The air, I can literally feel it. It’s dense with magic. I can practically see it oozing out of the pages and into the atmosphere around me, like the books alone can’t contain it. Everything must be read.
the fog is as dense a my aunt Connie’s brain – neither can see beyond their noses for the beauty of the moment. Such a loss. Enjoy the moment and pass it on.
My thoughts are dense right now with so many things scrambling around. These troubles are dense and hard to find a way through. His head is dense and I can’t get my feelings through to him. My heart is dense with pain and sorrow. My love was dense and now I don’t know the density anymore.
My mind is dense. My body is dense. Everything about me is dense. This is what they all tell me. But of course I would dispute this claim. To me, my limbs are wings, mere instruments to bring me closer to heaven. My mind is a cloud, traversing the open sky and gobbling up the sustenance it finds there in the form of neverending knowledge. My eyes are pools of cool, clear water, taking in what I see around me and processing; converting everything into terms I can understand. In this way I am the furthest from dense there is.
Dense, the word that was used to describe him at both home and school. They never thought he understood what they mean, he was meant to be a simpleton, dropped on his head as a child they would whisper, not quite there, just a bit slower than the rest
thick. His thoughts were dense, he couldn’t get through them. Like wading in mud. Trudging through an ocean. He couldn’t find a path, his mind was dense like a forest. Ideas swirling… analyzing nothing yet everything.
it crumbled like cake spilling over, the cliff slumping in a matter of moments. morsels of rock and buttery skeins of sand flowed over the edge. still, he couldn’t help thinking of chocolate. it was all he had left to hold on to, anyways.
Dense.
Like, unimaginably dense.
I hear the words leave her mouth, but I cannot comprehend them because it is such an awful question that I can’t even fathom its existence.
I lean over to my friend and whisper, “did she really just say that?”
Leave it to the head cheerleader to follow the stereotypical idiotic label.
Density is complex. Human thought is dense. Becoming a dense-headed person is one of the hardest things to do because it requires thinking and learning very fast and memorizing a lot of facts. i hope to be dense. Thank you.
“Du bist doch nicht ganz dicht. Du hast doch den Arsch offen. Bei dir sind ja nicht mehr alle Tassen im Schrank. Sag mal, hast du noch alle?” So haben damals andauernd alle geredet. Naja, fast alle. Die, die nicht so geredet haben, waren nicht von Bedeutung.
It wasn’t that he was incapable of understanding. It was just that the pathways from his brain to his mouth were particularly overgrown, dense with the detritus of a million failed answers.
Dense, I never thought much of the word although sometimes I’ve been accused of being dense. Dense as a brick, hard headed, tough as if my brain is in a fog and I have to work to focus so I guess sometimes I am dense.
Dense. I like dense pieces of cake. The ones that are thick and moist. Or Tres Leches. I love Tres Leches. I don’t like it when the cake is all fluffy and not dense. My brother told me that cakes that are fluffy put a lot of air holes in their cake to save ingredients.I think that’s cheap.
Benjamin throws his arm around Sean. They laugh and Sean turns his head to look at the blond beside him. Their faces are so close that he can see the faint freckles on Benjamin’s light face. He had no idea about them before.
Cass watches and shakes his head, sorry for Sean.
You’re about as dense as they come, when it all gets down to it.
I say one thing, and you still don’t get it.
Hey, I like spending time with you.
Hey, I like being around you.
Hey, hey, are you listening to me?
Do you understand?
Hey. I want to get to know a little more about you, be a fly on the wall of your life.
I wanna see what makes you tock, what gets your ticker rolling.
I wanna be whatever it is you most need, and what it is you most want.
I wanna be here for you.
I just wish you would listen to what I’m saying without my words.
Peter grins at Claire. She smiles back. There’s an unsaid secret, something they’ve hidden from their fairy friend. It isn’t out of malice that they share this secret.The rest of their Cell are splashing around in the lake. Luck basks in the sun, hoping to get a golden brown tan.
they glared at each other from across the room, eyes squinted in a staring competition that no one dared walk through out of fear of being incinerated into ten thousand little shreds of nonexistence. they hated each other, they said, and mocked and threatened and beat up and hated one another for all they were worth. and then they got home, and then they stopped pretending, and then they sighed in annoyance and wondered how they could be so dense.
Disguise.
We all wear one, no matter what we do. We will always hide. Hide from the truth. Hide from the lines. Hide from the pain. Because, we’re too weak the face it. Too weak to face anything. We will hide something that no one else will know. We are all humans. We all therefore, have flaws. I hide my flaws. But I want my cracks to be seen. They will never be seen. All I do is get mocked by my flaws. My cracks. My imperfections, are targets for the ones who are used to the flaws. I come off to be perfect. Nothing is perfect. No one will ever be. I have flaws, deeper than regular people. You will get trapped in my flaws. But you will never find my disguise.
“You’re so dense, Akuma!”
“Well, if you’d just tell me what you’ve been thinking, then I wouldn’t be dense, now would I, Kaiden?”
“Yes, you would! And it’d be cheating.”
“Just tell me what you’ve been thinking!”
“Fine! You want to know what I’ve been thinking?”
“Yes!”
“I’ve been thinking that I love you!”
thick. fog. can’t see straight. can’t cut through the thing. i know there’s something on the other side. i just know it, but i can’t reach it. not yet. it’s too dense. but i’m not dense. no siree … i’ll keep peering through b/c i KNOW there’s something out there to see.
sometimes i feel like i’m so fucking dense. i never realize how screwed i am until it’s too late…i’ve lost/damaged a lot of friendships this way. i’m not the only one, though. i feel like my boyfriend (possibly ex?) doesn’t understand that i want him to show he cares about me instead of just assuming that i inherently know.
the fruitcake my neighbor grandma lady used to make was incredibly dense and dry, thick and filled with unidentifiable jellied objects. But she made it with love, and with enough milk to wash it down I managed one piece every Holiday season. I miss her and her dense fruit cake.
The atomosfear was denser than the blackness of the night.
A sense of fright drew nearer and nearer to the group.
They held on to each other, grasping at straws to stay alive, surrounded by an invisible darkness that engulfed their common sense.
And suddenly….
You are so dense! Is it not so painfully obvious?
What do you mean? This is the only way I know of how to handle this situation.
You know nothing! You’re solution is laughable.
Like fog. Like other substances. Dense is what you can’t see through. It’s deep, not transparent. To be dense is to not to use your whole mind, but not let your emotions show either. Dense isn’t always good.
people are dense, the density of matter. the universe, how we all relate to one another, the meaning of life what it all means, where to go next, how dense can you get, a dunce cap density of life in a place, of population, things sticking together, enmenshment, unable to breathe
There are far more dense people in the world than I knew. I’d thought smart people outnumbered the idiotic. Not so. And IQ doesn’t play as much a part in decentness and non-idiotic behaviour as one might think.
On a slightly different tangent re: “Dense…”
I have a lot of patience with people who aren’t “smart.” People who don’t understand how to do something or don’t know something, or are slow to learn something and ask questions (even the same questions) over and over and over again. They don’t bother me. I do have problems with people who don’t try. Who want me to do all the work for them instead of with them. Who lie about what work they have or haven’t done on their own. “Dense” people, in my world, are those people. People who’d rather complain and manipulate than try, and try, and try, and try, over and over and over again. The latter may be slower than others at times, but they are not dense. Slow and steady does eventually cross the finish line.
Thick. Goes on forever. I cannot think. My skull, gah, it be dense. The cement walls of the house, they keep it from falling. Keep it strong in the storm. Survive.
Punch, push, pull, punch, push pull. She kneads the dense dough with bare hands, loving the silken feel between her finger, working out her stress through the creation of sustenance.
Dense is a powerful word. It can describe a substance, and its viscosity or mass per volume. It could describe a person, and their likewise slowness or lack of mass per volume of head. Gold is dense. Sarah Palin is dense.
Together.
Perfectly together. 2 people. The only thing that may be perfect in the world. When we’re together. But we’re never together. You used to know me so well. We always talked to each other. What happened? Why do you hate me? Why do you like to see me in the corner, crying? Why? Don’t you remember how we were? Why can’t we go back? Why can’t anyone go back? Was it me? Was it my ignorance? Was it your ignorance? Everything. Perfectly together. We can only accomplish something with someone. Together. The only thing that matters. When we were together. I told you everything. Why am I hiding from you now? Don’t I remember how we were? I guess not. Because, we’re not together anymore. And everything has failed.
The air, I can literally feel it. It’s dense with magic. I can practically see it oozing out of the pages and into the atmosphere around me, like the books alone can’t contain it. Everything must be read.
I have never understood the word dense in the terms of science. Same with the word concentrated its odd.
the fog is as dense a my aunt Connie’s brain – neither can see beyond their noses for the beauty of the moment. Such a loss. Enjoy the moment and pass it on.
My thoughts are dense right now with so many things scrambling around. These troubles are dense and hard to find a way through. His head is dense and I can’t get my feelings through to him. My heart is dense with pain and sorrow. My love was dense and now I don’t know the density anymore.
My mother is dense. Everyone is dense. I cannot think of the definition for dense.
My mind is dense. My body is dense. Everything about me is dense. This is what they all tell me. But of course I would dispute this claim. To me, my limbs are wings, mere instruments to bring me closer to heaven. My mind is a cloud, traversing the open sky and gobbling up the sustenance it finds there in the form of neverending knowledge. My eyes are pools of cool, clear water, taking in what I see around me and processing; converting everything into terms I can understand. In this way I am the furthest from dense there is.
Dense, the word that was used to describe him at both home and school. They never thought he understood what they mean, he was meant to be a simpleton, dropped on his head as a child they would whisper, not quite there, just a bit slower than the rest
thick. His thoughts were dense, he couldn’t get through them. Like wading in mud. Trudging through an ocean. He couldn’t find a path, his mind was dense like a forest. Ideas swirling… analyzing nothing yet everything.
it crumbled like cake spilling over, the cliff slumping in a matter of moments. morsels of rock and buttery skeins of sand flowed over the edge. still, he couldn’t help thinking of chocolate. it was all he had left to hold on to, anyways.
Dense.
Like, unimaginably dense.
I hear the words leave her mouth, but I cannot comprehend them because it is such an awful question that I can’t even fathom its existence.
I lean over to my friend and whisper, “did she really just say that?”
Leave it to the head cheerleader to follow the stereotypical idiotic label.
dense defense is to defend one who did something because they are stupid, not ignorant.
dense lens is one you cannot see through clearly.
Density is complex. Human thought is dense. Becoming a dense-headed person is one of the hardest things to do because it requires thinking and learning very fast and memorizing a lot of facts. i hope to be dense. Thank you.
“Du bist doch nicht ganz dicht. Du hast doch den Arsch offen. Bei dir sind ja nicht mehr alle Tassen im Schrank. Sag mal, hast du noch alle?” So haben damals andauernd alle geredet. Naja, fast alle. Die, die nicht so geredet haben, waren nicht von Bedeutung.
It wasn’t that he was incapable of understanding. It was just that the pathways from his brain to his mouth were particularly overgrown, dense with the detritus of a million failed answers.
Dense, I never thought much of the word although sometimes I’ve been accused of being dense. Dense as a brick, hard headed, tough as if my brain is in a fog and I have to work to focus so I guess sometimes I am dense.
Dense. I like dense pieces of cake. The ones that are thick and moist. Or Tres Leches. I love Tres Leches. I don’t like it when the cake is all fluffy and not dense. My brother told me that cakes that are fluffy put a lot of air holes in their cake to save ingredients.I think that’s cheap.
A thick object, cake. Someone who is very deep in their thinking. pound cake. wieght of matter
Benjamin throws his arm around Sean. They laugh and Sean turns his head to look at the blond beside him. Their faces are so close that he can see the faint freckles on Benjamin’s light face. He had no idea about them before.
Cass watches and shakes his head, sorry for Sean.
You’re about as dense as they come, when it all gets down to it.
I say one thing, and you still don’t get it.
Hey, I like spending time with you.
Hey, I like being around you.
Hey, hey, are you listening to me?
Do you understand?
Hey. I want to get to know a little more about you, be a fly on the wall of your life.
I wanna see what makes you tock, what gets your ticker rolling.
I wanna be whatever it is you most need, and what it is you most want.
I wanna be here for you.
I just wish you would listen to what I’m saying without my words.
Peter grins at Claire. She smiles back. There’s an unsaid secret, something they’ve hidden from their fairy friend. It isn’t out of malice that they share this secret.The rest of their Cell are splashing around in the lake. Luck basks in the sun, hoping to get a golden brown tan.
they glared at each other from across the room, eyes squinted in a staring competition that no one dared walk through out of fear of being incinerated into ten thousand little shreds of nonexistence. they hated each other, they said, and mocked and threatened and beat up and hated one another for all they were worth. and then they got home, and then they stopped pretending, and then they sighed in annoyance and wondered how they could be so dense.
Being dense is being thick is being soooo unable to GET it! Why?
Disguise.
We all wear one, no matter what we do. We will always hide. Hide from the truth. Hide from the lines. Hide from the pain. Because, we’re too weak the face it. Too weak to face anything. We will hide something that no one else will know. We are all humans. We all therefore, have flaws. I hide my flaws. But I want my cracks to be seen. They will never be seen. All I do is get mocked by my flaws. My cracks. My imperfections, are targets for the ones who are used to the flaws. I come off to be perfect. Nothing is perfect. No one will ever be. I have flaws, deeper than regular people. You will get trapped in my flaws. But you will never find my disguise.
“You’re so dense, Akuma!”
“Well, if you’d just tell me what you’ve been thinking, then I wouldn’t be dense, now would I, Kaiden?”
“Yes, you would! And it’d be cheating.”
“Just tell me what you’ve been thinking!”
“Fine! You want to know what I’ve been thinking?”
“Yes!”
“I’ve been thinking that I love you!”
Boys. Enough said. Forever and always that’s what they’ll be and there’s nothing we can do to change that. But we love them for it.
thick. fog. can’t see straight. can’t cut through the thing. i know there’s something on the other side. i just know it, but i can’t reach it. not yet. it’s too dense. but i’m not dense. no siree … i’ll keep peering through b/c i KNOW there’s something out there to see.
sometimes i feel like i’m so fucking dense. i never realize how screwed i am until it’s too late…i’ve lost/damaged a lot of friendships this way. i’m not the only one, though. i feel like my boyfriend (possibly ex?) doesn’t understand that i want him to show he cares about me instead of just assuming that i inherently know.
the fruitcake my neighbor grandma lady used to make was incredibly dense and dry, thick and filled with unidentifiable jellied objects. But she made it with love, and with enough milk to wash it down I managed one piece every Holiday season. I miss her and her dense fruit cake.
The atomosfear was denser than the blackness of the night.
A sense of fright drew nearer and nearer to the group.
They held on to each other, grasping at straws to stay alive, surrounded by an invisible darkness that engulfed their common sense.
And suddenly….
thick, heavy, bushes, den , see, grey,
You are so dense! Is it not so painfully obvious?
What do you mean? This is the only way I know of how to handle this situation.
You know nothing! You’re solution is laughable.
Like fog. Like other substances. Dense is what you can’t see through. It’s deep, not transparent. To be dense is to not to use your whole mind, but not let your emotions show either. Dense isn’t always good.
very heavy alot of things within to much filled to the brim unbearable thick crushed, stubborn
He was completely dense on the subject. Not a clue. If he were any more dense, he could stop a speeding train. Thick. Immensely moronic.
people are dense, the density of matter. the universe, how we all relate to one another, the meaning of life what it all means, where to go next, how dense can you get, a dunce cap density of life in a place, of population, things sticking together, enmenshment, unable to breathe
Dense
Fog
People…
There are far more dense people in the world than I knew. I’d thought smart people outnumbered the idiotic. Not so. And IQ doesn’t play as much a part in decentness and non-idiotic behaviour as one might think.
On a slightly different tangent re: “Dense…”
I have a lot of patience with people who aren’t “smart.” People who don’t understand how to do something or don’t know something, or are slow to learn something and ask questions (even the same questions) over and over and over again. They don’t bother me. I do have problems with people who don’t try. Who want me to do all the work for them instead of with them. Who lie about what work they have or haven’t done on their own. “Dense” people, in my world, are those people. People who’d rather complain and manipulate than try, and try, and try, and try, over and over and over again. The latter may be slower than others at times, but they are not dense. Slow and steady does eventually cross the finish line.
Thick. Goes on forever. I cannot think. My skull, gah, it be dense. The cement walls of the house, they keep it from falling. Keep it strong in the storm. Survive.
Punch, push, pull, punch, push pull. She kneads the dense dough with bare hands, loving the silken feel between her finger, working out her stress through the creation of sustenance.
Dense is a powerful word. It can describe a substance, and its viscosity or mass per volume. It could describe a person, and their likewise slowness or lack of mass per volume of head. Gold is dense. Sarah Palin is dense.
Together.
Perfectly together. 2 people. The only thing that may be perfect in the world. When we’re together. But we’re never together. You used to know me so well. We always talked to each other. What happened? Why do you hate me? Why do you like to see me in the corner, crying? Why? Don’t you remember how we were? Why can’t we go back? Why can’t anyone go back? Was it me? Was it my ignorance? Was it your ignorance? Everything. Perfectly together. We can only accomplish something with someone. Together. The only thing that matters. When we were together. I told you everything. Why am I hiding from you now? Don’t I remember how we were? I guess not. Because, we’re not together anymore. And everything has failed.