came close to his nose,
perfectly bridged.
He sighed Narcissus’ relief
and pummeled the driver for
their lack of dignity.
On a hot day, teenage
emotions are often catalyzed by temperature.
I just checked my Tumblr dashboard, and I saw so many different photos of Hip-Hop’s greatest rappers that it was truly crazy. I reblogged all the photos on my dashboard just for the hell of it.
The dashboard was slick with blood. In the midday sun of the Arizona desert it was drying fast, leaving behind a gloss of carmine red like a woman’s lips. I was holding the gun so tightly that my hand was sweating, burning with the heat of the metal. And yet my forehead was quite dry. I had gone to the limits of humanity to feel something- anything- and I still couldn’t. I didn’t care.
The body slumped in the passenger seat gave a whimper. I sighed.
She sat there in the car with the windows rolled down, the wind whipping through her hair, her toes tanning in the sun from their place on the dashboard. It was comfortable even if quite rude as the passenger in the car but she didn’t know the owner, he was simply a portal for her to get from point a to point b. She wasn’t a hitchhiker, she was more a free spirit, a wandering soul of sorts but not something lowly like a hitchhiker. Hitchhikers were dirty and she hated dirty. They didn’t have a destination or a home, well according to her license, she had a home and she knew where she was going, just because she didn’t have a time table to get there didn’t make it any less important.
Gripping the dash.
Releasing a sigh.
Squeezing harder for dear life.
Hips cradled in the safety of your hands.
Hair askew in strands.
Here and now in a world that is otherwise still.
Heartbeats, the only two heard for miles and miles.
I am looking over my dashboard and I can see the rain pelting down from the steely sky. There is a wren on the bonnet of the car and it scuttles off into the bushes. There is nothing else outside other than rain, and greenery, and road, nothing exciting, nothing happy.
The car screamed round the bend. All i could see was blurs. ‘STOP’ i screamed, ‘Please slow down’! but he didnt listen.
It was too late. He didnt see the other car until it was too late.
Blackness was all i knew until i woke up the wrong side of the dashboard; screaming in pain.
The dashboard of his car was always cluttered with a miscellanea of items. Nevermind that it was dangerous, he managed to somehow cram things in such a way that if physics had ever been given a physical form, would have broken down and cried.
He sat for a spell in the mangled wreck, breathing in her scent. Jasmine, cigarettes and gasoline. The aroma of death. The mix tape was still in the cassette player. He ejected it and kissed the Play button.
Diane rested her head on the dashboard, her mind racing. It was all wrong. No one was supposed to get hurt. No… no one was supposed to die. It was just a simple date. Normal. Lots of people go on dates. People. People not monsters. Damn it! Now what? She glanced over at the lifeless body in the driver’s seat, the seat belt covered in crimson. Why did he have to provoke her? Why couldn’t he understand no meant no! She shook her head, she had been doing so well…..
Upon my dashboard lies a parking pass, paid for in hours of toil. I am one minute late to my door, and find a ticket tucked under my windshield wiper. Another hour of toil to the parking attendants.
The little hand moved steadily but quickly from 50 to 60 to 70 to 80 and almost to breaking point. My eyes watched that little hand as it moved, the speed increasing with my anger. I wasn’t looking at the road anymore and then I wasn’t looking at anything at all.
Grantaire did not get his feet off the dashboard. Instead, he started about the business of kicking off his shoes.
/”Absolutely not./ Don’t make me pull over.”
Grantaire had to stifle a smirk as he pretended not to hear. He was, however, careful not to scuff the already much-scuffed dash.
“But /ange/ I’m so /tired/ can’t I just stretch a bit?” His favorite thing about Enjolras’s name was that he could call him an angel and Enjolras would only think he was calling him by a nickname, by /Enj./
“This car has already been through a lot, I absolutely refuse to put her through your disgusting excuses for feet.”
She taps on the dashboard with excitement, and we jump out of the beat up rental. The sun’s only just rising out from underneath a rocky hill. Running, running. The hill’s no problem for our young legs. And finally at the top, with grass between our toes, there it is. The most astoundingly beautiful sunrise we’ve ever laid eyes on. I look over at them, my two best friends since the beginning of time. It’s the little things.
But there’s nothing little about that orange globe of flames keeping us warm until we die.
Muriel could hardly see the dashboard. She had a vague idea that was not a good thing.
She’d smoked so much weed at the party, she wasn’t even sure what day it was. Her boyfriend was supposed to drive her home, but she was sick of waiting for him.
On my dashboard on any day you’ll find my sunglasses, dust (lots of dust) because it’s spring here and everything is a mixture of pollen and dust and sometimes the occasional bug. My dashboard at night is light a bright city. Lights everywhere in so many colors taking me down the highway.
I look at the array of lights on the dashboard, a veritable feast of information about the vehicle. Too much information, that I need the manual to even begin to decipher all the messages, represented by little glowing icons of modern culture.
My father has a hoola girl on his dashboard. He got it while he was on vacation with my mother in Hawaii. I dont think my mother likes it. I wonder why, she loved the vacation: She even borrowed my floral baithing suite. She was smiling when she got back… but the smile was gone within a few days.
the dashboard was caked with dust, dusty with time and far too many travels. it’d had seen more history than most likely would in their entire lives. it had been witness to entire lives and whole stories. Everything from baby food to motor oil had been smeared across its front, and never had it seen a day of armoroil.
If only one thing was certain, is that no matter where you go, there is at least one constant. Everything you witness through that glass is witnessed over it, every new place framed by it.
i don’t remember any dashboards. but i remember that one car. that car i basically spent a fall in, above the dashboard, pinned to the sun shield, a button saying ‘I’m a fermata – hold me’, a button i grew to love like no other.
it is the part of the car where you look at, it is below the windshield. there is not much going on with the dashboard it is just a piece of the car and does not do much. mine is dirty at the moment
I looked at the dashboard of my car as we were driving down the motorway. Covered in junk of course, but that was always going to be the case. 70mph was pretty average, and even though I could see idiots zooming past at 80 or 90, I knew that 70 would conserve fuel so it was ok by me. I had a weird sense of butterflies in my stomach, I wasn’t even sure where I was heading, but hopefully I’d find something interesting at the end of the motorway.
I put my feet up on the dashboard. The driver of the taxi gazed at my daring appreciatively. My friends in the back gave each other glances, questioning the hygiene of my bare legs on the public space. I feel sexy and tonight is the time to show it.
I sat there drumming. I couldn’t stop myself,. as soon as the music started my fingers started to wiggle and my toes started to tap. He’s seeing the real me, I don’t care if it’s our first date or not. I’m not the kind to just keep to myself timidly.
came close to his nose,
perfectly bridged.
He sighed Narcissus’ relief
and pummeled the driver for
their lack of dignity.
On a hot day, teenage
emotions are often catalyzed by temperature.
Home is where the blue background is
paradise by the dashboard
lite
boy meets girl
boy likes girl
boy tries to bed girl
girl resists
“do you love me, will you love me forever?”
I just checked my Tumblr dashboard, and I saw so many different photos of Hip-Hop’s greatest rappers that it was truly crazy. I reblogged all the photos on my dashboard just for the hell of it.
The dashboard was slick with blood. In the midday sun of the Arizona desert it was drying fast, leaving behind a gloss of carmine red like a woman’s lips. I was holding the gun so tightly that my hand was sweating, burning with the heat of the metal. And yet my forehead was quite dry. I had gone to the limits of humanity to feel something- anything- and I still couldn’t. I didn’t care.
The body slumped in the passenger seat gave a whimper. I sighed.
She sat there in the car with the windows rolled down, the wind whipping through her hair, her toes tanning in the sun from their place on the dashboard. It was comfortable even if quite rude as the passenger in the car but she didn’t know the owner, he was simply a portal for her to get from point a to point b. She wasn’t a hitchhiker, she was more a free spirit, a wandering soul of sorts but not something lowly like a hitchhiker. Hitchhikers were dirty and she hated dirty. They didn’t have a destination or a home, well according to her license, she had a home and she knew where she was going, just because she didn’t have a time table to get there didn’t make it any less important.
Gripping the dash.
Releasing a sigh.
Squeezing harder for dear life.
Hips cradled in the safety of your hands.
Hair askew in strands.
Here and now in a world that is otherwise still.
Heartbeats, the only two heard for miles and miles.
pack of smokes on the dashboard
you and me
a road stretched ahead
we don’t need to be anywhere
let’s go.
The hula girl sashayed her hips in time with the rhythm of the road. She had seen every corner of the Outback.
Flashing lights,
Coloured lights,
Confirming what I already know,
That time travels much too slow…
I am looking over my dashboard and I can see the rain pelting down from the steely sky. There is a wren on the bonnet of the car and it scuttles off into the bushes. There is nothing else outside other than rain, and greenery, and road, nothing exciting, nothing happy.
the place where my blue cat toy sits in my car. a gift, from my gran.
dashboard
The car screamed round the bend. All i could see was blurs. ‘STOP’ i screamed, ‘Please slow down’! but he didnt listen.
It was too late. He didnt see the other car until it was too late.
Blackness was all i knew until i woke up the wrong side of the dashboard; screaming in pain.
The dashboard of his car was always cluttered with a miscellanea of items. Nevermind that it was dangerous, he managed to somehow cram things in such a way that if physics had ever been given a physical form, would have broken down and cried.
He sat for a spell in the mangled wreck, breathing in her scent. Jasmine, cigarettes and gasoline. The aroma of death. The mix tape was still in the cassette player. He ejected it and kissed the Play button.
with one foot on the dashboard and the other hanging out the window,
it finally feels like summer.
i do not any thing
Diane rested her head on the dashboard, her mind racing. It was all wrong. No one was supposed to get hurt. No… no one was supposed to die. It was just a simple date. Normal. Lots of people go on dates. People. People not monsters. Damn it! Now what? She glanced over at the lifeless body in the driver’s seat, the seat belt covered in crimson. Why did he have to provoke her? Why couldn’t he understand no meant no! She shook her head, she had been doing so well…..
Upon my dashboard lies a parking pass, paid for in hours of toil. I am one minute late to my door, and find a ticket tucked under my windshield wiper. Another hour of toil to the parking attendants.
The little hand moved steadily but quickly from 50 to 60 to 70 to 80 and almost to breaking point. My eyes watched that little hand as it moved, the speed increasing with my anger. I wasn’t looking at the road anymore and then I wasn’t looking at anything at all.
“Grantaire, get your feet off the dashboard.”
Grantaire did not get his feet off the dashboard. Instead, he started about the business of kicking off his shoes.
/”Absolutely not./ Don’t make me pull over.”
Grantaire had to stifle a smirk as he pretended not to hear. He was, however, careful not to scuff the already much-scuffed dash.
“But /ange/ I’m so /tired/ can’t I just stretch a bit?” His favorite thing about Enjolras’s name was that he could call him an angel and Enjolras would only think he was calling him by a nickname, by /Enj./
“This car has already been through a lot, I absolutely refuse to put her through your disgusting excuses for feet.”
She taps on the dashboard with excitement, and we jump out of the beat up rental. The sun’s only just rising out from underneath a rocky hill. Running, running. The hill’s no problem for our young legs. And finally at the top, with grass between our toes, there it is. The most astoundingly beautiful sunrise we’ve ever laid eyes on. I look over at them, my two best friends since the beginning of time. It’s the little things.
But there’s nothing little about that orange globe of flames keeping us warm until we die.
im afraid in case of car crashes. The air bag will pop out and hit me. ery afraid of pain not sure if i prefer the crash or getting saved.
Muriel could hardly see the dashboard. She had a vague idea that was not a good thing.
She’d smoked so much weed at the party, she wasn’t even sure what day it was. Her boyfriend was supposed to drive her home, but she was sick of waiting for him.
On my dashboard on any day you’ll find my sunglasses, dust (lots of dust) because it’s spring here and everything is a mixture of pollen and dust and sometimes the occasional bug. My dashboard at night is light a bright city. Lights everywhere in so many colors taking me down the highway.
Annie hit her head on the dashboard
and now she’s dead.
My feet are up,
The sunlight pours in through window
And falls on me.
It’s wonderful and surreal.
I look at the array of lights on the dashboard, a veritable feast of information about the vehicle. Too much information, that I need the manual to even begin to decipher all the messages, represented by little glowing icons of modern culture.
My father has a hoola girl on his dashboard. He got it while he was on vacation with my mother in Hawaii. I dont think my mother likes it. I wonder why, she loved the vacation: She even borrowed my floral baithing suite. She was smiling when she got back… but the smile was gone within a few days.
the dashboard was caked with dust, dusty with time and far too many travels. it’d had seen more history than most likely would in their entire lives. it had been witness to entire lives and whole stories. Everything from baby food to motor oil had been smeared across its front, and never had it seen a day of armoroil.
If only one thing was certain, is that no matter where you go, there is at least one constant. Everything you witness through that glass is witnessed over it, every new place framed by it.
i don’t remember any dashboards. but i remember that one car. that car i basically spent a fall in, above the dashboard, pinned to the sun shield, a button saying ‘I’m a fermata – hold me’, a button i grew to love like no other.
it is the part of the car where you look at, it is below the windshield. there is not much going on with the dashboard it is just a piece of the car and does not do much. mine is dirty at the moment
On the dashboard of her truck, wobbled the only memento from her time in Yosemite….
a little fawn statue standing in a tiny plastic forest.
I looked at the dashboard of my car as we were driving down the motorway. Covered in junk of course, but that was always going to be the case. 70mph was pretty average, and even though I could see idiots zooming past at 80 or 90, I knew that 70 would conserve fuel so it was ok by me. I had a weird sense of butterflies in my stomach, I wasn’t even sure where I was heading, but hopefully I’d find something interesting at the end of the motorway.
Ok, figuratively speaking, in life it’s always a bliss to be able to tell what you see on the dashboard from what’s really happening.
I put my feet up on the dashboard. The driver of the taxi gazed at my daring appreciatively. My friends in the back gave each other glances, questioning the hygiene of my bare legs on the public space. I feel sexy and tonight is the time to show it.
I sat there drumming. I couldn’t stop myself,. as soon as the music started my fingers started to wiggle and my toes started to tap. He’s seeing the real me, I don’t care if it’s our first date or not. I’m not the kind to just keep to myself timidly.
I get in the car and see the dust covering the dashboard of my once luxuries automobile. Neglect always brings regret.