coffee. hard salty bitter. the only thing to mop up the blood now gushing freely from my palm. dash of it in the wound and the rest on the floor. the cops are here.
The grind of the car against the guard rail would send shudders down anyone’s spine, even the most avid gore movie-lover. This was no movie, as the car spun away, narrowly missing one car and slamming into another.
a cheese grinder. Im not even sre if thats an actal thing, bt it was write about cheese grinder, or about dirty dancing. No one wants to heasr about THAT. :P
coffee bean–>coffee grinds–>coffee to drink. this is great. coffee, coffee, coffee and the word. but seriously i love coffee and without being able to grind the coffee beans you would not get a delicious coffee.
two people meet and there eyes betray there thoughts. one is tired the other just beginning but the gears are turning. together they learn, together they teach.
i had to grind the pepper grinding your teeth is annoying I find people that grind the dance floor disgusting GRIND its a word and a magnificent word. LOLL grind. Grind is probably the name of a song. probably.
The daily grind was the worst part. She woke up every morning with a funny taste in her mouth and when she drank her morning coffee is tasted like ash. She would go to work and come home and go to bed and that was all. That was all she could do because if she did anymore she would think, and remember but doing nothing was hard too. It was hard just to be.
My friend and I once went to a dance where there was grinding, and they all looked like they were having fun, so much so that she said, “Someone is going to get pregnant just by dancing!” Oh my gosh, at that time my naive mind could not understand what exactly that meant, but you know some friends are smarter than you and thank God for that.
It grinds at me the way stones do, crushing whatever got in between. It grinds at me the way the gears in a clock do, pushing on and on and on. That memory grinds me to the bone, makes me weary, makes me weak. It grinds in my head, killing whatever else was there.
something you want to do when you are halfway into a relationship with someone . something you do at dances with guys or girls.
something you do to your coffee beans so you can have some hot coffee.
My teeth grind against each other as I see him walking towards me. The sound it makes keeps my ears from ringing too loudly, my eyes tear up at the pressure. I love him, and I hate him for that.
wheels grind against themselves like making grain, like your hair sheaves of wheat coming between flat surfaces. i am a flat surface and you move over the face of me a wind like wind knows what its land feels. things grind against things, and it makes motion.
I think about grinding gears. You know, like on family guy when peter talks about how shit grinds his gears? That was a pretty good episode. Friction. Friction. Friction. Seems like a tense word, don’t you think? Like to rough surfaces rubbing against eachother.
grind is something we do to chillies and otehr spices to make pastes to flavour our foods etc. grinding is also a form of provocative dancing. to grind would mean to break down and combine
She opened the package to the ground beef, then turned it over above the frying pan, allowing gravity to take it’s course with a soft thud. Her hands reached for the seasonings she had set out ahead of time – salt, pepper, Adobo,sazón, and garlic salt – and slowly, methodically sprinkled it onto the meat as she tried to grind it even further with her wooden spoon to get it to the right consistency for her taco meat.
skateboards grind on ledges and benches and walls and curbs and ramps and pipes and things, and you can grind metal with a grinder or grind your teeth in your sleep, grind is kind of a rough word when said aloud, grind grind grind grind grinding grind grind, see?
Oh shit, I can’t write about this word and make it pg, no siree. Now I am just thinking about having sexy time with that damn physics nerd. He isn’t even very attractive, he is just so intelligent. Ah, that shit gets me everytime. Seriously though, grind? Oooooh my mind is gone.
I’m out here. Doing what I have to do. What you call “grinding”, I call a 9-5. I refuse to use and abuse for a little bit of money. I want to work hard, make money the RIGHT way. You can’t buy your way to heaven.
I had an axe to grind. His mannerisms were beyond annoying at some points, and tonight’s instance wasn’t all that unusual. Topics were lost, and conversation seemed to dwindle, so as always his answer was simply to give up. That’s not my style. I wanted to hear his voice, to enjoy a conversation with the man, to be with him, but it didn’t seem that his mind was at that spot.
Ryan is an idiot. He’s an idiot and he wanted to impress a group of older boys at the skate park by doing an impressive grind over one of the long stair cases. He’s an idiot and he falls and rolls his ankle against a thick cement step and falls the rest of the way down the stairs, bruising his elbows and ass, but mostly his spine.
Spencer is an idiot because after it all happens he’s not allowed to laugh and he also hauls Ryan up to his feet and of course Ryan can’t walk because he hurt himself, because, he’s an idiot. So Spencer has to half bridal style carry him up the stairs so he can sit on the curb and Spencer can call his mom to pick them up.
Got a piano in my hand, which taps like a red head schooled in the classics; composition? I’ve heard of it, what with weeping men singing themselves to lonely, lonely sleep. Like sheep in the grinder, like coffee beans. Like loose associations dealing with electricity. Call it an eccentricity, but don’t cast a lonely eye towards me. This is my zone. And I do as I need as I see. For what will be, shall be. And right now that vision, dear reader, does not include you. Selfish, selfish, me. How dare I maintain autonomy and go over my supposed 60 second limit.
This is what all of the kids are doing in the clubs. I try to avoid this, keeping my head low as I meander around the dirty joint. My bowler covers most of my face, but from what I can see, my descreet
Grind, a ver complex word for me because i did not what it meant and I had to look it up in the Free English Dictionary. It says something about rubbing two surfaces to reduce something by friction.
The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word ‘grind’ is club dancing. I have been do a party like that once; it was okay, but the music was way too loud, and guys looked at me in weird ways that were ten percent flattering and ninety percent creepy. On the whole I don’t think I’ll ever be interested in grinding with a guy; the whole thing seemed kind of objectifying and oversexualized.
I grab the pestal and angrily crush the tender green spices in the bowl, my anger and hatred pouring through the rough-hewn stone and releasing in a fine powder of rage. The smells sear my senses as I prepare for the ones I despise the very meal that will end their lives.
she danced like a slut, gridning all up on him like no bodys buniessness. The esrogen was flowing though her veins like a river flowing full of salmon. She wanted to mate, hard and fast. As if by some chance the males could smell this, getting closser and closer to there mark. She was gridning,
dancing these days, or so they like to call it, or so folks like to complain. indeed, i’ve been one of those complainers. i think i’ve been too hard on it. it can be awesome, and a type of dance. i just hate its the one that defines my generations gyrations.
The daily grind… wake up… eat… get to work… so many things… but in the midst of the daily grind there are waves of joy and happiness that makes it all worthwhile.
Cooking is my life. The smell of grounded ginger enlightens my mood and makes my hopes of becoming a chief seem possible.
coffee. hard salty bitter. the only thing to mop up the blood now gushing freely from my palm. dash of it in the wound and the rest on the floor. the cops are here.
The grind of the car against the guard rail would send shudders down anyone’s spine, even the most avid gore movie-lover. This was no movie, as the car spun away, narrowly missing one car and slamming into another.
a cheese grinder. Im not even sre if thats an actal thing, bt it was write about cheese grinder, or about dirty dancing. No one wants to heasr about THAT. :P
coffee bean–>coffee grinds–>coffee to drink. this is great. coffee, coffee, coffee and the word. but seriously i love coffee and without being able to grind the coffee beans you would not get a delicious coffee.
two people meet and there eyes betray there thoughts. one is tired the other just beginning but the gears are turning. together they learn, together they teach.
i had to grind the pepper grinding your teeth is annoying I find people that grind the dance floor disgusting GRIND its a word and a magnificent word. LOLL grind. Grind is probably the name of a song. probably.
The daily grind was the worst part. She woke up every morning with a funny taste in her mouth and when she drank her morning coffee is tasted like ash. She would go to work and come home and go to bed and that was all. That was all she could do because if she did anymore she would think, and remember but doing nothing was hard too. It was hard just to be.
My friend and I once went to a dance where there was grinding, and they all looked like they were having fun, so much so that she said, “Someone is going to get pregnant just by dancing!” Oh my gosh, at that time my naive mind could not understand what exactly that meant, but you know some friends are smarter than you and thank God for that.
I will grind this corn, said the girl, and then wet it with some cream, and bake it into bread. You will love it!
Shall I help? asked her little brother, always the one to pitch in.
No, she said, you’ll just be in the way. Go outside and play, I’ll call you when it’s ready.
Sex.
~Mary Jane Raven
Skateboarding across the sidewalk areas around the green grass and the sun outside shining brightly among the blacktop.
It grinds at me the way stones do, crushing whatever got in between. It grinds at me the way the gears in a clock do, pushing on and on and on. That memory grinds me to the bone, makes me weary, makes me weak. It grinds in my head, killing whatever else was there.
something you want to do when you are halfway into a relationship with someone . something you do at dances with guys or girls.
something you do to your coffee beans so you can have some hot coffee.
My teeth grind against each other as I see him walking towards me. The sound it makes keeps my ears from ringing too loudly, my eyes tear up at the pressure. I love him, and I hate him for that.
Thinking. Do I do this. With no question mark. The kind of silences we philosophers joke about. The silence of our questions. Of our Loves. of Why
wheels grind against themselves like making grain, like your hair sheaves of wheat coming between flat surfaces. i am a flat surface and you move over the face of me a wind like wind knows what its land feels. things grind against things, and it makes motion.
I think about grinding gears. You know, like on family guy when peter talks about how shit grinds his gears? That was a pretty good episode. Friction. Friction. Friction. Seems like a tense word, don’t you think? Like to rough surfaces rubbing against eachother.
grind is something we do to chillies and otehr spices to make pastes to flavour our foods etc. grinding is also a form of provocative dancing. to grind would mean to break down and combine
She opened the package to the ground beef, then turned it over above the frying pan, allowing gravity to take it’s course with a soft thud. Her hands reached for the seasonings she had set out ahead of time – salt, pepper, Adobo,sazón, and garlic salt – and slowly, methodically sprinkled it onto the meat as she tried to grind it even further with her wooden spoon to get it to the right consistency for her taco meat.
i love life.. you gotta grind up against all the good and bad, sandpaper the self, and discover who you truly are.. its a beautiful thing
Grinding hips roll down and down and rock.
Grinding in a bowl, the herbs get crushed to dust.
Grinding sounds go flying as metal squeals against rusted metal gears.
skateboards grind on ledges and benches and walls and curbs and ramps and pipes and things, and you can grind metal with a grinder or grind your teeth in your sleep, grind is kind of a rough word when said aloud, grind grind grind grind grinding grind grind, see?
Oh shit, I can’t write about this word and make it pg, no siree. Now I am just thinking about having sexy time with that damn physics nerd. He isn’t even very attractive, he is just so intelligent. Ah, that shit gets me everytime. Seriously though, grind? Oooooh my mind is gone.
I’m out here. Doing what I have to do. What you call “grinding”, I call a 9-5. I refuse to use and abuse for a little bit of money. I want to work hard, make money the RIGHT way. You can’t buy your way to heaven.
I had an axe to grind. His mannerisms were beyond annoying at some points, and tonight’s instance wasn’t all that unusual. Topics were lost, and conversation seemed to dwindle, so as always his answer was simply to give up. That’s not my style. I wanted to hear his voice, to enjoy a conversation with the man, to be with him, but it didn’t seem that his mind was at that spot.
Ryan is an idiot. He’s an idiot and he wanted to impress a group of older boys at the skate park by doing an impressive grind over one of the long stair cases. He’s an idiot and he falls and rolls his ankle against a thick cement step and falls the rest of the way down the stairs, bruising his elbows and ass, but mostly his spine.
Spencer is an idiot because after it all happens he’s not allowed to laugh and he also hauls Ryan up to his feet and of course Ryan can’t walk because he hurt himself, because, he’s an idiot. So Spencer has to half bridal style carry him up the stairs so he can sit on the curb and Spencer can call his mom to pick them up.
nasty sex rape violation gross skate skating club dancing grit gravel dirt dirty invasion things grime gross homless unwanted why who stranger
Got a piano in my hand, which taps like a red head schooled in the classics; composition? I’ve heard of it, what with weeping men singing themselves to lonely, lonely sleep. Like sheep in the grinder, like coffee beans. Like loose associations dealing with electricity. Call it an eccentricity, but don’t cast a lonely eye towards me. This is my zone. And I do as I need as I see. For what will be, shall be. And right now that vision, dear reader, does not include you. Selfish, selfish, me. How dare I maintain autonomy and go over my supposed 60 second limit.
This is what all of the kids are doing in the clubs. I try to avoid this, keeping my head low as I meander around the dirty joint. My bowler covers most of my face, but from what I can see, my descreet
Grind, a ver complex word for me because i did not what it meant and I had to look it up in the Free English Dictionary. It says something about rubbing two surfaces to reduce something by friction.
Bodies against bodies and no one cares. Hips swaying banging moving every-which-way.
The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word ‘grind’ is club dancing. I have been do a party like that once; it was okay, but the music was way too loud, and guys looked at me in weird ways that were ten percent flattering and ninety percent creepy. On the whole I don’t think I’ll ever be interested in grinding with a guy; the whole thing seemed kind of objectifying and oversexualized.
I grab the pestal and angrily crush the tender green spices in the bowl, my anger and hatred pouring through the rough-hewn stone and releasing in a fine powder of rage. The smells sear my senses as I prepare for the ones I despise the very meal that will end their lives.
she danced like a slut, gridning all up on him like no bodys buniessness. The esrogen was flowing though her veins like a river flowing full of salmon. She wanted to mate, hard and fast. As if by some chance the males could smell this, getting closser and closer to there mark. She was gridning,
dancing these days, or so they like to call it, or so folks like to complain. indeed, i’ve been one of those complainers. i think i’ve been too hard on it. it can be awesome, and a type of dance. i just hate its the one that defines my generations gyrations.
Work, waiting, the same ole same ole. Repetitive, boring.
Daily motions i go through while no longer feeling any emotions. Lifeless machine searching for some kind of feeling.
you know what really grinds my gears?
myself. or more accurately,
this littlefatgirl who has taken over my subconscious,
forever reminding me what i
can never return to.
she doesn’t want me to be like her,
but i’m so tired of hating myself.
The daily grind… wake up… eat… get to work… so many things… but in the midst of the daily grind there are waves of joy and happiness that makes it all worthwhile.