Function vs. Form I can see the need for both. I like the beauty of form but I am also a practical person. I can see the value in function and don’t ask me which one triumphs. I think in my world form would triumph. I like how things look and feel – I am more in tune with that than I am with the use of something except when it comes to shoes – – or clothes in general – I have to be comfortable even though I want to be styling.
Brendon knows all the functions of the video camera pointed in his direction. His head tips back over the edge of the bed and his slitted eyes are locked with the camera, the invisible audience. He shifts and the person above him sinks inside.
the function of f over x is b squared, isn’t it? (i know. it isn’t.)
who wants to be squared? better to be spherical, well-rounded in all the right ways. then you can also roll with it, no matter which direction the push comes from.
A few days ago My mind was able to function so wonderfully. I could, fir the first time in my life, think clearly, and speak the words opposing up in my mind. It felt fucking amazing. But lately I’ve seemed to be losing it again. Hopefully it’ll come back to me soon.
As she traced the sin and cos lines across her grid, she felt the tip of a pencil jab into her side. Lacey looked up to see Maxine’s gray eyes meet hers, clear to the point of looking continually teary. Blinking twice, Lacey saw tears fall down Maxine’s cheeks as she turned back towards her test. Lacey shook her head, bangs falling frustratingly in her face, to finish the test herself.
When she arrived home, Lacey found a small envelope in her mailbox, addressed with impeccably neat circular handwriting. Missing a stamp but yielding a return address, Lacey felt as though she floated up the wooden staircase to her condo with the envelope in hand.
the function of a heart is to pump your blood through your vains. Thats it. It sounds simple enough and yet the excitement and passion that comes from that.
My mind wouldn’t, no, couldn’t function. Dead? How could he be dead? The one bright spot in my ever darkening world had been snuffed out like a candle.
My vision of the walls in front me of fades in and out. Corporate workplace sounds buzz and dwindle. The slight stickiness of the desk on the skin of my forearms disspiates. My heart beats faintly and then recedes. Only my fingers tapping the keyboard continue to function.
A party, a button, a purpose, an action – but I’m just listing synonyms. How about an antonym? Function means to just survive…do what is necessary to get through your life. To function…not to live, not to taste life’s richness or to embrace all it has to give you. To function is to breathe, eat and sleep. To live is to love, travel and throw yourself into everything – to reward yourself with what this unique life has to offer you. Choose living.
i need some grease some oil something to keep me going to keep me running smoothly. a week ago it was you. today i still want it to be you. without you i cannot function i cannot breathe or work or relax without thinking about how slow i move without you. stay with me and even if not in the way you were before please still stay i need you in my life to keep me functioning.
Function
such a fun word.
brain function: Uncommon in 80% of americans
Heart malfunction: side effect of dumbass syndrom
Miscomunimafunction: a word i made up to describe the feeling of messing up words your capable of saying
Erectile disfunction: something old men get
She stared at the function.
When the hell would she need this in her life? Was there a job that required you to solve functions? If there was, it probably didn’t pay well enough anyways.
there is something about this life, which we live. we need to function. we cannot just live, because without functioning we technically are not living. there must be a meaning behind what we do. it is what makes us happy.
Function? What function do I serve? I’m a human being, you prat! You can’t just treat people like this, like we’re lower than you, like we’re just machines that have a one particular function. We do what we do. Christ.
How does one function? Is it with our minds? Or maybe our hearts? Maybe be even our bodies? However we do function, I’m glad we do. Because I function, I can do what pleases me. Because other people function, I can be prosperous with them.
I had a lot of “functions” to attend when I was younger. Family things. Impressive and all very proper. I never knew if anyone had any fun. They were always so tense. The people, the atmosphere… So much pressure to dress right, look right, speak correctly, mingle correctly… Condescension all around.
A few times I got so aggravated and stressed that I started trashing my whole family. Dishing the dirt to anyone who’d listen. – I wasn’t drunk. I was STRESSED, and I let it out. Not loudly. Quietly, to anyone who’d listen. So in the end, I guess I did exactly what everyone was afraid of. If not worse. – Made them all look bad.
Maybe if people had spent their time and energy trying to genuinely BE perfect, instead of trying to give the impression of being perfect, the outcome would have been different. Maybe if they had treated me and others like we were fantastic, just the way we were, instead of embarrassments, there would have been no resulting self fulfilling prophecy.
“Yes, of course, I’m Jensen. Who the hell do you think I am?” Jensen snarked back at the voice without looking up. “Just what the hell is your function, anyway?” he continued. “And why do I have this loop over my neck?”
“We’re here to bring you back, sir.” The voice answered.
Today I could hardly function.
I found myself falling always to the left and forgetting what I looked like and going numb and zoning hardcore.
Today I was a hung over lil fucker.
Providing new organs, should her Original’s fail. That was her purpose. Her function. That’s why she was kept in a tiny cell, strapped to a hard bed. Waiting. Waiting to be harvested, waiting for termination. She was spare parts, created on the Farm. Cattle. Organ cattle. Only, that wasn’t what she wanted to be anymore. It was time to fight.
Conjunction junction what’s your function? A function is a purpose and of course the word lends itself to the thought of dysfunction and dysfunctional. To function is to work and it makes me think of working well together. A counselor once told me there were four stages to relationships. Forming, storming, norming and performing. Function makes me think of the performing stage of relationships.
the function of the mind is a curious thing . . . cognitive . . . imaginative . . . full of facts, fiction, dreams, desires . . . what makes a person who they are? functioning of the mind – our thoughts . . . it’s an amazing thing
She sighed and looked over shoulder on the way to Advanced Functions. Her eyes were gray, steely determination in her eyes. Now, this was what she liked about math. It was a place where she would toss aside her turmoiled thoughts and focus just on the numbers. She was either right or wrong; there was no two ways about it. no second guessing, like she did in all other areas of life.
There was not a shred of doubt in her mind: math was her freedom.
There is a reason for any piece of machinery or equipment. Functionality is the driving force behind invention and innovation. We want things that WORK, damn it, and work well.
I have a walk to take to move myself forward, the only version of self-help I have the discipline to begin. All for the momentum of my abilities to function as a producer of work.
I was barely functioning when I woke up this morning. I hastily made coffee, scooping grounds into the coffee maker waiting impatiently for the brew to finish. I wouldn’t be able to go on with my day until I’d had my first sip.
Today the function is to move from point a to point b. Nothing too radical, definitely safe, but yet still productive. i’m happy with that. at least for today.
With swollen feet, she could not function. She despised sitting on the couch. She didn’t care for watching the idiot box. None of the shows appealed to her. She’d put earplugs in whenever her brother played video games and curl up under a blanket.
She had no books to read, no movies to care for, and no people to call. She just wanted to run. She wanted to run on every surface while her feet stung from the impact, without the festering of wounds and blisters and irritations that confined her to her house.
The morning was warm, the sun shone through the curtains that were open slightly. I didn’t like seeing anything outside lately,. It just reminded me of you, things we did, and how empty life seemed now. I can barely function, well I exaggerate. I can function, I just, sometimes prefer not to, and sit silently in my chair staring into my coffee.
The morning was warm, the sun shone through the curtains that were open slsightly. I idint like seeing anything outside lately,. It just reminded me of you, things we did, and how empty life seemed now. I can barely function, well I exaggerate. I can function, I just, sometimes prefer not to, and sit silently in my chair, staring into my coffee.
How does this piston function? O, you use it to push your own face out the back of your head and into the green meadow of stopped time? O, you oil it with nightmares?
Sherlock tried to tell John that it seemed his right arm had ceased its function, but all that came out was a strained moan of pain.
“Hold still,” John commanded the stubborn detective, “I think your arm is broken.l
I’m going to try splinting it until the ambulance gets here.”
Sherlock was reminded how lucky he was to have a doctor as a best friend. The last thing he observed before blacking out from pain was John ripping his t-shirt into strips to wrap around Sherlock’s occupational injury.
I’ve been unable to function in the real world for the last three days. Instead I’ve had my head on a pillow or over the toilet; an ugly virus visited me recently and decided to stay.
little legs little baby legs. moving all around, crawl crawl crawl & then fall a bunch. blood and cries and a freaked out mom. biffs & scrubs but thats the way he learns… mama has to suck it up and thicken her skin.
there is a function to fear.it is there to wake you up like an alarm. and like an alarm, shut it up when it sounds
Function vs. Form I can see the need for both. I like the beauty of form but I am also a practical person. I can see the value in function and don’t ask me which one triumphs. I think in my world form would triumph. I like how things look and feel – I am more in tune with that than I am with the use of something except when it comes to shoes – – or clothes in general – I have to be comfortable even though I want to be styling.
I have the word in my dictionary it is funny Funky tion like a stare dance of some sort Lol
Brendon knows all the functions of the video camera pointed in his direction. His head tips back over the edge of the bed and his slitted eyes are locked with the camera, the invisible audience. He shifts and the person above him sinks inside.
the function of f over x is b squared, isn’t it? (i know. it isn’t.)
who wants to be squared? better to be spherical, well-rounded in all the right ways. then you can also roll with it, no matter which direction the push comes from.
A few days ago My mind was able to function so wonderfully. I could, fir the first time in my life, think clearly, and speak the words opposing up in my mind. It felt fucking amazing. But lately I’ve seemed to be losing it again. Hopefully it’ll come back to me soon.
Hey, are you ready to go to the function?
The what?
You know: party, shindig, box social, hoohaw, pachanga?
you just sound pretentious.
As she traced the sin and cos lines across her grid, she felt the tip of a pencil jab into her side. Lacey looked up to see Maxine’s gray eyes meet hers, clear to the point of looking continually teary. Blinking twice, Lacey saw tears fall down Maxine’s cheeks as she turned back towards her test. Lacey shook her head, bangs falling frustratingly in her face, to finish the test herself.
When she arrived home, Lacey found a small envelope in her mailbox, addressed with impeccably neat circular handwriting. Missing a stamp but yielding a return address, Lacey felt as though she floated up the wooden staircase to her condo with the envelope in hand.
the function of a heart is to pump your blood through your vains. Thats it. It sounds simple enough and yet the excitement and passion that comes from that.
My mind wouldn’t, no, couldn’t function. Dead? How could he be dead? The one bright spot in my ever darkening world had been snuffed out like a candle.
My vision of the walls in front me of fades in and out. Corporate workplace sounds buzz and dwindle. The slight stickiness of the desk on the skin of my forearms disspiates. My heart beats faintly and then recedes. Only my fingers tapping the keyboard continue to function.
A party, a button, a purpose, an action – but I’m just listing synonyms. How about an antonym? Function means to just survive…do what is necessary to get through your life. To function…not to live, not to taste life’s richness or to embrace all it has to give you. To function is to breathe, eat and sleep. To live is to love, travel and throw yourself into everything – to reward yourself with what this unique life has to offer you. Choose living.
i need some grease some oil something to keep me going to keep me running smoothly. a week ago it was you. today i still want it to be you. without you i cannot function i cannot breathe or work or relax without thinking about how slow i move without you. stay with me and even if not in the way you were before please still stay i need you in my life to keep me functioning.
Function
such a fun word.
brain function: Uncommon in 80% of americans
Heart malfunction: side effect of dumbass syndrom
Miscomunimafunction: a word i made up to describe the feeling of messing up words your capable of saying
Erectile disfunction: something old men get
function.
Fiction
Fraction
frustration
She stared at the function.
When the hell would she need this in her life? Was there a job that required you to solve functions? If there was, it probably didn’t pay well enough anyways.
there is something about this life, which we live. we need to function. we cannot just live, because without functioning we technically are not living. there must be a meaning behind what we do. it is what makes us happy.
Unable to function
without it.
Though it could cease
all function,
if I continue using it.
has life a function ?
do we have a function as humans ?
Why are we on earth ?
Are we selfgoaled ?
Function? What function do I serve? I’m a human being, you prat! You can’t just treat people like this, like we’re lower than you, like we’re just machines that have a one particular function. We do what we do. Christ.
function is like how somthin gworks the function of this computer is good, or it can be bad.
How does one function? Is it with our minds? Or maybe our hearts? Maybe be even our bodies? However we do function, I’m glad we do. Because I function, I can do what pleases me. Because other people function, I can be prosperous with them.
Function
I had a lot of “functions” to attend when I was younger. Family things. Impressive and all very proper. I never knew if anyone had any fun. They were always so tense. The people, the atmosphere… So much pressure to dress right, look right, speak correctly, mingle correctly… Condescension all around.
A few times I got so aggravated and stressed that I started trashing my whole family. Dishing the dirt to anyone who’d listen. – I wasn’t drunk. I was STRESSED, and I let it out. Not loudly. Quietly, to anyone who’d listen. So in the end, I guess I did exactly what everyone was afraid of. If not worse. – Made them all look bad.
Maybe if people had spent their time and energy trying to genuinely BE perfect, instead of trying to give the impression of being perfect, the outcome would have been different. Maybe if they had treated me and others like we were fantastic, just the way we were, instead of embarrassments, there would have been no resulting self fulfilling prophecy.
“Yes, of course, I’m Jensen. Who the hell do you think I am?” Jensen snarked back at the voice without looking up. “Just what the hell is your function, anyway?” he continued. “And why do I have this loop over my neck?”
“We’re here to bring you back, sir.” The voice answered.
Jensen paused, “Back?”
Today I could hardly function.
I found myself falling always to the left and forgetting what I looked like and going numb and zoning hardcore.
Today I was a hung over lil fucker.
Providing new organs, should her Original’s fail. That was her purpose. Her function. That’s why she was kept in a tiny cell, strapped to a hard bed. Waiting. Waiting to be harvested, waiting for termination. She was spare parts, created on the Farm. Cattle. Organ cattle. Only, that wasn’t what she wanted to be anymore. It was time to fight.
Conjunction junction what’s your function? A function is a purpose and of course the word lends itself to the thought of dysfunction and dysfunctional. To function is to work and it makes me think of working well together. A counselor once told me there were four stages to relationships. Forming, storming, norming and performing. Function makes me think of the performing stage of relationships.
the function of the mind is a curious thing . . . cognitive . . . imaginative . . . full of facts, fiction, dreams, desires . . . what makes a person who they are? functioning of the mind – our thoughts . . . it’s an amazing thing
She sighed and looked over shoulder on the way to Advanced Functions. Her eyes were gray, steely determination in her eyes. Now, this was what she liked about math. It was a place where she would toss aside her turmoiled thoughts and focus just on the numbers. She was either right or wrong; there was no two ways about it. no second guessing, like she did in all other areas of life.
There was not a shred of doubt in her mind: math was her freedom.
There is a reason for any piece of machinery or equipment. Functionality is the driving force behind invention and innovation. We want things that WORK, damn it, and work well.
Functions in a cell is what we are learning about in science!!
I have a walk to take to move myself forward, the only version of self-help I have the discipline to begin. All for the momentum of my abilities to function as a producer of work.
I was barely functioning when I woke up this morning. I hastily made coffee, scooping grounds into the coffee maker waiting impatiently for the brew to finish. I wouldn’t be able to go on with my day until I’d had my first sip.
Today the function is to move from point a to point b. Nothing too radical, definitely safe, but yet still productive. i’m happy with that. at least for today.
With swollen feet, she could not function. She despised sitting on the couch. She didn’t care for watching the idiot box. None of the shows appealed to her. She’d put earplugs in whenever her brother played video games and curl up under a blanket.
She had no books to read, no movies to care for, and no people to call. She just wanted to run. She wanted to run on every surface while her feet stung from the impact, without the festering of wounds and blisters and irritations that confined her to her house.
The morning was warm, the sun shone through the curtains that were open slightly. I didn’t like seeing anything outside lately,. It just reminded me of you, things we did, and how empty life seemed now. I can barely function, well I exaggerate. I can function, I just, sometimes prefer not to, and sit silently in my chair staring into my coffee.
The morning was warm, the sun shone through the curtains that were open slsightly. I idint like seeing anything outside lately,. It just reminded me of you, things we did, and how empty life seemed now. I can barely function, well I exaggerate. I can function, I just, sometimes prefer not to, and sit silently in my chair, staring into my coffee.
How does this piston function? O, you use it to push your own face out the back of your head and into the green meadow of stopped time? O, you oil it with nightmares?
Sherlock tried to tell John that it seemed his right arm had ceased its function, but all that came out was a strained moan of pain.
“Hold still,” John commanded the stubborn detective, “I think your arm is broken.l
I’m going to try splinting it until the ambulance gets here.”
Sherlock was reminded how lucky he was to have a doctor as a best friend. The last thing he observed before blacking out from pain was John ripping his t-shirt into strips to wrap around Sherlock’s occupational injury.
I’ve been unable to function in the real world for the last three days. Instead I’ve had my head on a pillow or over the toilet; an ugly virus visited me recently and decided to stay.
little legs little baby legs. moving all around, crawl crawl crawl & then fall a bunch. blood and cries and a freaked out mom. biffs & scrubs but thats the way he learns… mama has to suck it up and thicken her skin.