
so vintage and so new
can you remember the time
we spent all our money at yaffa
in the village
it closed last year
i think it’s because of us
capitalism
reminds small businesses
like our pretense
they die too.
Running through alleys with screams and flames chasing, each building’s corners passing by, ticking the seconds of freedom away. They had not reached their salvation yet, and here in this maze of a town was where, like the stone that made up the buildings, their headstones would lie.
Ive been put in a time out and now i am sitting facing the corner of my bedroom wall. i am very bored. I complain to my mom saying “how much longer??” with a pouty lip out. she shakes her head saying “you can not be mean to your little sister anymore! now turn around and face the corner again.” i sigh.
So many corners. She hated them. Their clear crispness, their white clarity, their smooth deadliness, it drove her insane. What happened to the hand cut curls and swirls of crude wooden doorways, the logs that had that had a distinct dip that make you stare at it for hours?
I didn’t like the way she handled her new job. In truth, she had never deserved to get promoted, especially not over me. She ignored important tasks, disrupted our work flow, and cut corners all the time. And when we called her out on it, she’d turn into a maelstrom of denial and rage.
“I am the boss here!” she shrieked one day when I so much as questioned her on a slew of typos in a quarterly report write-up. “I am the boss! And don’t you forget it!”
That night, I checked on the Internet to see if I could murder my superior for being a toxic waste of space.
There are corners all over the house. On the table, on the fridge, on the couch, everywhere. I’m so worried. I’ve taken care of babies before. But this is my own. I’m so worried for her. I don’t think I will be a good mother but my husband says otherwise. I know he will be an amazing father.
Stubbed toes when walking into corners of the house, lots of dust, dog fur and ooooother things but corners keep our homes intacted and from falling apart, corners are our corner stones of life! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.why do i subject myself to this.
There are corners everywhere. In my house, in a car, in the kitchen. Where is there not corners. Oh i know where there are no corners. The world has no corners because it is round. It is impossible to have any corner if the shape is round.
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe okay so stay safe and have fun and the winner gets $1,000,000 okay.
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe okay so stay safe and have fun and the winner gets $1,000,000
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe
Corners can be cut. They can be square. They can be looked around. Opportunity can be just around one. Corners can be the place someone or some thing pushes you into.
I have a pattern of fleeing from corners and contribute my “cabin fever” and need to be out of my home (all the many homes I’ve had) and exploring. I’d like to say it’s wonderlust and maybe it is as well. I do know that the corners of any home often feel suffocating to me and getting out feels freeing.
A cada segundo as pessoas cruzam conosco, viram a esquina de nossas vidas e fazem uma pequena, porém significativa, diferença, nem todas são boas, mas são necessárias.
I met him while he was working again and we both shook and babbled and probably didn’t act at all like we would have liked to. Later I bumped into him again, and we did much the same, but this time we walked together and I drew attention to the fact that I was babbling and being pretty terrible. He walked me to my car, we hugged and he almost left. But I called him back, and kissed him on that corner, despite not knowing whether or not that was what he wanted, or whether I was really allowed.
We’ve been together ever since.
corners corners i can count the corners! Where are all the corners? Down in the depths of the deep blue sea!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Cutting corners seemed like a good idea. Until a letter arrived in her mailbox. Not the kind that she opened on her computer, no, the mailbox that she rarely found items since the arrival of the internet. In fact, her mailbox became a dusty old cave the held junk every now and then. She checked the tiny cave every Friday, more so out of habit. There was never anything important in the box nowadays. At least until this Friday. With interest and a bit of concern, she opened the letter. The first four works brought her to her knees. “you have been caught.”
What is lurking around the next corner. What surprise is in store? Something new, bright ,exciting, yummy? So many positive possibilities. Corners hide things and it is so easy to make it to the reveal. It only takes seconds to see what is hidden by so solid an object as a corner.
Looking around corners. Looking to see what is hidden and what, in such a short time, will be revealed. The amazing ness is going to be worth it. Just think of the possibilities.
Thinking about you at the corner of midnight. Standing at the intersection when I should be asleep.
She cut the corners off of the square sheet cake, the four sides becoming eight. It was an experiment, perhaps she was trying to see if she could make the cake round instead. She kind of had lost her round cake pan a couple of weeks ago and hadn’t gotten around to buying a new one. She was being a bit picky this time, she bought a cheap one last time.
You’re always cutting corners. In utero, even, pretending the rules didn’t apply to you. And here, now, kneeling in the dirt, spreading the seeds without the proper treatment. Though, maybe, it is less about corners this time and more about a specific kind of revolt. Against the older women looking over your shoulder, against the presence of your mother underneath your knees, and against the earth itself, so righteous. As if by planting these seeds all wrong you will undo the weight of them pressing in on you, recoiling in revulsion. Imagining the relief you think maybe you will walk from this sacred ground, find another; tend to the soil and plant yourself with such tenderness. With the relief you think you will cultivate all your withdrawn limbs, let them tangle around the scenery, up the building walls and the legs of your friends. Slowly making your way to their ankles, they feel your touch and begin to whisper your name, coaxing you further–a whisper-chant that you store inside your cytoplasm until you grow so long, so big that you don’t remember your name. Or the names of the older women looking over your shoulder. Or even the name of corner that you cut coming into the world–though, it is etched in stone, somewhere, far away, bare are lacking the love / of your embrace.
You try to get all the corners this time. Gather the cobwebs into your palms and try to make yourself less afraid of the world. A tiny speck crawls along your life line, trapped in a maze until the fan spins back around and it tumbles, over the soft edge of your hand or, to it, the end of the earth. You think to crouch down, take it up into your care again but instead you lose yourself in the perspective imagined: the disrupt, a home invaded and the free fall into oblivion.
And the next second you remember, you were trying to get all the corners this time and your legs extend / bringing you exactly where you want to go.
How many corners have you sent me to? Sitting there, in the chair, facing the intersection? How many corners have I studied with my fingertips? How many times have you studied my back, hunched over in obedience? How many corners have I send myself to and watched myself / from afar?
corners are used in our daily vocabulary a lot . from shapes to driving, they’re corners everywhere. when i think of corners i think of shapes.
cutting corners
like cutting lines:
crooked
like cutting people
sharp edges
ouch
Corners are places to hide. Corners turn things a different direction. Corners can create boundaries. Corners create shapes. Corners give structure…
Why do we put children who misbehave in corners? Does it make them feel trapped? Is it meant be shameful? I don’t think that being put in a corner would be an effective punishment on me. All I can do when I am told to “think about what I’ve done” is sit and stew over how mad I am at the person who put me in time out.
at every corner of the room, there was dust. Dust is so fucking disgusting, he thinks. He doesn’t like nasty things, even though he’s used to them. Dust fucking sucks.
He hates it.
Those revolutionary, fascinating things everyone has on the edges of their walls
Corners are sharp, they meet at a point.
sometimes they are round and soft
i used to live on a corner it was no diffrent then liveing on a street or in the woods it was a small hoause that i lived in.
oh jodi
you figured out the corners of my heart
and you creased them all for you
i got text stood up
i want a boom or a bang
will i ever see you again?
i got a Voltaire wish
to claim my stake with you
it’s this Hawthorne life
now that i’m far apart from you
the corners
of my wrinkled paper heart
are cut from the same cloth
as the fabric
of your dresses
so vintage and so new
can you remember the time
we spent all our money at yaffa
in the village
it closed last year
i think it’s because of us
capitalism
reminds small businesses
like our pretense
they die too.
Running through alleys with screams and flames chasing, each building’s corners passing by, ticking the seconds of freedom away. They had not reached their salvation yet, and here in this maze of a town was where, like the stone that made up the buildings, their headstones would lie.
in my own little corner in my own little chair i can be whatever i want to be. in my corner i read and read and read.
Ive been put in a time out and now i am sitting facing the corner of my bedroom wall. i am very bored. I complain to my mom saying “how much longer??” with a pouty lip out. she shakes her head saying “you can not be mean to your little sister anymore! now turn around and face the corner again.” i sigh.
Turning corners is just like turning life into something good or bad its simple just walk away its not that simple. when your crazy your crazy too cor
So many corners. She hated them. Their clear crispness, their white clarity, their smooth deadliness, it drove her insane. What happened to the hand cut curls and swirls of crude wooden doorways, the logs that had that had a distinct dip that make you stare at it for hours?
I didn’t like the way she handled her new job. In truth, she had never deserved to get promoted, especially not over me. She ignored important tasks, disrupted our work flow, and cut corners all the time. And when we called her out on it, she’d turn into a maelstrom of denial and rage.
“I am the boss here!” she shrieked one day when I so much as questioned her on a slew of typos in a quarterly report write-up. “I am the boss! And don’t you forget it!”
That night, I checked on the Internet to see if I could murder my superior for being a toxic waste of space.
There are corners all over the house. On the table, on the fridge, on the couch, everywhere. I’m so worried. I’ve taken care of babies before. But this is my own. I’m so worried for her. I don’t think I will be a good mother but my husband says otherwise. I know he will be an amazing father.
Stubbed toes when walking into corners of the house, lots of dust, dog fur and ooooother things but corners keep our homes intacted and from falling apart, corners are our corner stones of life! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.why do i subject myself to this.
There are corners everywhere. In my house, in a car, in the kitchen. Where is there not corners. Oh i know where there are no corners. The world has no corners because it is round. It is impossible to have any corner if the shape is round.
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe okay so stay safe and have fun and the winner gets $1,000,000 okay.
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe okay so stay safe and have fun and the winner gets $1,000,000
There are so many corners in this track and someone could hit one going to fast just like driving on the road so everyone pay attention to what you’re doing to stay safe
Corners can be cut. They can be square. They can be looked around. Opportunity can be just around one. Corners can be the place someone or some thing pushes you into.
I have a pattern of fleeing from corners and contribute my “cabin fever” and need to be out of my home (all the many homes I’ve had) and exploring. I’d like to say it’s wonderlust and maybe it is as well. I do know that the corners of any home often feel suffocating to me and getting out feels freeing.
ที่มุมหนึ่งของห้อง มีกล่องอยู่กล่องหนึ่ง ขนาดมันใหญ่พอสมควร ผมไม่เคยเปิดมัน ตั้งแต่ปิดมันลงไปเมื่อหลายเดือนก่อนผมก็ไม่เคยมีความกล้าเปิดมันขึ้นมาอีก เช่นเดียวกับความสัมพันธ์ของเขาและผม ที่พอจบลงไปแล้ว แม้เราจะได้เจอหน้ากันอยู่บ่อยๆ แต่ผมก็ไม่กล้าที่จะเข้าไปข้องเกี่ยวกับเขาอีก ผมเจ็บ
I hit my knee on the corner of the table.
It hurts.
The pain sears throughout my leg.
I scream in agony.
The pain.
And it continues to hurt.
A cada segundo as pessoas cruzam conosco, viram a esquina de nossas vidas e fazem uma pequena, porém significativa, diferença, nem todas são boas, mas são necessárias.
negatively viewed, looked upon with disgust, belittled, made fun of, embarrassed, humiliated, jokes, badgering
I met him while he was working again and we both shook and babbled and probably didn’t act at all like we would have liked to. Later I bumped into him again, and we did much the same, but this time we walked together and I drew attention to the fact that I was babbling and being pretty terrible. He walked me to my car, we hugged and he almost left. But I called him back, and kissed him on that corner, despite not knowing whether or not that was what he wanted, or whether I was really allowed.
We’ve been together ever since.