violence, beer…. i think of cats and dogs for some reason… then i come back to beer…. like bud light, or coors light… that makes me think of my dad…. which makes me think about my brothers graduation that was tonight… and how i love my family.
the the violence not only became domestic,but it hand just begun to take over.I had become a whole new person.Cozmic.An life’s little accessory gone bad.A large leap from the goody goddy that I had one been.
I have a dog-domestic-she is the most amazing creature in the world. Always happy, licking everything in sight, and always, always there for me when I need a soft place to land, laugh, or cry into. I love her to death and I simply could not imagine my life without her. She is my best friend.
to be trained to be normal. to be trained to be like everyone else. a trap to no creativity. a place of darkness and loneliness. nothingness. boring. something i never want to be ever, for it is like being told what to do.
I don’t like dealing with domestic problems. For example, when I need to do the dishes or do the laundry. I hate those domestic chores. I hate cleaning out after my dog and taking care of the bathroom.
domestic relationships, its funny how domestic relationships are only allowed to be between a man and a woman. i thought domestic could go across all boundaries. if there is love between two or more people than that would be domestic would it not be?
domestic violence is a horrible worldwide epidemic. how can we stop it? it starts with people taking steps to love themselves, and realize that we are all deserving of proper respect. that way, we can all learn to walk away from relationships that leave us feeling worthless and emotionally scarred.
Domestic. There’s something inviting about living in a house all by yourself and keeping it pretty and nice. That is, until you actually do it. I mean, who really likes doing laundry and pulling weeds and dusting and cooking dinner and cleaning the toilet? Not to mention trying to get the house to LOOK as if you’ve cleaned it without actually cleaning it when your friends invite themselves over and only give you twenty minutes notice (and this after you’ve not showered for three days because you’ve been pretending to clean your house to get those guilty feelings to go away but you end up vegging out eating ice cream and watching idiotic soap operas that you can’t seem to pull yourself away from [do I have a life?]). I like the sound of a domestic servant better. Although then I might go out of my mind for things to do. Aargh! Where’s the balance in this life? To work or not to work? Or more correctly, to work or to go crazy?
Hmm, when you put it that way it makes sense. Guess this means I have to shower now. . .
I filled the sink with soapy water and dove in, arms deep. Washing dishes is such a domestic chore but I love every minute of it. It relieves the stress of the day as I let the bubbles soak between my fingers and help me to unwind.
It’s what my mother seems to want me to be. I’m not even opposed to it, although I hate the usage of the word. Reminds me of a house cat. Something tame. Something boring. Predictable.
I wish it really just meant, “Someone whose heart seems like a home.” That I can do.
To be domestic means to be tamed, and I don’t want to be tamed. I want to roam free and dance wild. I want to take chances and go on adventures. Life is not about being tamed. Life is about letting go and taking a leap of faith. After all, I’m a free bitch baby.
The domestic situation I am in is so devestating, that I am unsure if I will have the strength to survive no matter what others say. I am trying to take back control, but I feel a nervousness in my heart that makes me tremble in fear. I am afraid. That’s all there is to it.
why is that a bad word? i don’t know if it’s the dome or the mestic that messes me up. the word makes me feel boxed in and singular. like if you’re domestic you can’t also be worldly. one or the other. which is it gonna be?
To be domestic means to be tamed, and I don’t want to be tamed. I want to roam free and dance wild. I want to take chances and go on adventures. Life is not about being tamed. Life is about letting go and taking a leap of faith. After all, I’m a free bitch baby <3
Is it normal to discover any kind of repetition in you life? I read domestic. I wrote about domestic. I talked about cats. I jabbered about meat. About life. I am looking for some change in here.
Violence./ fear and sadness and anger. the past. never the future. hatred betrayal. ANger anger anger. Why? Why would someone do that to me. I dont understand. Never again. We all deserve better
jane baek. i am domestic. homie g fly. like flights around the united states. we be fly like a g6 until the morning comes and the party don’t start till i walk in.
she’s domestic, he thinks. she’ll be his new pet. i could see her walking around the house and living it in. she’d live the hell out of that place. live it to the ground. until there was nothing left to live in. just a domestic space with walls.
housewife, rules, people putting on a show. nothing is as it seems from the outside. only time will tell. golden retriever and 2.2 kids. tidy house. 1950s. a sense of perfection.
homey very violent at times at times the opposite a way of life a place to stay with loved onesit means to be cultured and non barbaric and constrained
it is the ultimate fate of so many in the world. the young people in the bar at 4pm; the students in the library all afternoon; the random people in the street. a house, a fenced yard, a bucket of cleaning supplies, a laundry room… it’s in the cards for so many. the domestic scene. it’s one of the origins of the american dream. it’s a cage, or a lifelong wish.
Relative to the moment of insignifaance when realising, we are indeed floating in a galaxy that is expanding in a vast universe. Her empty purse and bank accounts, led her to believe she was an equally insignificant figure in the domesticated and repetitive life she had been sold.
Animals, Housewives. I think that we should all be domesticated. I mean sure, it’s not contemporary to believe in such things, however I feel domestication is a necessity. Cats were the first animals to actually domesticate themselves. For real!
in home, the love for my wife and family overwhelms. From anger to joy in zero point zero. There is nothing else, so I provide and feel whole Whatvere existed, rotten and smoldeirng, is gone
In certain circles, tomato ketchup is a volatile substance, with sufficient impetus to cause a domestic ruckus that results in bloodshed- oh, sorry , it was just an errant patch of sauce.
So there I was, tapping into the vastness of the universe, my neurons a conduit for whatever was floating in the ether, akin to a sea anenome, filtering tiny morsels from the tiny currents within the vastness around, to which it was generally oblivious- sensitive though my reception was, one small distraction from menial whatnot of daily grind led to a heated domestic, crumpling my antenna until another day, the moments wonder lost forever in unrecorded history.
Houswife, cats, etc. I think of new furniture, and a woman who enjoys cleaning them. Some one who is happy to sit at home with nothing better to do than clean, cook, curl her hair and put it up. Something I am not. Stay at home? forever, doing nothing.. God no, not me.
I am a domestic girl. I wonder. I peer over my shoulder to see you, I’m domestic. I creep along just to catch your attention. I’m Domestic. I see you, but you don’t see me. I’m domestic. I love you. I am a domestic girl.
Saturday night. A night that use to be dedicated to mass consumption of beer, dancing, and eventually the long awarkward stumble home. Now Saturday means pajamas, wine, ad well cooked food. I means holding him in my arms as we watch ridicules tv shows making fun of them the entire time. It means spending the night in our soft bed blissfully unaware of when last call is approaching. It means playing house all day and night, being domestic and happy.
Housework. Chores. Dignity in the kitchen. Home-keeping. Updated sixties. “Updated is the new “modern.” Wonder why. Domestic…content, quiet, busy, subtly powerful.
violence, beer…. i think of cats and dogs for some reason… then i come back to beer…. like bud light, or coors light… that makes me think of my dad…. which makes me think about my brothers graduation that was tonight… and how i love my family.
the the violence not only became domestic,but it hand just begun to take over.I had become a whole new person.Cozmic.An life’s little accessory gone bad.A large leap from the goody goddy that I had one been.
I wrote about this already.
Domestic violence is a silent degradation of one’s soul. This domestic issue occurs so frequently… I was a victim.
I have a dog-domestic-she is the most amazing creature in the world. Always happy, licking everything in sight, and always, always there for me when I need a soft place to land, laugh, or cry into. I love her to death and I simply could not imagine my life without her. She is my best friend.
to be trained to be normal. to be trained to be like everyone else. a trap to no creativity. a place of darkness and loneliness. nothingness. boring. something i never want to be ever, for it is like being told what to do.
I don’t like dealing with domestic problems. For example, when I need to do the dishes or do the laundry. I hate those domestic chores. I hate cleaning out after my dog and taking care of the bathroom.
domestic relationships, its funny how domestic relationships are only allowed to be between a man and a woman. i thought domestic could go across all boundaries. if there is love between two or more people than that would be domestic would it not be?
Housewife. Violence. Don’t those words seem to mesh and intertwine? Never thought she’d experience either. She was a lover nor fighter.
domestic violence is a horrible worldwide epidemic. how can we stop it? it starts with people taking steps to love themselves, and realize that we are all deserving of proper respect. that way, we can all learn to walk away from relationships that leave us feeling worthless and emotionally scarred.
Domestic. There’s something inviting about living in a house all by yourself and keeping it pretty and nice. That is, until you actually do it. I mean, who really likes doing laundry and pulling weeds and dusting and cooking dinner and cleaning the toilet? Not to mention trying to get the house to LOOK as if you’ve cleaned it without actually cleaning it when your friends invite themselves over and only give you twenty minutes notice (and this after you’ve not showered for three days because you’ve been pretending to clean your house to get those guilty feelings to go away but you end up vegging out eating ice cream and watching idiotic soap operas that you can’t seem to pull yourself away from [do I have a life?]). I like the sound of a domestic servant better. Although then I might go out of my mind for things to do. Aargh! Where’s the balance in this life? To work or not to work? Or more correctly, to work or to go crazy?
Hmm, when you put it that way it makes sense. Guess this means I have to shower now. . .
I filled the sink with soapy water and dove in, arms deep. Washing dishes is such a domestic chore but I love every minute of it. It relieves the stress of the day as I let the bubbles soak between my fingers and help me to unwind.
It’s what my mother seems to want me to be. I’m not even opposed to it, although I hate the usage of the word. Reminds me of a house cat. Something tame. Something boring. Predictable.
I wish it really just meant, “Someone whose heart seems like a home.” That I can do.
To be domestic means to be tamed, and I don’t want to be tamed. I want to roam free and dance wild. I want to take chances and go on adventures. Life is not about being tamed. Life is about letting go and taking a leap of faith. After all, I’m a free bitch baby.
The domestic situation I am in is so devestating, that I am unsure if I will have the strength to survive no matter what others say. I am trying to take back control, but I feel a nervousness in my heart that makes me tremble in fear. I am afraid. That’s all there is to it.
why is that a bad word? i don’t know if it’s the dome or the mestic that messes me up. the word makes me feel boxed in and singular. like if you’re domestic you can’t also be worldly. one or the other. which is it gonna be?
To be domestic means to be tamed, and I don’t want to be tamed. I want to roam free and dance wild. I want to take chances and go on adventures. Life is not about being tamed. Life is about letting go and taking a leap of faith. After all, I’m a free bitch baby <3
Is it normal to discover any kind of repetition in you life? I read domestic. I wrote about domestic. I talked about cats. I jabbered about meat. About life. I am looking for some change in here.
Violence./ fear and sadness and anger. the past. never the future. hatred betrayal. ANger anger anger. Why? Why would someone do that to me. I dont understand. Never again. We all deserve better
Domesticated animals, a dog that withdraws into itself when you shout its name, angry because it took a domestic crap in your living room.
jane baek. i am domestic. homie g fly. like flights around the united states. we be fly like a g6 until the morning comes and the party don’t start till i walk in.
she’s domestic, he thinks. she’ll be his new pet. i could see her walking around the house and living it in. she’d live the hell out of that place. live it to the ground. until there was nothing left to live in. just a domestic space with walls.
housewife, rules, people putting on a show. nothing is as it seems from the outside. only time will tell. golden retriever and 2.2 kids. tidy house. 1950s. a sense of perfection.
homey very violent at times at times the opposite a way of life a place to stay with loved onesit means to be cultured and non barbaric and constrained
there is a suh thing as a domestic cat.its awesome but i dont like cats not even bugs they stink
Once upon a time there was a domestic house cat. It’s name was Fluffy. He was white with black spots and enjoyed spending time with his owner, Ivy.
it is the ultimate fate of so many in the world. the young people in the bar at 4pm; the students in the library all afternoon; the random people in the street. a house, a fenced yard, a bucket of cleaning supplies, a laundry room… it’s in the cards for so many. the domestic scene. it’s one of the origins of the american dream. it’s a cage, or a lifelong wish.
Relative to the moment of insignifaance when realising, we are indeed floating in a galaxy that is expanding in a vast universe. Her empty purse and bank accounts, led her to believe she was an equally insignificant figure in the domesticated and repetitive life she had been sold.
Animals, Housewives. I think that we should all be domesticated. I mean sure, it’s not contemporary to believe in such things, however I feel domestication is a necessity. Cats were the first animals to actually domesticate themselves. For real!
in home, the love for my wife and family overwhelms. From anger to joy in zero point zero. There is nothing else, so I provide and feel whole Whatvere existed, rotten and smoldeirng, is gone
Yes Roz, that was a domestic caused by your infringement of my reunion with the oneword phenomenon…
In certain circles, tomato ketchup is a volatile substance, with sufficient impetus to cause a domestic ruckus that results in bloodshed- oh, sorry , it was just an errant patch of sauce.
So there I was, tapping into the vastness of the universe, my neurons a conduit for whatever was floating in the ether, akin to a sea anenome, filtering tiny morsels from the tiny currents within the vastness around, to which it was generally oblivious- sensitive though my reception was, one small distraction from menial whatnot of daily grind led to a heated domestic, crumpling my antenna until another day, the moments wonder lost forever in unrecorded history.
Houswife, cats, etc. I think of new furniture, and a woman who enjoys cleaning them. Some one who is happy to sit at home with nothing better to do than clean, cook, curl her hair and put it up. Something I am not. Stay at home? forever, doing nothing.. God no, not me.
cat
family
mother
bed
cleaner
leo domesticus
biology
movie
drink
domestic: dog. woman. man. house. chores. life. fence
pssh, who wants domestic when there’s words like: feral. free. wild.
I look around me at the people who settle and strive for this adjective, domestic, and i cringe.
I am a domestic girl. I wonder. I peer over my shoulder to see you, I’m domestic. I creep along just to catch your attention. I’m Domestic. I see you, but you don’t see me. I’m domestic. I love you. I am a domestic girl.
cult of domesticity, housework, home, mother, cleaning, cooking, Betty Friedan, household, house, abuse,
Saturday night. A night that use to be dedicated to mass consumption of beer, dancing, and eventually the long awarkward stumble home. Now Saturday means pajamas, wine, ad well cooked food. I means holding him in my arms as we watch ridicules tv shows making fun of them the entire time. It means spending the night in our soft bed blissfully unaware of when last call is approaching. It means playing house all day and night, being domestic and happy.
Housework. Chores. Dignity in the kitchen. Home-keeping. Updated sixties. “Updated is the new “modern.” Wonder why. Domestic…content, quiet, busy, subtly powerful.