wellaflex…you’ll get marble colored hair….cause you’re worth it..maybe its maybelline..who cares, I’m born with it anyway…..BORN WITH MARBLE COLORED HAIR, BITCHES.
She banged her head on the marble counter. Too much to drink. Too much heartache. She wasn’t sure which had more to do with her throbbing head, and the already forming lump. Nothing was making any sense. There was nothing left to do but sleep off everything she had consumed, and everything that she had lost. After all, time is the best healer.
With an exuberant shriek, she had let rip, and now stood back, patting her head to flatten down the hissing strands and smiled as she admired the marbled form before her. Tall, rounded and perfectly formed amongst the silhouettes.
“Crap…” She snatched a glance to the left as she heard the whispered curse.
“What is it, Methus?”, she called out, striding towards her new statue, before letting out another shriek. It was Methus. Jason had escaped and somehow she’d caught Methus.
“Hey! Wake up, stop that!”, she berated him, giving the statue a push. No reply. She tapped on his shoulder, tugged his beard, still nothing. She looked around, sweat beginning to break out across her brow. Somewhere, amongst all the pottery and artefacts she’d accrued over the years, she knew there must be some ancient manuscript or another on un-marbling. Somewhere. She shook her head, and focussed on the marble, fixing what she hoped was a backwards stare on him. Just a headache in response. She dithered, wondering whether to call up her mother, wincing at the amused smug satisfaction she knew awaited her.
Rolling down the slope, heading towards the stack of dominoes, barreling at lightning speed. Cause a chain reaction, in a Rube-Goldberg-inspired plot, all to play a song.
Agies, tri-color, cerulean, amber, emerald and phosphorous yellow. They gather at the base of an antique canning jar upon my kitchen windowsill. No longer richocheting against one another in a circle drawn in dirt, the marbles sit quietly and bask in sunlight beauty as I was the dishes.
He sat on the bench of his favorite street and watched the kids. They were playing marbles. He was too old to crouch down and too old to remember the rules, but just watching was enough. They looked happy and that was something he remembered.
With an exuberant shriek, she had let rip, and now stood back, patting her head to flatten down the hissing strands and smiled as she admired the marbled form before her. Tall, rounded and perfectly formed amongst the silhouettes.
“Shit…” She snatched a glance to the left as she heard the whispered curse.
“What is it, Methus?”, she called out, striding towards her new statue, before letting out another shriek. It was Methus. Jason had escaped and somehow she’d caught Methus.
“Hey! Wake up, stop that!”, she berated him, giving the statue a push. No reply. She tapped on his shoulder, tugged his beard, still nothing. She looked around, sweat beginning to break out across her brow. Somewhere, amongst all the pottery and artefacts she’d accrued over the years, she knew there must be some ancient manuscript or another on un-marbling. Somewhere. She shook her head, and focussed on the marble, fixing what she hoped was a backwards stare on him. Just a headache in response. She dithered, wondering whether to call up her mother, wincing at the amused smug satisfaction she knew awaited her.
The marble staircase wound up to the second floor, an elegant, muted kind of grandeur. It had no fancy flourishes, no ornate designs. It was a matter-of-fact type of beautiful. He tapped his foot against the floor, wondering when was the last time it had been polished. From the left side of the corridor, he could almost hear her heeled footsteps echoing, her shadow blocking the sunbeams from the set of three windows facing the south side of the house. “Do you think I need to bring my phone?” she used to ask. He would shake his head no, and she would smile. He would get to watch her wind down the stairs, hand easing down the cold rail. And when he took it in his, he would marvel at how warm it was, despite living in all that monochrome decor. But now he stood there, knowing she had shut her door and would not be coming down to see him ever again, and he felt the hardness of the silence, refracting into his senses, until it settled in his veins. Somehow he would leave, and pick up the dusty pieces of his heart.
I love the way a smooth, glassy marble feels in my hand. The thrill when playing marbles is incomprehensible. The adreneline rush when you roll it towards the other players, praying that it will stay safe…
I love to play with marbles. I remember an episode of Anne of Green Gables that was all about how anne wanted this really cool marble, but couldn’t afford it, but her friend could, and she was really jealous. I really don’t care for them though.
They had marble counter tops and a white picket fence, tailored clothing and carefully mussed hair, espresso in tiny cups pinched between finger and thumb, but somewhere in there they lost what was valuable. In a few words I could wreck their perfect material bliss with a verbal fire sparked by one word – happiness.
In a marble archway, I shared a kiss with an older man, whose stubble was as white as the blizzard swallowing us up. He had smoked a pipe earlier and tasted like cheap tobacco, and he held me close to his chest that heaved with a tuberculosis rhythm. I didn’t want him to let me go, not even when my hands turned to ice and I couldn’t taste anything in my mouth anymore.
Marblestones. I remember I had to make my greek citizens cut out marblestones to make great temples for their gods and godesses when I played Zeuz: Master of Olympus.
marbles are awesome and they are shiny. the cake tastes good, and marbles are also the ball things that i used to play with when i was little. marbles are great. they are so shiny and awesome. the cake is even better. i will try to make some marble cake but i will likely fail. am i bypassing the time limit or what? hmmm…
the marble rolled
it didn’t know its direction but the rolling felt amazing
it was going places
and so very fast!
it bounced against a wall but it was not hurt
it changed directions
oh what fun it was having!
where to next?
The small glass balls shattered as soon as it made contact to the ground. The young girl gulped, and backed away nervously. Her brother would kill her if he found she broke them. She turned to bolt out of his door, only to run directly into her older brother. She flinched and looked down at her feet.
He remained silent studying the shattered marbles on the ground. His open palm hit her cheek.
Shiny, shivering, splendor!
Tell me marble, when did you last, let your surfaces glide?
Marbles are cool. I remember being in pre-school and letting the marble roll around in the paint to create an abstract replication of my amusement.
He was beautiful, so beautiful he could’ve been a statue in a museum, made of polished marble. and yet he was real, right in front of me, that one rebellious curl falling in his eyes, his lips pulled into a smile, his eyes laughing. i looked down and his fingers were intwined with mine, and further down were our feet, tangled in the sheets. and my heart, tangled with feelings. outside the window, snow started falling, and it cast shadows of snow drops all across our faces.
what is contained in a marble? it’s a little excretion of a lie – something that looks beautiful and intangible but is a shitty smudge of colour in sham-glass. I don’t know why so many generations of children have cried over them, or old people despaired for losing theirs…
Cold, uncaring, as emotionless as a marble statue–or so she appeared. The reality was, she’d been shaken to the core. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t let it show. To reveal how profoundly she was moved–it would leave her defenseless and totally vulnerable.
i lost my marbles. or i was sure i did. i couldnt be sure. then i started to think…why the experssion “i lost my marbles.” why couldnt i lose my booby pins? or why couldnt i lose my peas? WHY MARBLES?
I remember, when I was a little kid, that it was popular for girls to collect and trade playing cards and it boys played marbles. I thought that both were fun, so I played marbles with the boys, and traded playing cards with the girls.
Earth is only a marble, in fact not even a marble, a grain of sand, in fact not even a grain of sand, an atom, in fact not even an atom, a proton, maybe a proton in the grand scheme of things!
I’ve lost ’em! I started picking them up, but ended up kicking two under the bed and four clattered to the floor in the kitchen. Then my daughters arrived, tried to help me gather them together. We put the aggies and the cat’s eyes in one pile, the big spiral ones in another. And just when we thought things were going well, I got that damn phone call, and lost all my marbles again!
all the words lately have been shit. i feel so uninspired. my mum’s in rehab right now for gambling. i keep sitting on my bed, watching doctor who and wishing that was my life. i’m in school to make films, but all the intro classes suck. i’m ready to create something without having to follow the rules.
The swirls intertwining in the cold stone fireplace combine in a magical smorgasbord of centuries past. The amount of stories told, arguments had and christmas stockings hung. The way you’d snuggle up to the dog and listen to your grandfather tell stories of a bygone era; and how you always wished you’d live a life as eventful as those you admired.
I read an article in cosmo about how marbles
Can make getting down and dirty
More intense
I’m really afraid to ask how
Our culture went from using these glass
Objects as toys to ones
Used as objects for…pleasing?
I played with marble works as a child
I traded them with my friends
I associate the word with cake
At least I did
Rolling, rolling, rolling, off the table. Swirling, swirling, swirling, the colors of its world spinning as it turns. Beautiful and ordinary. Minuscule and so transfixing.
I saw a marble in a jar and shook that jar and the noise it made glass on glass jangled my nerves and I thought if i did that on a cushion instead there would
i lost my favourite marble in a match today at recess. i wasn’t prepared for the match at all. i was up all night cleaning spaghetti off the walls, sauce off the floor and cheese off the ceiling. we had this crazy baby sitter who didn’t know how to cook and who had a crazy anti gravity thing about her. the water was in droplets all around the air, we had to be careful not to walk into them and get burned.
The floor was hard.
Really hard.
In fact, she was sure it was marble. No one had marble floors anymore, except for royalty and fancy banks. This was a higher class of supervillain.
Marbles are outdated. I have never played marbles in my life but it was definitely a game my parents and grandparents played. It is interesting how fast technology becomes outdated.
wellaflex…you’ll get marble colored hair….cause you’re worth it..maybe its maybelline..who cares, I’m born with it anyway…..BORN WITH MARBLE COLORED HAIR, BITCHES.
She banged her head on the marble counter. Too much to drink. Too much heartache. She wasn’t sure which had more to do with her throbbing head, and the already forming lump. Nothing was making any sense. There was nothing left to do but sleep off everything she had consumed, and everything that she had lost. After all, time is the best healer.
With an exuberant shriek, she had let rip, and now stood back, patting her head to flatten down the hissing strands and smiled as she admired the marbled form before her. Tall, rounded and perfectly formed amongst the silhouettes.
“Crap…” She snatched a glance to the left as she heard the whispered curse.
“What is it, Methus?”, she called out, striding towards her new statue, before letting out another shriek. It was Methus. Jason had escaped and somehow she’d caught Methus.
“Hey! Wake up, stop that!”, she berated him, giving the statue a push. No reply. She tapped on his shoulder, tugged his beard, still nothing. She looked around, sweat beginning to break out across her brow. Somewhere, amongst all the pottery and artefacts she’d accrued over the years, she knew there must be some ancient manuscript or another on un-marbling. Somewhere. She shook her head, and focussed on the marble, fixing what she hoped was a backwards stare on him. Just a headache in response. She dithered, wondering whether to call up her mother, wincing at the amused smug satisfaction she knew awaited her.
Rolling down the slope, heading towards the stack of dominoes, barreling at lightning speed. Cause a chain reaction, in a Rube-Goldberg-inspired plot, all to play a song.
Agies, tri-color, cerulean, amber, emerald and phosphorous yellow. They gather at the base of an antique canning jar upon my kitchen windowsill. No longer richocheting against one another in a circle drawn in dirt, the marbles sit quietly and bask in sunlight beauty as I was the dishes.
He sat on the bench of his favorite street and watched the kids. They were playing marbles. He was too old to crouch down and too old to remember the rules, but just watching was enough. They looked happy and that was something he remembered.
With an exuberant shriek, she had let rip, and now stood back, patting her head to flatten down the hissing strands and smiled as she admired the marbled form before her. Tall, rounded and perfectly formed amongst the silhouettes.
“Shit…” She snatched a glance to the left as she heard the whispered curse.
“What is it, Methus?”, she called out, striding towards her new statue, before letting out another shriek. It was Methus. Jason had escaped and somehow she’d caught Methus.
“Hey! Wake up, stop that!”, she berated him, giving the statue a push. No reply. She tapped on his shoulder, tugged his beard, still nothing. She looked around, sweat beginning to break out across her brow. Somewhere, amongst all the pottery and artefacts she’d accrued over the years, she knew there must be some ancient manuscript or another on un-marbling. Somewhere. She shook her head, and focussed on the marble, fixing what she hoped was a backwards stare on him. Just a headache in response. She dithered, wondering whether to call up her mother, wincing at the amused smug satisfaction she knew awaited her.
i love marbles. they are so round. fun game. played it when i was a kid all the time. we played for other children marbles.i also love marble cake.
The marble staircase wound up to the second floor, an elegant, muted kind of grandeur. It had no fancy flourishes, no ornate designs. It was a matter-of-fact type of beautiful. He tapped his foot against the floor, wondering when was the last time it had been polished. From the left side of the corridor, he could almost hear her heeled footsteps echoing, her shadow blocking the sunbeams from the set of three windows facing the south side of the house. “Do you think I need to bring my phone?” she used to ask. He would shake his head no, and she would smile. He would get to watch her wind down the stairs, hand easing down the cold rail. And when he took it in his, he would marvel at how warm it was, despite living in all that monochrome decor. But now he stood there, knowing she had shut her door and would not be coming down to see him ever again, and he felt the hardness of the silence, refracting into his senses, until it settled in his veins. Somehow he would leave, and pick up the dusty pieces of his heart.
I love the way a smooth, glassy marble feels in my hand. The thrill when playing marbles is incomprehensible. The adreneline rush when you roll it towards the other players, praying that it will stay safe…
I love to play with marbles. I remember an episode of Anne of Green Gables that was all about how anne wanted this really cool marble, but couldn’t afford it, but her friend could, and she was really jealous. I really don’t care for them though.
They had marble counter tops and a white picket fence, tailored clothing and carefully mussed hair, espresso in tiny cups pinched between finger and thumb, but somewhere in there they lost what was valuable. In a few words I could wreck their perfect material bliss with a verbal fire sparked by one word – happiness.
In a marble archway, I shared a kiss with an older man, whose stubble was as white as the blizzard swallowing us up. He had smoked a pipe earlier and tasted like cheap tobacco, and he held me close to his chest that heaved with a tuberculosis rhythm. I didn’t want him to let me go, not even when my hands turned to ice and I couldn’t taste anything in my mouth anymore.
Marblestones. I remember I had to make my greek citizens cut out marblestones to make great temples for their gods and godesses when I played Zeuz: Master of Olympus.
rye, marble cheesecake, ice cream, three boys behind a basketball hoop during recess
Round.
something colourful.
Used in kitchens.
A Childs throwing tool.
Don’t swallow, not candy.
marbles are awesome and they are shiny. the cake tastes good, and marbles are also the ball things that i used to play with when i was little. marbles are great. they are so shiny and awesome. the cake is even better. i will try to make some marble cake but i will likely fail. am i bypassing the time limit or what? hmmm…
the marble rolled
it didn’t know its direction but the rolling felt amazing
it was going places
and so very fast!
it bounced against a wall but it was not hurt
it changed directions
oh what fun it was having!
where to next?
The small glass balls shattered as soon as it made contact to the ground. The young girl gulped, and backed away nervously. Her brother would kill her if he found she broke them. She turned to bolt out of his door, only to run directly into her older brother. She flinched and looked down at her feet.
He remained silent studying the shattered marbles on the ground. His open palm hit her cheek.
“I told you not to touch those,” he yelled.
Shiny, shivering, splendor!
Tell me marble, when did you last, let your surfaces glide?
Marbles are cool. I remember being in pre-school and letting the marble roll around in the paint to create an abstract replication of my amusement.
He was beautiful, so beautiful he could’ve been a statue in a museum, made of polished marble. and yet he was real, right in front of me, that one rebellious curl falling in his eyes, his lips pulled into a smile, his eyes laughing. i looked down and his fingers were intwined with mine, and further down were our feet, tangled in the sheets. and my heart, tangled with feelings. outside the window, snow started falling, and it cast shadows of snow drops all across our faces.
wefwefwefwfwfw
what is contained in a marble? it’s a little excretion of a lie – something that looks beautiful and intangible but is a shitty smudge of colour in sham-glass. I don’t know why so many generations of children have cried over them, or old people despaired for losing theirs…
I have a blue marble. I like to roll it down the driveway. It changes color in the bright sunlight.
Cold, uncaring, as emotionless as a marble statue–or so she appeared. The reality was, she’d been shaken to the core. But she wouldn’t, couldn’t let it show. To reveal how profoundly she was moved–it would leave her defenseless and totally vulnerable.
i lost my marbles. or i was sure i did. i couldnt be sure. then i started to think…why the experssion “i lost my marbles.” why couldnt i lose my booby pins? or why couldnt i lose my peas? WHY MARBLES?
I remember, when I was a little kid, that it was popular for girls to collect and trade playing cards and it boys played marbles. I thought that both were fun, so I played marbles with the boys, and traded playing cards with the girls.
Earth is only a marble, in fact not even a marble, a grain of sand, in fact not even a grain of sand, an atom, in fact not even an atom, a proton, maybe a proton in the grand scheme of things!
Marble
I’ve lost ’em! I started picking them up, but ended up kicking two under the bed and four clattered to the floor in the kitchen. Then my daughters arrived, tried to help me gather them together. We put the aggies and the cat’s eyes in one pile, the big spiral ones in another. And just when we thought things were going well, I got that damn phone call, and lost all my marbles again!
mida asja nii imelik eliise andis :S:S ma ei saa aru siin pole pilte ju mhhhhhhhhh topski okei siis
all the words lately have been shit. i feel so uninspired. my mum’s in rehab right now for gambling. i keep sitting on my bed, watching doctor who and wishing that was my life. i’m in school to make films, but all the intro classes suck. i’m ready to create something without having to follow the rules.
“What kind of cake is that?”
“MARBLE!” Dani yelled in excitement. “Chocolate AND vanilla!”
Sharon and I sighed. “Sounds excellent, D.”
The swirls intertwining in the cold stone fireplace combine in a magical smorgasbord of centuries past. The amount of stories told, arguments had and christmas stockings hung. The way you’d snuggle up to the dog and listen to your grandfather tell stories of a bygone era; and how you always wished you’d live a life as eventful as those you admired.
I read an article in cosmo about how marbles
Can make getting down and dirty
More intense
I’m really afraid to ask how
Our culture went from using these glass
Objects as toys to ones
Used as objects for…pleasing?
I played with marble works as a child
I traded them with my friends
I associate the word with cake
At least I did
a stone so complex
each piece a unique masterpiece
yet woven together gives marvelous unity of beauty
so worthy to be in the most elegant palaces
Rolling, rolling, rolling, off the table. Swirling, swirling, swirling, the colors of its world spinning as it turns. Beautiful and ordinary. Minuscule and so transfixing.
I saw a marble in a jar and shook that jar and the noise it made glass on glass jangled my nerves and I thought if i did that on a cushion instead there would
i lost my favourite marble in a match today at recess. i wasn’t prepared for the match at all. i was up all night cleaning spaghetti off the walls, sauce off the floor and cheese off the ceiling. we had this crazy baby sitter who didn’t know how to cook and who had a crazy anti gravity thing about her. the water was in droplets all around the air, we had to be careful not to walk into them and get burned.
The floor was hard.
Really hard.
In fact, she was sure it was marble. No one had marble floors anymore, except for royalty and fancy banks. This was a higher class of supervillain.
Marbles are outdated. I have never played marbles in my life but it was definitely a game my parents and grandparents played. It is interesting how fast technology becomes outdated.