today my best friend told me she lost her virginity and had to go buy plan b. i told her i had coat hangers, and she said she was in. i never make abortion jokes. don’t know why i did. whatever.
The dress on the hanger was a lovely shade of purple. Could it be the perfect dress. The Duchess removed the dress and the fitting began. Hopefully this would be her ball gown..
no wire ones. place to put your clothes. Implement. huge paper clip of sorts if bent the right way. Accumulate too quickly. There’s never one when you really need one. regnah, hanger spelled backwards.m
i feel like the time is never going to pass, i feel like no matter what we change, what we try, at the end is still the same. we’re lost again, we’re the same fools that in the started, only with more bruises and less pride. it hurts so much. it hurts to loose, it hurts that everyone believes we’re not trying hadr enough
I hang up my clothes on hangers. In fact, I usually keep a huge supply in my closet. I am a hanger hogger. Hogs are pigs. Pigs make bacon. Oh man do I love bacon. Oh and Jim Gaffigan did something on bacon on King Baby that came on a few Sundays ago. It was really funny. He’s really funny. Hot pocket ftw.
hanger it’s hanging in the closet and there’s a beautiful coat and it’s red and she used to wear it when she saw him it was beautiful he was beautiful when life was beautiful when the smiled the sun seemed to dance upon her and life was beautiful and she had no worries and she missed things but now the coat just sits in the closet waiting for another beautiful day
I am brave. I am a warrior. I walk into my hanger with pride. I inspect my aircraft. I prepare for battle, vigorously. I lift off. And nothing. Routine patrol, over friendly ground. I sit in my hanger and weep. I long for combat.
planes and other things you want to keep safe maybe even a chest full of goodies like toys or candy. or a hanger like the ones you put clothes on. we have baby hangers. with cute baby things on them, wire hanger remind me of that movie where that lady hits the guy and says “no more wire HANGERS.”
The coat hanger is always just there hanging. It doesn’t actually HAVE anything hanging on it. I just never get around to putting anything on it. instead there is a pile on the floor and the hanger sits there lonely in it’s wardrobe. It’s really pretty sad isn’t it?
I hate hangers – they are stiff and leave my shirt shoulders looking like mountain tops. Also? Never understood really why they are necessary aside from a dry cleaners conspiracy. I vote for folding clothes only – screw these wire bastards!
The plastic hangers drive me crazy, laying about the floor like obstinate teenagers, refucing to pick themselves up. I step on them and they crack in a satisfying way, and I ignore the wails of “what am I going to hang my clothes on?”
Can I stand here for just one more minute. Can I keep my mouth closed for just long enough to make it through the terror? Can I stand here? Will I last. Will I break down before the end?
the hanger didn’t think he would be found but when the men in blue did find him neck so thrown off-course from its natural pose and legs dangling and waving in the wind i think that’s when they caught themselves and realized how late they really were.
through the darkest and lost heavens we glided and trudged; conflicting the very threads of our d.n.a. our splitting wires crossed and fled the scene in protest.
putting clothes on the hanger. it’s april and it’s snowing. (it snowed in march too… it’s the midwest, though, so what do we expect?) really though, i’m excited for full-blown spring. i’ve been cold for so long and sunshine warmth is the answer to my prayers.
we can run around outside and become one with the trees and fall in love, every time, all over again.
and in the hanger we hung the plane
hanger and hangar
something sad and tiresome and quiet
and i was sick of travelling
because everything had started to feel the same
i realized today (and this is just a major coincidence) that i give my nice hangers to my favorite shirts. the nice round ones with no hard edges go to my newest and most favoritest. and i can’t help it. i’ll switch them even, if a shirt got a better hanger than it deserves. is that petty? is that wrong, in some obsessive-compulsive way?
I don’t mean to be morbid, it was just the first thing that came to mind. A slack body on the end of a cord, swaying limply in the shadows of the evening.
I’d hate to die in such a way, though I guess they do too. It’s not worth thinking about.
Flying, falling, landing, ending up at the end holding on to the last little bit. Never letting go. Always holding on. Just a bit longer. Never letting go.
Every rope I see is nothing but a noose.
Every string, every thread, intertwined for my demise.
My own demise at my own hand.
How many times have I fallen off this ledge?
There was a hanger in the closet holding clothes and a hat. there was a belt and a horse radish laying on the ground. No one knows why, it just happened to be that way. The closet was the rest post for a dragon egg. the dragon egg houses the baby dragon. The baby dragon houses fire, and fire is from nature: therefore baby dragons are natures offspring.
i hung my shirt up on a hanger. it was a simple act; a solution to the shirts previous problems: wrinkles, claustrophobia. and as it hung there the shirt’s responsibility over its fabric had been surrendered to the awesome power of the bent wire.
on the hanger was a shirt.
just any old shirt.
but it really WASNT just any old shirt.
it had meaning.
so many moments had been born while wearing this shirt.
so many memories. good and bad. nonetheless worth remembering…
Hang her high, Hang her low,
Hang her from the upstairs window,
Off of porches, out of doors,
hang her above the kitchen floors,
hang her decent, hang her strong,
hang her til someone comes along,
to remove the hanger from her neck,
the little polka-dotted dress.
your clothes are dropping being warped by something so innocuous wire and plastic there aren’t nearly enough in your closet and they drop to the ground and break so fast anyway hardly useful too easily spent and far too cheap to be valued.
they don’t give them for free anymore though… it’s sad. you know
On a cliff… it’s really the only thing that you can be at that point. What are you going to do, just let go? But at the same time… it’s always easier just to let go. But at the same time, it’s just so anti-climatic. Moral of the story, if you’re going to be hanging from a cliff, at least survive and tell a story about it.
today my best friend told me she lost her virginity and had to go buy plan b. i told her i had coat hangers, and she said she was in. i never make abortion jokes. don’t know why i did. whatever.
i used to know of a band that practiced in an airplane hanger. they were crazy, mad, loaded and jonsing for the next best thing.
Holidays
Are
Never
Good
Enough
Romances
The dress on the hanger was a lovely shade of purple. Could it be the perfect dress. The Duchess removed the dress and the fitting began. Hopefully this would be her ball gown..
wire, curved, white, grey, silver, flexible, hang, clothing, stretch, jump, sway, screech, squeak, clatter, tap, fall
no wire ones. place to put your clothes. Implement. huge paper clip of sorts if bent the right way. Accumulate too quickly. There’s never one when you really need one. regnah, hanger spelled backwards.m
Hanging from the ceiling like a limp doll; hanging on a hanger. Hangers hooking a life never begun at all.
i feel like the time is never going to pass, i feel like no matter what we change, what we try, at the end is still the same. we’re lost again, we’re the same fools that in the started, only with more bruises and less pride. it hurts so much. it hurts to loose, it hurts that everyone believes we’re not trying hadr enough
I hang up my clothes on hangers. In fact, I usually keep a huge supply in my closet. I am a hanger hogger. Hogs are pigs. Pigs make bacon. Oh man do I love bacon. Oh and Jim Gaffigan did something on bacon on King Baby that came on a few Sundays ago. It was really funny. He’s really funny. Hot pocket ftw.
hanger it’s hanging in the closet and there’s a beautiful coat and it’s red and she used to wear it when she saw him it was beautiful he was beautiful when life was beautiful when the smiled the sun seemed to dance upon her and life was beautiful and she had no worries and she missed things but now the coat just sits in the closet waiting for another beautiful day
I am brave. I am a warrior. I walk into my hanger with pride. I inspect my aircraft. I prepare for battle, vigorously. I lift off. And nothing. Routine patrol, over friendly ground. I sit in my hanger and weep. I long for combat.
Crooked, bent metal. A hook-handed doctor so to speak, untrained and underprepared, aborts the fetus.
planes and other things you want to keep safe maybe even a chest full of goodies like toys or candy. or a hanger like the ones you put clothes on. we have baby hangers. with cute baby things on them, wire hanger remind me of that movie where that lady hits the guy and says “no more wire HANGERS.”
all of my clothes in my closet are on one of these. at work we throw these at eachother.
see also (hang her)
dont try to hang up tank tops.
my girlfriend is sitting on my lap
airports and stuff
like star wars style though
The coat hanger is always just there hanging. It doesn’t actually HAVE anything hanging on it. I just never get around to putting anything on it. instead there is a pile on the floor and the hanger sits there lonely in it’s wardrobe. It’s really pretty sad isn’t it?
I hate hangers – they are stiff and leave my shirt shoulders looking like mountain tops. Also? Never understood really why they are necessary aside from a dry cleaners conspiracy. I vote for folding clothes only – screw these wire bastards!
The plastic hangers drive me crazy, laying about the floor like obstinate teenagers, refucing to pick themselves up. I step on them and they crack in a satisfying way, and I ignore the wails of “what am I going to hang my clothes on?”
Can I stand here for just one more minute. Can I keep my mouth closed for just long enough to make it through the terror? Can I stand here? Will I last. Will I break down before the end?
the hanger didn’t think he would be found but when the men in blue did find him neck so thrown off-course from its natural pose and legs dangling and waving in the wind i think that’s when they caught themselves and realized how late they really were.
April 5th, 2009.
through the darkest and lost heavens we glided and trudged; conflicting the very threads of our d.n.a. our splitting wires crossed and fled the scene in protest.
putting clothes on the hanger. it’s april and it’s snowing. (it snowed in march too… it’s the midwest, though, so what do we expect?) really though, i’m excited for full-blown spring. i’ve been cold for so long and sunshine warmth is the answer to my prayers.
we can run around outside and become one with the trees and fall in love, every time, all over again.
and in the hanger we hung the plane
hanger and hangar
something sad and tiresome and quiet
and i was sick of travelling
because everything had started to feel the same
hanger.
keeps me high enough to be thankful and proud.
but wrinkled enough to continue to be down-to-earth.
i realized today (and this is just a major coincidence) that i give my nice hangers to my favorite shirts. the nice round ones with no hard edges go to my newest and most favoritest. and i can’t help it. i’ll switch them even, if a shirt got a better hanger than it deserves. is that petty? is that wrong, in some obsessive-compulsive way?
Hanger. A person who hangs.
I don’t mean to be morbid, it was just the first thing that came to mind. A slack body on the end of a cord, swaying limply in the shadows of the evening.
I’d hate to die in such a way, though I guess they do too. It’s not worth thinking about.
Flying, falling, landing, ending up at the end holding on to the last little bit. Never letting go. Always holding on. Just a bit longer. Never letting go.
Every rope I see is nothing but a noose.
Every string, every thread, intertwined for my demise.
My own demise at my own hand.
How many times have I fallen off this ledge?
I can’t ever think about those days again.
Days when we had luxuries, like heat and air conditioning and hangers and toilets and clothing.
Those days are lost and I doubt I’ll see them again.
But sometimes, I don’t want to go back.
Growing up my family would just buy plain ugly hangers. I went to collage and had to copy my room-mate. I bought the pink ones too.
eu nao sei o que significa, entao vou criar minha propria palavra, usar angry entao,
waaarrr estou brava por nao saber a palavra grraaarr.
There was a hanger in the closet holding clothes and a hat. there was a belt and a horse radish laying on the ground. No one knows why, it just happened to be that way. The closet was the rest post for a dragon egg. the dragon egg houses the baby dragon. The baby dragon houses fire, and fire is from nature: therefore baby dragons are natures offspring.
i hung my shirt up on a hanger. it was a simple act; a solution to the shirts previous problems: wrinkles, claustrophobia. and as it hung there the shirt’s responsibility over its fabric had been surrendered to the awesome power of the bent wire.
on the hanger was a shirt.
just any old shirt.
but it really WASNT just any old shirt.
it had meaning.
so many moments had been born while wearing this shirt.
so many memories. good and bad. nonetheless worth remembering…
men killed die cry suicide god hell school whatever outcast why? cannot handle
Hang her high, Hang her low,
Hang her from the upstairs window,
Off of porches, out of doors,
hang her above the kitchen floors,
hang her decent, hang her strong,
hang her til someone comes along,
to remove the hanger from her neck,
the little polka-dotted dress.
I blew her body a kiss before i left the room. I am alone now, and I’m not sure if i like it.
There were plastic hangers all over the floor of the room. They were like tripwires and she was waiting for the bomb to explode
Aircraft
Biltong
Clothing
Go hang yourself. Like a stinky smell. Hanger-oner.
your clothes are dropping being warped by something so innocuous wire and plastic there aren’t nearly enough in your closet and they drop to the ground and break so fast anyway hardly useful too easily spent and far too cheap to be valued.
they don’t give them for free anymore though… it’s sad. you know
On a cliff… it’s really the only thing that you can be at that point. What are you going to do, just let go? But at the same time… it’s always easier just to let go. But at the same time, it’s just so anti-climatic. Moral of the story, if you’re going to be hanging from a cliff, at least survive and tell a story about it.