Dashboard, I could pretend to be deep and philosophical, but really it just brings me to the band. How it brings me home, how it touches my heart, how even if it screams high school, and screams a younger me, it will always hold a place. This dashboard is wearing, and it’s keeping me awake. This bitter pill.
you’re sitting in your room thinking about your life and where you are. you want to record how you are feeling and how life itself really doesn’t make sense. your roommate characterizes you as “up tight” but you feel as though you are more than that. you put so much into life that you hope to get so much back.
Late night road trips away from everyone we know
Is it possible to be lost when you have nowhere to go?
We’ll watch the stars until they vanish, then chase after the sun
A journey with no finish line, a race already won.
That god forsaken dashboard gets me every time. Every time I have the audacity to think I’m safe in my own care; safe to let my mind take over… hurry up, get it over with. The flashback comes and that dashboard becomes my worst enemy. Breaking my hand, breaking a finger. Or worse, breaking my mind again.
there is a dashboard on a car. my dad always says it’s like there’s liquid nitrogen on some peoples’ cars because they drive so slowly. I also think of google accounts. they have the main dashboard, but i think the layout is designed poorly. i can barely figure out how to get anywhere
i want to eat an apple with a keyboard mango potato tooth why is this still going how does time flow? it is linear, no? cycle. energy. vicious energy narrowing and harrowing a path down past the bridges and tick marks down to the pit of time. i said, you do voluntary work, how many hours a week does it take to have structure? absolution? to think creatively?
Full. never ending and completely wonderful. Whether it be for laughs or for knowledge, there is always something. A great was to connect with the world without talking. TuMBLR!
Eyes closed and with her feet propped up on the dashboard, her hands busy twisting in time to the thumping bass emerging from the speakers, Kara didn’t notice the small smiles Jessie sent in her direction every twelve miles or so.
Which was just fine with Jessie, considering Kara was her best friend and the fact that she was sure the emotion in her eyes could never be mistaken for anything other than what it was – love – had she noticed.
i already wrote about dashboard. i thought i would get another word. i hoped i would. i didn’t. now i can’t wait for tomorrow. i hope tomorrow’s word is icecream or maybe nebraska. or snow. i hope it snows tomorrow. i will call in sick to work.
Dashboard, for me, is synonymous with Tumblr. My dash, most often, is dead. I can never understand that. Why is my dash dead when I follow 78 other blogs? I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that people don’t spend hours on that site.
A car sitting in the middle of a parking might seem abandoned. It might seem like it has been left, lost, forgotten – an idle hunk of metal languishing in a square of flat cement. But that is not always the case. Sometimes, but not always. For if one were to look at the dashboard of a seemingly undisturbed vehicle, one will see the wrongness of their assumption. For huddled on dashboards are the minds of their owners – their knick-knacks, their treasures, their tiny pieces of bubblegum wrapping so hastily wrapped and thrown away while stopped at a streetlight. A dashboard will always tell you if someone is coming back.
The dashboard was scratched and had cigarette marks smeared across the front. I glanced at my boyfriend Gavin.
“You bought this?”
“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it?”
“If you like to drive a dumpster.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate real beauty.”
The light from her car dashboard was bright. She clicked the tiny button to mute it. He looked over at her. They were parked by a rambling beach, with only the shore line staring back, illuminated by the light of the moon. “Her name is Adriana.” “Oh.” “Well, I mean, you asked.” “Did you expect me to be happy about it?” “We didn’t say we were only seeing each other.” “We didn’t agree we needed to lie about it.” “So, we’re okay then.” “No. It would be one thing if this was the arrangement, if we both decided to be open about it. But, we didn’t. I’m not angry about her, I’m angry about you.” “So, that’s it?” “Yeah. I guess so.” He exited the car. She put the keys into the ignition and the dashboard returned to its original luminosity, her headlights beaming on a stormy ocean front.
The pain as you hit it with all the force you had saved up. All that time, you just wanted to go from Point A, to Point B; you never once thought about a detour.
And now, the detour has crashed into you, inside your mind and your eyes.
his face smashed intio the dash bored as the driver breaked harshly. as he lost conciousness he could here a voice smooth cunning voice laugh and say, “I told you to wear your seat belt.”
Dashboard is where the hula girl dances. She doesn’t know where we’re going, but I do. Down to the depths of the sewers we go little girl. Look out for that sewage. We won’t be coming back any time soon.
Paradise by the dashboard lights… all I think about when I hear that song is how their car battery will be dead if the lights are on that long because ‘it’ is good. Cynical? Realistic? Silly? Maybe, but the crap will hit the fan when they need a jump (for the battery).
She looked down at the dashboard as she drove and couldn’t believe she had driven 2000 miles already. She had no idea where she was headed, and did not care.
I can see paradise by the dashboard light.
that was a song by meatloaf.
mom took us to a meatloaf concert when i was small.
some dude spilled beer all over me.
and it rained. fucking poured.
meatloaf.
what a fat bastard.
dad hates that guy.
but he never took us to a concert. :)
My tumblr dashboard refreshes as I wait for her reply. I keep refreshing, only to find my inbox empty. I silently scream “PLEASE REPLY!” As I throw my hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. I need this reply. I need it so much.
The dashboard is covered in shards of glass, drenched in blood. If he had thought that maybe there was a chance… He certainly doesn’t anymore. The kid is dead, eyes blank and muddy and unseeing, a streak of dried blood innocently painting his cheek- and he has to look away or vomit at the scene.
Everyday I go on Tumblr and scroll on my dashboard. I reblog things, usually pertaining to my life. Most of these things were sad though, and I just kept reblogging them off my dash. Then again, Tumblr can be a very sad place. I am sorta glad I have it. Sorta. Until, it makes me realize one thing: I’m a very sad person trying to take up space.
What do you keep on your dashboard?
My friends and I used to go to this restaurant, Friendly’s, all the time. We’d order appetizers and dessert. We’d always ask for the four-pack of crayons and a children’s placemat to colour on while we waited. Once, my friend and I took the crayons “home” … except we left them in a shallow bowl in the center of my dashboard, and one cold night after a long, hot afternoon at work, I found a solidified puddle of red, yellow, blue and green glazing the bowl.
we looked out the window. ‘that’s channel four’ she said. it was a bunch of trees. it was dark. we were listening to bright eyes. ‘who is this?’ i asked. ‘bright eyes,’ she said. i like it. it’s good.
My tumblr dashboard refreshed as I wait for her reply. I keep refreshing, only to find my inbox empty. I silently scream “PLEASE REPLY!” As I throw my hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. I need this reply. I need it so much.
there’s a dashboard on my car, a dashboard on my mac. there’s no dashboard anywhere else. why is it called a dashboard? I’m yet to see anyone dash across it, nor is it particularly board-like.
She put her sandaled feet up on the dashboard and linked her fingers with the other girl, sharing a quick glance between the two of them, full of hope and promises. Freckled skin and sunglasses, the car speeding away towards their dreams matched the hope that filled their young bodies.
Clicking away, typing away, living away. Dale never knew one person who did not hate him. Not one. But the internet didn’t judge. The facebooks, and tumblrs, and twitters, and instagrams never saw his face. Not his real face. Things could be changed, seen different, warped. Dale liked it that way.
Dashboard, I could pretend to be deep and philosophical, but really it just brings me to the band. How it brings me home, how it touches my heart, how even if it screams high school, and screams a younger me, it will always hold a place. This dashboard is wearing, and it’s keeping me awake. This bitter pill.
you’re sitting in your room thinking about your life and where you are. you want to record how you are feeling and how life itself really doesn’t make sense. your roommate characterizes you as “up tight” but you feel as though you are more than that. you put so much into life that you hope to get so much back.
i’m not uptight. i’m simply dedicated and driven.
see you at the finish line.
Late night road trips away from everyone we know
Is it possible to be lost when you have nowhere to go?
We’ll watch the stars until they vanish, then chase after the sun
A journey with no finish line, a race already won.
My head bounces off
A cacophony of shrieking metal tearing from the helm of my ship
A sudden dull bass drop
Boom
And now such deep quiet
Just like in the movies, I am gone.
That god forsaken dashboard gets me every time. Every time I have the audacity to think I’m safe in my own care; safe to let my mind take over… hurry up, get it over with. The flashback comes and that dashboard becomes my worst enemy. Breaking my hand, breaking a finger. Or worse, breaking my mind again.
My head smacked down upon the dashboard, hard. I sat there, gasping, head full of stars for more minutes than I could count.
there is a dashboard on a car. my dad always says it’s like there’s liquid nitrogen on some peoples’ cars because they drive so slowly. I also think of google accounts. they have the main dashboard, but i think the layout is designed poorly. i can barely figure out how to get anywhere
Oh! It’s a great place for store useful somethings and use them.
The dashboard fogged up as our breathing got heavier and our skin got hotter and closer.
i want to eat an apple with a keyboard mango potato tooth why is this still going how does time flow? it is linear, no? cycle. energy. vicious energy narrowing and harrowing a path down past the bridges and tick marks down to the pit of time. i said, you do voluntary work, how many hours a week does it take to have structure? absolution? to think creatively?
Every time he drove his car, Bernard feels exasperated. McDonald’s collectibles, soft toys, superstitious stuff from the temple.
Who knows what else his wife would want him to display on his dashboard?
Full. never ending and completely wonderful. Whether it be for laughs or for knowledge, there is always something. A great was to connect with the world without talking. TuMBLR!
Eyes closed and with her feet propped up on the dashboard, her hands busy twisting in time to the thumping bass emerging from the speakers, Kara didn’t notice the small smiles Jessie sent in her direction every twelve miles or so.
Which was just fine with Jessie, considering Kara was her best friend and the fact that she was sure the emotion in her eyes could never be mistaken for anything other than what it was – love – had she noticed.
i already wrote about dashboard. i thought i would get another word. i hoped i would. i didn’t. now i can’t wait for tomorrow. i hope tomorrow’s word is icecream or maybe nebraska. or snow. i hope it snows tomorrow. i will call in sick to work.
Dashboard, for me, is synonymous with Tumblr. My dash, most often, is dead. I can never understand that. Why is my dash dead when I follow 78 other blogs? I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that people don’t spend hours on that site.
A car sitting in the middle of a parking might seem abandoned. It might seem like it has been left, lost, forgotten – an idle hunk of metal languishing in a square of flat cement. But that is not always the case. Sometimes, but not always. For if one were to look at the dashboard of a seemingly undisturbed vehicle, one will see the wrongness of their assumption. For huddled on dashboards are the minds of their owners – their knick-knacks, their treasures, their tiny pieces of bubblegum wrapping so hastily wrapped and thrown away while stopped at a streetlight. A dashboard will always tell you if someone is coming back.
My car dashboard is bare.
My car is fairly new, so I have an excuse.
Soon it will have the memories of propped feet, maps, and fast food bags.
Dashed my hopes of ever being bored again be a dashing girl
Please fetch me another one of your smiles
Sing me a tune, barbershop quartet.
I hate dashboards. I hit my head on one out of abuse. Dashboards can be pleasant. It can have so many bobble heads on it.
The dashboard was scratched and had cigarette marks smeared across the front. I glanced at my boyfriend Gavin.
“You bought this?”
“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it?”
“If you like to drive a dumpster.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate real beauty.”
The light from her car dashboard was bright. She clicked the tiny button to mute it. He looked over at her. They were parked by a rambling beach, with only the shore line staring back, illuminated by the light of the moon. “Her name is Adriana.” “Oh.” “Well, I mean, you asked.” “Did you expect me to be happy about it?” “We didn’t say we were only seeing each other.” “We didn’t agree we needed to lie about it.” “So, we’re okay then.” “No. It would be one thing if this was the arrangement, if we both decided to be open about it. But, we didn’t. I’m not angry about her, I’m angry about you.” “So, that’s it?” “Yeah. I guess so.” He exited the car. She put the keys into the ignition and the dashboard returned to its original luminosity, her headlights beaming on a stormy ocean front.
The pain as you hit it with all the force you had saved up. All that time, you just wanted to go from Point A, to Point B; you never once thought about a detour.
And now, the detour has crashed into you, inside your mind and your eyes.
his face smashed intio the dash bored as the driver breaked harshly. as he lost conciousness he could here a voice smooth cunning voice laugh and say, “I told you to wear your seat belt.”
Dashboard is where the hula girl dances. She doesn’t know where we’re going, but I do. Down to the depths of the sewers we go little girl. Look out for that sewage. We won’t be coming back any time soon.
Paradise by the dashboard lights… all I think about when I hear that song is how their car battery will be dead if the lights are on that long because ‘it’ is good. Cynical? Realistic? Silly? Maybe, but the crap will hit the fan when they need a jump (for the battery).
She looked down at the dashboard as she drove and couldn’t believe she had driven 2000 miles already. She had no idea where she was headed, and did not care.
The deer in the was so sudden, so when I stopped I slammed into the dashboard.
I can see paradise by the dashboard light.
that was a song by meatloaf.
mom took us to a meatloaf concert when i was small.
some dude spilled beer all over me.
and it rained. fucking poured.
meatloaf.
what a fat bastard.
dad hates that guy.
but he never took us to a concert. :)
My tumblr dashboard refreshes as I wait for her reply. I keep refreshing, only to find my inbox empty. I silently scream “PLEASE REPLY!” As I throw my hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. I need this reply. I need it so much.
The dashboard is covered in shards of glass, drenched in blood. If he had thought that maybe there was a chance… He certainly doesn’t anymore. The kid is dead, eyes blank and muddy and unseeing, a streak of dried blood innocently painting his cheek- and he has to look away or vomit at the scene.
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
everyone has that one story, that one true story that people think could only come out of fiction.
Everyday I go on Tumblr and scroll on my dashboard. I reblog things, usually pertaining to my life. Most of these things were sad though, and I just kept reblogging them off my dash. Then again, Tumblr can be a very sad place. I am sorta glad I have it. Sorta. Until, it makes me realize one thing: I’m a very sad person trying to take up space.
What do you keep on your dashboard?
My friends and I used to go to this restaurant, Friendly’s, all the time. We’d order appetizers and dessert. We’d always ask for the four-pack of crayons and a children’s placemat to colour on while we waited. Once, my friend and I took the crayons “home” … except we left them in a shallow bowl in the center of my dashboard, and one cold night after a long, hot afternoon at work, I found a solidified puddle of red, yellow, blue and green glazing the bowl.
we looked out the window. ‘that’s channel four’ she said. it was a bunch of trees. it was dark. we were listening to bright eyes. ‘who is this?’ i asked. ‘bright eyes,’ she said. i like it. it’s good.
My tumblr dashboard refreshed as I wait for her reply. I keep refreshing, only to find my inbox empty. I silently scream “PLEASE REPLY!” As I throw my hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. I need this reply. I need it so much.
there’s a dashboard on my car, a dashboard on my mac. there’s no dashboard anywhere else. why is it called a dashboard? I’m yet to see anyone dash across it, nor is it particularly board-like.
She put her sandaled feet up on the dashboard and linked her fingers with the other girl, sharing a quick glance between the two of them, full of hope and promises. Freckled skin and sunglasses, the car speeding away towards their dreams matched the hope that filled their young bodies.
Clicking away, typing away, living away. Dale never knew one person who did not hate him. Not one. But the internet didn’t judge. The facebooks, and tumblrs, and twitters, and instagrams never saw his face. Not his real face. Things could be changed, seen different, warped. Dale liked it that way.
I banged my head on the dashboard. Once. Twice. Three times. How could I just lose her like that? How could I let her go?
A blue wall. An endless scroll. Social media platform. It’s what we call Tumblr, and it starts with your dashboard.