Fog. When I think fog, I think about fear. A mist, a thick blanket of…stuff…that prevents sight, that impairs vision, that makes everything mysterious.
the fog in san francisco was very thick and heavy. it weighed down on me as walked down the emarcedero. i kept thinking and imagining how wonderful it would be to see the sun. i missed the sun and the feeling of it’s heat penetrating my skin down to the bone.
You never really get lost in fog, and I find that to be a shame. You never really get lost anywhere these days, a good thing typically. To be lost, to be unaware, insecure…it’s almost fantastic. By fantastic I don’t mean wonderful, more, of a fantasy.
If I had to be lost anywhere, it would be in a fog cloud.
i’m in a total fog. my brain is so foggy i can’t think straight. i just want to cry all the time. what is happening? this isn’t like me. my eyes want to close. I want to disappear into the fog of my mind. I don’t want to see anymore.
fog was thick and it settled netled in the crahs and the cracks, they moves it left but it never budges, just flitted and figeted and faded out of sigh like a likttle flame, and then it all just whisped away–gone, flowing out into the dark, smoke. A candle snuffed out–fog, and steam. Smog. Exhaust from a car, rolling over gravel going crunch crunch crunch and honking its horn into the traffic, the sun beating down on Time Sqaure, the loud billboards shourtingt adverts at everyone, lights pouring into the sun melting into one big source of light, burning and warm cunburns and the beach, arizona–youi can get sunburns through the damn car windows, you know. Can’t even go outside. Can’t even go to a park–obnly to a pool, and they’re never really cold, just warm, just bathwater, bubbly and sticky and humid, a little rubber duck, dark red wallpaper with fark red flowers
The fog brought with it, the dead. Aquatic plant life dripped from their sleeves, water puddled below their feet. The fog brought with it, the scent of death. Death that came from a
soothing, tranquil mist holding apparitions of days that slowly move by. placing my right hand on cool, damp clay that I stand upon brings me a comfort in the connection of earth and air.
dusty weather out, walking down a lonely path…mountains slighty… stumbling upon a rock… walking towards a big tree. all alone, nobody there… scary and lonely. =( I want my mommy
it was a sunday morning and i just saw this fog creautre thart i just wanted to smoke some marihuana using it’s inner fire to turn on my joint…it was a nice journey as we danced away..i t was clearly the first time i did this dance but suddenly the stores were all open but we couldnt get in… how many times has the moon told me to dont stop walking?? keep walking and be frree..be free and be seldom
The fog crept in like thick sheets of linen hung to dry, what was on the other side was but a mystery. What we did know was that we could not stay put. The trailer wasn’t safe, Margo had gone missing just a few days before and we knew she wouldn’t be the last one taken. We had to get moving, before it was too late.
After eating the double devil dog chocolate cupcake, she was in a fog for the rest of the day. Or, maybe it was a chocolate haze. Whatever it was, it was good.
fog is thick and dark upon the coast. a girl in a bikini slowly walks along the beach, trailing her feet in the sand. a lighthouse blinks sleepily in the distance, signalling the way home for ships lost at sea. gulls sleepily squawk overhead as the last vestiges of twighlight slowly fade from the sky
On a dark morning I slowly crept from my house, dipping my body in a soup of mist and beginning a jog towards the town river, where yesterday I had seen…The moments at the start of the day, when you’re wrapped in your mind and the environment shapes that mood, but your lefts and body are tearing through that environment, ripping (you) apart.
comes rolling in and covered in mist and there is no way to see what is there when there is fog in the air and there’s water that we drink and water we breathe we call air that has h20 hanging in it and makes us like crabs at the bottom scuttling to and fro from under rocks and into houses and into garages and into music and into paint and there is more too
obscuring. Fog is gray, catlike… sneaky, like the poet wrote. Fog is a poet’s word; soft, unassuming, but ever-present. Enveloping, fog is unlike smog. It cannot be angry… It settles, like the ocean on a clear day.
Fog makes me think of london. The infamous loom and gloom of a foggy grey dim alleys and barely distinguishable arch bridges barely lit with globes of light wrapped in mist.
blind to your senses.
the bottom of soul but outside in the “Real world”
nothing, no visibility so if your stood there,
waving some torn down flag for m ill never see.
I’ll stand here on the pontoon surrounded by whitness questioning heavens kindness missing you.
i cannot see through the dense fog that is you. you cloud my vision. you make it impossible for me to see what is further down the road. all i can see is you, and you are all around me. you are engulfing me. you are too much and not enough all at once. and yet, i enjoy the comfort of having you there, for at least i’m not alone.
it was a kind of air where it makes our vision blurred. some believe that it was made by gods to hide information or scene when they are making an entry. and a fog, actually covers a dragons body. it helps the dragon to stay camouflage and hidden from the naked eyes.
scary movies make ma sad there is always fod in the cxemetery in scary movies. it makes me sad. and very scared. i’m watching a stupid episode of clueless and it’s a “scream” spoof. there’s fog in it.
A mist that surround your head, obstructs your thinking and fogs you determination to achieve wonderfull things in life, fog is nasty and clouds your wonderfull head with foggy toughts. I like clearity so you can think witout any obstrucions
there will be lot of fog in winter. a foggy day is very romantic. you like to hug your girlfriend and sleep on a foggy morning lying in bed and making love alll the day
dense and cant see.. but makes the day look really pretty… dangerous for driving but beautifull for walking down the lane. it makes the morning a good experience especially when u r walking alone. makes u wonder what is coming next in ur path. its the most important part of the winter season
as small as a mustard seed not- the fog
the envelope, the mystic veil, the slender spread of nature’s mysteries.
More, bog men, ancient rites, the truth perhaps or lies entire.
The fog is the smoke of water.
The smoke is the fog of fire.
Set it so.
The fog rolled in lightly and softly. Like a snow falling in a mountain scene. But along the edges loomed an ominous vibe. The gray rolling in started to get harsher and threated to block out all that could be seen.
Fog is just one of those things. It rolls in without you even knowing it. It is like a blanket covering the earth for a good nap. When you get above the blanket you are able to feel the world sleeping beneath it. When you think it is a cloud below you, you realize that this world really is amazing.
As the fog lifts from the golden gate bridge the sound of the horn still rings in my ears. Looking down from Twin Peaks I can’t image what it would be like through the eyes of a sailor from a different era.
it fills my brain,
but suddenly it’s gone!
something clear and fresh.
New.
I knew I would see this day,
I’m sure now, there’s nothing.
It can’t stop me, you’re in my sight
And for the fisrt time ever, it seems almost…
Right.
the dense fog enveloped the souls of the millions of americans looking around for a sense of solace.
unfortunately for them, they were lost without a cause. without the necessary comradary that would lead them to escape such evil.
now they were alone, and seperated. As the evil had predicted and plotted.
The fog was never ceasing, always thick as soup dividing.
dark. mist. england. movies. horror. frog. pond. Shadows.
Fog. When I think fog, I think about fear. A mist, a thick blanket of…stuff…that prevents sight, that impairs vision, that makes everything mysterious.
the fog in san francisco was very thick and heavy. it weighed down on me as walked down the emarcedero. i kept thinking and imagining how wonderful it would be to see the sun. i missed the sun and the feeling of it’s heat penetrating my skin down to the bone.
You never really get lost in fog, and I find that to be a shame. You never really get lost anywhere these days, a good thing typically. To be lost, to be unaware, insecure…it’s almost fantastic. By fantastic I don’t mean wonderful, more, of a fantasy.
If I had to be lost anywhere, it would be in a fog cloud.
The overpowering white blanket that blinds our eyes. A steam powered world of grey and dove-white love.
i’m in a total fog. my brain is so foggy i can’t think straight. i just want to cry all the time. what is happening? this isn’t like me. my eyes want to close. I want to disappear into the fog of my mind. I don’t want to see anymore.
fog was thick and it settled netled in the crahs and the cracks, they moves it left but it never budges, just flitted and figeted and faded out of sigh like a likttle flame, and then it all just whisped away–gone, flowing out into the dark, smoke. A candle snuffed out–fog, and steam. Smog. Exhaust from a car, rolling over gravel going crunch crunch crunch and honking its horn into the traffic, the sun beating down on Time Sqaure, the loud billboards shourtingt adverts at everyone, lights pouring into the sun melting into one big source of light, burning and warm cunburns and the beach, arizona–youi can get sunburns through the damn car windows, you know. Can’t even go outside. Can’t even go to a park–obnly to a pool, and they’re never really cold, just warm, just bathwater, bubbly and sticky and humid, a little rubber duck, dark red wallpaper with fark red flowers
The fog brought with it, the dead. Aquatic plant life dripped from their sleeves, water puddled below their feet. The fog brought with it, the scent of death. Death that came from a
soothing, tranquil mist holding apparitions of days that slowly move by. placing my right hand on cool, damp clay that I stand upon brings me a comfort in the connection of earth and air.
dusty weather out, walking down a lonely path…mountains slighty… stumbling upon a rock… walking towards a big tree. all alone, nobody there… scary and lonely. =( I want my mommy
it was a sunday morning and i just saw this fog creautre thart i just wanted to smoke some marihuana using it’s inner fire to turn on my joint…it was a nice journey as we danced away..i t was clearly the first time i did this dance but suddenly the stores were all open but we couldnt get in… how many times has the moon told me to dont stop walking?? keep walking and be frree..be free and be seldom
it comes in like a sorrow that i hate to remember. thick and blinding.
It masks whats there and keeps you guessing. constantly guessing.
Funny though. All it really is is clouds. beautiful clouds
The fog crept in like thick sheets of linen hung to dry, what was on the other side was but a mystery. What we did know was that we could not stay put. The trailer wasn’t safe, Margo had gone missing just a few days before and we knew she wouldn’t be the last one taken. We had to get moving, before it was too late.
After eating the double devil dog chocolate cupcake, she was in a fog for the rest of the day. Or, maybe it was a chocolate haze. Whatever it was, it was good.
fog is thick and dark upon the coast. a girl in a bikini slowly walks along the beach, trailing her feet in the sand. a lighthouse blinks sleepily in the distance, signalling the way home for ships lost at sea. gulls sleepily squawk overhead as the last vestiges of twighlight slowly fade from the sky
misty clouds causes accidents good to control population
mist coming in across the bay; hanging in the fields.
On a dark morning I slowly crept from my house, dipping my body in a soup of mist and beginning a jog towards the town river, where yesterday I had seen…The moments at the start of the day, when you’re wrapped in your mind and the environment shapes that mood, but your lefts and body are tearing through that environment, ripping (you) apart.
comes rolling in and covered in mist and there is no way to see what is there when there is fog in the air and there’s water that we drink and water we breathe we call air that has h20 hanging in it and makes us like crabs at the bottom scuttling to and fro from under rocks and into houses and into garages and into music and into paint and there is more too
Fog is drifting.
Reason is lifting.
obscuring. Fog is gray, catlike… sneaky, like the poet wrote. Fog is a poet’s word; soft, unassuming, but ever-present. Enveloping, fog is unlike smog. It cannot be angry… It settles, like the ocean on a clear day.
Fog makes me think of london. The infamous loom and gloom of a foggy grey dim alleys and barely distinguishable arch bridges barely lit with globes of light wrapped in mist.
blind to your senses.
the bottom of soul but outside in the “Real world”
nothing, no visibility so if your stood there,
waving some torn down flag for m ill never see.
I’ll stand here on the pontoon surrounded by whitness questioning heavens kindness missing you.
i can’t remember anything before my 7th birthday
i don’t know why
i don’t want to know why
your mind covers things with fog for a reason
i cannot see through the dense fog that is you. you cloud my vision. you make it impossible for me to see what is further down the road. all i can see is you, and you are all around me. you are engulfing me. you are too much and not enough all at once. and yet, i enjoy the comfort of having you there, for at least i’m not alone.
it was a kind of air where it makes our vision blurred. some believe that it was made by gods to hide information or scene when they are making an entry. and a fog, actually covers a dragons body. it helps the dragon to stay camouflage and hidden from the naked eyes.
scary movies make ma sad there is always fod in the cxemetery in scary movies. it makes me sad. and very scared. i’m watching a stupid episode of clueless and it’s a “scream” spoof. there’s fog in it.
white gray boring sad alone morning car monster story
A mist that surround your head, obstructs your thinking and fogs you determination to achieve wonderfull things in life, fog is nasty and clouds your wonderfull head with foggy toughts. I like clearity so you can think witout any obstrucions
smoky, misty wet air. It’s kind of confusing when you’re caught in a fog, it’s hard to think straight and the future is uncertain,
there will be lot of fog in winter. a foggy day is very romantic. you like to hug your girlfriend and sleep on a foggy morning lying in bed and making love alll the day
dense and cant see.. but makes the day look really pretty… dangerous for driving but beautifull for walking down the lane. it makes the morning a good experience especially when u r walking alone. makes u wonder what is coming next in ur path. its the most important part of the winter season
as small as a mustard seed not- the fog
the envelope, the mystic veil, the slender spread of nature’s mysteries.
More, bog men, ancient rites, the truth perhaps or lies entire.
The fog is the smoke of water.
The smoke is the fog of fire.
Set it so.
The fog rolled in lightly and softly. Like a snow falling in a mountain scene. But along the edges loomed an ominous vibe. The gray rolling in started to get harsher and threated to block out all that could be seen.
Fog can make the world disappear. It makes one unsure of the world.
Fog is just one of those things. It rolls in without you even knowing it. It is like a blanket covering the earth for a good nap. When you get above the blanket you are able to feel the world sleeping beneath it. When you think it is a cloud below you, you realize that this world really is amazing.
As the fog lifts from the golden gate bridge the sound of the horn still rings in my ears. Looking down from Twin Peaks I can’t image what it would be like through the eyes of a sailor from a different era.
it fills my brain,
but suddenly it’s gone!
something clear and fresh.
New.
I knew I would see this day,
I’m sure now, there’s nothing.
It can’t stop me, you’re in my sight
And for the fisrt time ever, it seems almost…
Right.
the dense fog enveloped the souls of the millions of americans looking around for a sense of solace.
unfortunately for them, they were lost without a cause. without the necessary comradary that would lead them to escape such evil.
now they were alone, and seperated. As the evil had predicted and plotted.
The fog was never ceasing, always thick as soup dividing.
The function of G. Damn, I hated that class. Good thing I’m going to college for music.