You know, things are strange when they are called local. They become simple, commonplace and heard of. It’s unfathomable. Why things are referred to as local is beyond me, the only reason they are local is because they are near. Strange.
The local church that as a child I used to pray in and as a grown woman go less and less. It stands in the same place and the people although different seem the same.
I went to the local store to buy some bread everything seemed empty and hopless. I had no money fro bread I had no money for anytthing in egeneral. I was lost, forgotten afraid. I should be used to seeing this store all my lfie. I have seen it since I was a child but all of a sudden it seemd different maybe this was the first time that I had actually noticed the pla
ce
Local is home. Home is where the heart is, or is it? My home is not where my heart is yet it is my heart. I love my family and my friends who still live locally in my hometown BUT I desire travel. I urn for it, love it, need it. Life shall be spent in New York, London, Spain, anywhere and everywhere.
I’ve been to so many places, seen so many faces, that I can’t forget these spaces…
Yet I’ve never been a local because no matter what I do, I’m not native, I am air
I have no roots
Save for a handful of pretty, pretty islands
A pocket full of shells, fire, mist, tropics, and sand
So much of it through the hour glass, they say these are the days…
I am the waves, I am the sound
I am the air
Swaying, swaying, swaying far, far, far, away
A beating of butterfly wings and tsunamis – yet –
You can’t catch up with the sun when it is sinking, sinking, sinking
local stores and people, everyone knows each other. Walking down the street on nice days, passing each other and saying hello. Kids walking to the corner store for candy and ice cream, playing in the streets.
You’re not from around here, are you? How can I tell? You’re not like the rest of us, those who were born here or who’ve been here so long we can’t remember what it’s like not to be here. Count yourself lucky you’re not a local.
Wirral, my hometown, neighbours, where everyone is, where family is, sea, beach, little houses, big houses, quiet, everyone knows everyone, everyone says hi, friendly, mum, nan, uncle, auntie, cousins, cute, nice, dead, ghost town, tiny, not big enough for me, escpaes, local is cute, and I like it.
ferocious word local. L at one end and L at the other. I see oca then. roads and hedges. derelict sights. dark light. Local. sometimes too close. Local. See your local healer. A prophet is never accepted local. Keep it local.
The locals were different
Outside, active at the break of dawn
Chatting, friendly, but not too much
They were certainly a fair bit more attractive
Their language was beautiful
But, despite all my wishes
I can’t see myself among them.
Local is where I am from. It is difficult to set the boundaries, but I know when I am home. It is the place of familiarity. It is the grocery store, the gas station, the post office. It is everything I know in my little “local” world.
Fresh and green, the husk tears in my hands. Water splashes onto my new brown shoes, caked in dirt. Mamma’s voice comes into my head, “Kid! You won’t go anywhere looking like that!”
the word local means somewhere means something that’s close to home, local products, local people, it all comes to your country, your state, or your city, it is the word that joins everyone fellings of patriotism
A call rang in my ear. I answered plainly for it to go away. The monochromatic voice of Shelly said it was an urgent call from Pete: he was in town and needed to talk to me. I’m just now entering the Skyway. It’s beautiful luminescence hovered above and below me and went on for a mile in one direction, straight. How was I supposed to take this call right now? I thought. I don’t have time for Pete’s messy life! He probably just robbed the space telephone of its electromagnetic forces again. He’s so destructive..
-The last thought of the over worked Beth as the Skyfall suddenly gave way and she tumbled down to the earth along with thousands of others who were headed off to work that day in a hustle just to fix the Glaciade again. The future wasn’t turning out so great today.
being close to home again. being within 3 miles of my love instead of being 100 miles where causing our love to be stressed more than it should be. being able to walk for 10 mins adn arriving at her house to surprise her. being able to walk for 15 mins to get a good burger instead of having to get in a car and travel to another city.
local, lococococo, dark chocolate, powdered. i was waiting for the train and all the rain smattered my raincoat, my check coat, checkpoint, and I couldn’t pinpoint why I was waiting, only that I was waiting and it was raining, and wetter.
It’s all about the local. Local yokals, they are the finest specimen of the drink you will ever fined. Look what it does to them! Weathered and wrinkled but buzzing with joy. That’s what you’ll get ..
in loco parentis. we were told that was our role. it was okay by me since i was a parent, in mourning for my children who were not children any more but teens, circling away from me into that strange world of adolescence. the world i neve
Local as can be. Born right down the road there, over by that shed. That’s where my grandpappy Clemens lived, but we don’t talk about him around here. He had a mean streak. Evil as hell. Used to make moonshine out there.
The dawn’s pink and orange barely squinted on the horizon but the neon from the Gas ‘n Go lit the path from his car to the plant. He dashed between the shadows still marching in these frigid temps and still wearing their pins from Local 27.
Brazenly sauntered out of the local 147 bus and out onto the streets where I staggered forward, jay-walking narrowly avoiding cars and other hazardous vehicles.
home, fresh bread and food that tastes so much better than imported food bought at large supermarkets and that are much better for one’s health. local has a sense of home and identity that one misses when out of town. Local also brings the idea of artists and the work they create which feels really good to support, knowing his or her heart has a place in common ground.
my world is local , very local
my friends are local also
i tried to get out of my local zone
i traveled abroad , made new friends
got to know more about other people , countries , cultures …
get out of local and become universal
Lokale schossen wie Pilze aus dem Boden. Nicht mehr nur Lokale zum Kaffee- oder Biertrinken, zum Essen oder zum Dartspielen, zum Tanzen oder um eine Ausflugspause einzulegen. Nein, jetzt gab es plötzlich Lokale zum Kartoffelnschälen, zum Zähneputzen, zum Nickerchenmachen und sogar für den Toilettengang.
the local shops and stores really do provide a sense of belonging. i can walk down the street to my favorite bookstore and enjoy a new universe. and a new world. i can drink tea and feel another life live through me. and only me.
Local means tallahassee to me. It means college and friends. It means beer, late nights, study cram sessions, concerts and first love. It means heartbreak, personal growth and discovery. It’s the feeling of home, the feeling of belonging. It’s my last four years.
neighbourhood cuisine where do you go to find new flavours. What is around the corner, where have you been where haven’t you been. How do you where their from what their into where they are going. Are you one? Do you judge people based upon this. Why?
In your community there is a bar. You may have crossed it in between now and then but never have gone in. Today you have the sudden curiosity to see what is on the inside. It is nothing special a few people in a poorly lit room, but you know this is what it is like to be a local.
The market was buzzing with people. The push of recent days to buy local seemed to be taking hold of the community, and suddenly, people cared if their tomatoes came from Mexico, or Florida, or from a local farm. It was sort of thrilling, honestly. Part of a cultural revolution.
“You’re not from around here.” The voice echoes accusingly around the dining hall. I watch with wooden eyes through the glass chandelier, the candlelight glowing in the silver. The two are the only ones in the room. Unaware that I am here.
But I am here. I am always here.
Local Yokel…that’s what I said to a motorcycle cop who was writing a traffic ticket to my friend while visiting San Francisco. She proved her reputation for being the worst driver I know by making a U-turn in front of the motorcycle cop as he tried to pass us as we were looking for a parking space. He laid his bike down in the road to avoid being hit by us and he was so mad he broke the first pen he was writing with. That’s when I told him we were just yokels from the sticks and didn’t come to town enough to know how to drive. So he let her off with a stern warning because they do not like to ticket tourists.
Coffee and spices fill the air as I type away at my mac. Typing and typing, sipping and sipping. Quiet chatter in the back. Warm chair. Cold windows. The local coffee shop inspires every inch of my being to be… me.
Ten years ago, “locavore” wasn’t even a word and now it is about the highest you can get on the hipster scale. Not to say it isn’t good for the earth to only eat locally-produced food because it cuts down transportation costs. Progress amazes me.
You know, things are strange when they are called local. They become simple, commonplace and heard of. It’s unfathomable. Why things are referred to as local is beyond me, the only reason they are local is because they are near. Strange.
The local church that as a child I used to pray in and as a grown woman go less and less. It stands in the same place and the people although different seem the same.
Art wine urban wineworks beats bumps drugs screams lovers times stars intensity streets parks winery vineyards music painting scrubs notebook pens stars constellations galaxies planets alignment central peace clarity fulfillment enjoyment taste culture beliefs excitement homes mother father brother sister intensity heroism
I went to the local store to buy some bread everything seemed empty and hopless. I had no money fro bread I had no money for anytthing in egeneral. I was lost, forgotten afraid. I should be used to seeing this store all my lfie. I have seen it since I was a child but all of a sudden it seemd different maybe this was the first time that I had actually noticed the pla
ce
Local is home. Home is where the heart is, or is it? My home is not where my heart is yet it is my heart. I love my family and my friends who still live locally in my hometown BUT I desire travel. I urn for it, love it, need it. Life shall be spent in New York, London, Spain, anywhere and everywhere.
I’ve been to so many places, seen so many faces, that I can’t forget these spaces…
Yet I’ve never been a local because no matter what I do, I’m not native, I am air
I have no roots
Save for a handful of pretty, pretty islands
A pocket full of shells, fire, mist, tropics, and sand
So much of it through the hour glass, they say these are the days…
I am the waves, I am the sound
I am the air
Swaying, swaying, swaying far, far, far, away
A beating of butterfly wings and tsunamis – yet –
You can’t catch up with the sun when it is sinking, sinking, sinking
local stores and people, everyone knows each other. Walking down the street on nice days, passing each other and saying hello. Kids walking to the corner store for candy and ice cream, playing in the streets.
You’re not from around here, are you? How can I tell? You’re not like the rest of us, those who were born here or who’ve been here so long we can’t remember what it’s like not to be here. Count yourself lucky you’re not a local.
Wirral, my hometown, neighbours, where everyone is, where family is, sea, beach, little houses, big houses, quiet, everyone knows everyone, everyone says hi, friendly, mum, nan, uncle, auntie, cousins, cute, nice, dead, ghost town, tiny, not big enough for me, escpaes, local is cute, and I like it.
ferocious word local. L at one end and L at the other. I see oca then. roads and hedges. derelict sights. dark light. Local. sometimes too close. Local. See your local healer. A prophet is never accepted local. Keep it local.
The locals were different
Outside, active at the break of dawn
Chatting, friendly, but not too much
They were certainly a fair bit more attractive
Their language was beautiful
But, despite all my wishes
I can’t see myself among them.
Local is where I am from. It is difficult to set the boundaries, but I know when I am home. It is the place of familiarity. It is the grocery store, the gas station, the post office. It is everything I know in my little “local” world.
Fresh and green, the husk tears in my hands. Water splashes onto my new brown shoes, caked in dirt. Mamma’s voice comes into my head, “Kid! You won’t go anywhere looking like that!”
This is a local shop for local people. We’ll have no strangers here. Edward?
the word local means somewhere means something that’s close to home, local products, local people, it all comes to your country, your state, or your city, it is the word that joins everyone fellings of patriotism
A call rang in my ear. I answered plainly for it to go away. The monochromatic voice of Shelly said it was an urgent call from Pete: he was in town and needed to talk to me. I’m just now entering the Skyway. It’s beautiful luminescence hovered above and below me and went on for a mile in one direction, straight. How was I supposed to take this call right now? I thought. I don’t have time for Pete’s messy life! He probably just robbed the space telephone of its electromagnetic forces again. He’s so destructive..
-The last thought of the over worked Beth as the Skyfall suddenly gave way and she tumbled down to the earth along with thousands of others who were headed off to work that day in a hustle just to fix the Glaciade again. The future wasn’t turning out so great today.
No debería ser un lugar demasiado desconocido para alguien local aun así se sentíacomo en otra parte
being close to home again. being within 3 miles of my love instead of being 100 miles where causing our love to be stressed more than it should be. being able to walk for 10 mins adn arriving at her house to surprise her. being able to walk for 15 mins to get a good burger instead of having to get in a car and travel to another city.
Nothing of any desire.
Repetitive nonsence of oprobious behaviour.
Someone i wish to leave.
Somewhere i wish to go.
local, lococococo, dark chocolate, powdered. i was waiting for the train and all the rain smattered my raincoat, my check coat, checkpoint, and I couldn’t pinpoint why I was waiting, only that I was waiting and it was raining, and wetter.
which kind of local do you mean? I don’t know what to write to each of the locals, which I know.
It’s all about the local. Local yokals, they are the finest specimen of the drink you will ever fined. Look what it does to them! Weathered and wrinkled but buzzing with joy. That’s what you’ll get ..
in loco parentis. we were told that was our role. it was okay by me since i was a parent, in mourning for my children who were not children any more but teens, circling away from me into that strange world of adolescence. the world i neve
Local as can be. Born right down the road there, over by that shed. That’s where my grandpappy Clemens lived, but we don’t talk about him around here. He had a mean streak. Evil as hell. Used to make moonshine out there.
The dawn’s pink and orange barely squinted on the horizon but the neon from the Gas ‘n Go lit the path from his car to the plant. He dashed between the shadows still marching in these frigid temps and still wearing their pins from Local 27.
Brazenly sauntered out of the local 147 bus and out onto the streets where I staggered forward, jay-walking narrowly avoiding cars and other hazardous vehicles.
home, fresh bread and food that tastes so much better than imported food bought at large supermarkets and that are much better for one’s health. local has a sense of home and identity that one misses when out of town. Local also brings the idea of artists and the work they create which feels really good to support, knowing his or her heart has a place in common ground.
my world is local , very local
my friends are local also
i tried to get out of my local zone
i traveled abroad , made new friends
got to know more about other people , countries , cultures …
get out of local and become universal
Local is a kind of place you want go ou a kind of place you stay.
Grocery store, home grown food. Locavore. Eating off the land supporting those around you. Community loving eachother
Lokale schossen wie Pilze aus dem Boden. Nicht mehr nur Lokale zum Kaffee- oder Biertrinken, zum Essen oder zum Dartspielen, zum Tanzen oder um eine Ausflugspause einzulegen. Nein, jetzt gab es plötzlich Lokale zum Kartoffelnschälen, zum Zähneputzen, zum Nickerchenmachen und sogar für den Toilettengang.
the local shops and stores really do provide a sense of belonging. i can walk down the street to my favorite bookstore and enjoy a new universe. and a new world. i can drink tea and feel another life live through me. and only me.
Local means tallahassee to me. It means college and friends. It means beer, late nights, study cram sessions, concerts and first love. It means heartbreak, personal growth and discovery. It’s the feeling of home, the feeling of belonging. It’s my last four years.
neighbourhood cuisine where do you go to find new flavours. What is around the corner, where have you been where haven’t you been. How do you where their from what their into where they are going. Are you one? Do you judge people based upon this. Why?
In your community there is a bar. You may have crossed it in between now and then but never have gone in. Today you have the sudden curiosity to see what is on the inside. It is nothing special a few people in a poorly lit room, but you know this is what it is like to be a local.
The market was buzzing with people. The push of recent days to buy local seemed to be taking hold of the community, and suddenly, people cared if their tomatoes came from Mexico, or Florida, or from a local farm. It was sort of thrilling, honestly. Part of a cultural revolution.
“You’re not from around here.” The voice echoes accusingly around the dining hall. I watch with wooden eyes through the glass chandelier, the candlelight glowing in the silver. The two are the only ones in the room. Unaware that I am here.
But I am here. I am always here.
Local Yokel…that’s what I said to a motorcycle cop who was writing a traffic ticket to my friend while visiting San Francisco. She proved her reputation for being the worst driver I know by making a U-turn in front of the motorcycle cop as he tried to pass us as we were looking for a parking space. He laid his bike down in the road to avoid being hit by us and he was so mad he broke the first pen he was writing with. That’s when I told him we were just yokels from the sticks and didn’t come to town enough to know how to drive. So he let her off with a stern warning because they do not like to ticket tourists.
Coffee and spices fill the air as I type away at my mac. Typing and typing, sipping and sipping. Quiet chatter in the back. Warm chair. Cold windows. The local coffee shop inspires every inch of my being to be… me.
Ten years ago, “locavore” wasn’t even a word and now it is about the highest you can get on the hipster scale. Not to say it isn’t good for the earth to only eat locally-produced food because it cuts down transportation costs. Progress amazes me.