HOTEL MOTEL HOLIDAY INN
thats all that comes to mind when i hear that word. Brings back memories of 5 years ago when I first heard that song. I cant remember the name of it, i just know that part.
We walked into the wrong room that single moment internalized into my memory may have shaped my life, not entirely only partially. Sometimes I look back on that memory and think about all the things and all the reasons why we opened that door no another that one and what the situation was coincidence perhaps even tribulations. When I look back on that eventful opening of the door I speculate on the occurrences. That blue pool with the gate around it, we were there because of greed, and tribulations.
It was 2am when Trixie walked around the motel to room #202 to meet Stan. When she had gotten the call, she pulled herself out of bed and put on her little outfit. When she knocked on the door, there was a hurried fumbling around, then Stan opened the door, wearing a bathrobe. He led her in and stopped at the center of the room, grabbed her arm firmly, looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I’m out of fresh towels.”
She laid still in the motel bed, paralyzed with fear.
It had sounded like nails scratching on wood.
Was it coming from the door?
No, it had been closer than that.
Under the bed?
Defeaned by the pounding of her heart, she leaned slowly over the edge of the bed.
Off the highway is a motel. Seedy, but aren’t they all? Seedy should be included in the very definition of the word.
Anyway, this one wasn’t just seedy because of the red carpeting, polyester comforters, or toothpaste-encrusted mirror. It was seedy because of the guy who hung out at the front desk.
There’s a really rundown motel over by my house, where the tranny’s shoot up, and the dumb get robbed. It’s a shitty little place with a flickering sign that reads vacancy day and night.
Why is it that when I see the word motel, the first thing that pops into my head is insects- roaches, ants, goodness know what…? Guess I think what makes a motel different from a hotel is a) its ability to trap, and b) the quality of the creatures it traps.
[Most importantly however: how did my train of thought get to be so snobbish and elitist??]
The sheets felt dirty, the shower stall looked grim, and the whole place screamed Horror Movie. I didn’t feel safe and I didn’t feel happy, but I had no where else to go. For now, this stinking motel was my home.
We were married by the sea on a thursday, we made love at a motel on a friday and i discovered how heavy a broken heart felt in my hands on a saturday.
She pulled the car into park, and turned the key in the ignition. She hung her head, not ready to exit the safety of the car just yet. In here, everything was how it used to be. Out there, in that foreign motel, things would be oh so different. Sometimes change wasn’t necessary. Maybe this was one of those times.
He never knew where she REALLY went when she said she was going to her yoga class. He didn’t know about the motel. Or Steven. She always came home sweaty and glowing.
we at the hotel motel holiday inn! i learnt last night that RnB is not my scene and I really can’t dance to it at all. won’t stop me from going back next weekend to shake my ass with the black people of cairns! is my minute up yet? that’s all i have to say about the motel…
Motel sheets are gross.
I always think about how many people have had sex in them.
Ew.
But they have nice soap sometimes.
And the vending machines have poptarts.
You check into the motel, anxiously awaiting your guest. You’ve heard things about him. He’s a cheat, a heartbreaker, a rat. But you can’t get past those deep blue eyes that tell so many stories.
divide these walls
i want to feel the seperation in this empty hotel
my soul feels related to the mold growing beneath these floor boards
i look at the foggy windows surrounded by rusty frame
i cant seem to keep eye contact with my reflection
or the one i halfheartedly admit my love for.
time, breathe, animals, reflections, clothes
they are reminders that we have no idea why we are on this earth.
they let us remember that we are ignorant 99.9% of our life
while there are a few times we are able to realize
how empty
how full
everything is
between every aspect
in any idea
feeling
experience.
we are alive,
and we do not have the knowledge.
why?
The knife slashed effortlessly through the air. Water hissed at a nearly boiling temperature as the blade sliced through the curtain, ripping it to shreds. Poised to strike, the assailant saw… no one…
Vacations with my family always ended at a motel. Days end, we’d be in some chintzy place, with crappy vacation brochures to even crappier destinations than our current one. But the thing is, I’d give anything to have those days back again.
there was this one time i was forced to stay in this dingy motel in wilmington. it was terrible. the room they put me and my roomate had a door that you could push so far in, you could see inside. ridiculous.
It was a dirty, grimey, seedy place. Not the kind of place I’d expected to find myself, and especially not with /her/. But I guess we all make mistakes.
I’d like to meet you in a motel. A seedy motel in the middle of nowhere. We can just be alone and do what we do best. Then go back to our regular lives. I hate wanting you so much. It’s an awful feeling.
sleezy pits. i’ve seen a lot of dead people in motels. lots of flies and drugs. leaky people. drugs. did i say that already? late afternoon death, late night death.
ca-caw! ca-caw! the crow called from a tree behind the motel. I saw out the window that more cars had arrived. this meeting might actually go off as planned after all, I thought.
Motel. Wondering where in the world I could be to ever need to stay in a motel. Eerie neon lights flashing to tell me that they’re OPEN, bug-ridden beds and creepy people running the place. Not my idea of a welcoming stay, that’s for sure.
We walked to the motel from downtown. We mostly sat in silence, without saying a word. There wasn’t and still isn’t much to say. I appreciate your visiting, but I can’t give everything to you. I am waiting.
The curtains are yellowed and smell of dust. The air conditioner won’t shut off. It whines and ?? like a black and white ocean. The bed has a dip in the middle and a stain I’d rather not think about.
i was told to meet him at the motel since what we were doing was unacceptable to the normal realm of life. once we got there, we realilzed we were not alone.
He pushed the door shut with his foot and sagged against it with a groan. Then he stumbled into the bathroom and flicked on the light.
He smiled ruefully. *You look like shit.* An image popped into his mind: a shattered mirror, blood covering his hands. He could almost feel the pain. But he just scrubbed his face until his skin turned pink.
Falling onto the bed, he eyed his cell phone, lying on the bedside table. He thought about calling her until he fell asleep.
We met at the motel near the Clark Fork River. The carpets were seafoam green and smelled of cat and cigarettes. We didn’t talk much-we didn’t have to to. The unbuttoning of her dress was all I heard.
I’d rather be anywhere right now than sitting in the lobby of a shady motel with you. Yet here I am.
Yesterday, I went to the motel and watched a lot of television.
HOTEL MOTEL HOLIDAY INN
thats all that comes to mind when i hear that word. Brings back memories of 5 years ago when I first heard that song. I cant remember the name of it, i just know that part.
We walked into the wrong room that single moment internalized into my memory may have shaped my life, not entirely only partially. Sometimes I look back on that memory and think about all the things and all the reasons why we opened that door no another that one and what the situation was coincidence perhaps even tribulations. When I look back on that eventful opening of the door I speculate on the occurrences. That blue pool with the gate around it, we were there because of greed, and tribulations.
It was 2am when Trixie walked around the motel to room #202 to meet Stan. When she had gotten the call, she pulled herself out of bed and put on her little outfit. When she knocked on the door, there was a hurried fumbling around, then Stan opened the door, wearing a bathrobe. He led her in and stopped at the center of the room, grabbed her arm firmly, looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I’m out of fresh towels.”
She laid still in the motel bed, paralyzed with fear.
It had sounded like nails scratching on wood.
Was it coming from the door?
No, it had been closer than that.
Under the bed?
Defeaned by the pounding of her heart, she leaned slowly over the edge of the bed.
Off the highway is a motel. Seedy, but aren’t they all? Seedy should be included in the very definition of the word.
Anyway, this one wasn’t just seedy because of the red carpeting, polyester comforters, or toothpaste-encrusted mirror. It was seedy because of the guy who hung out at the front desk.
hotel, holiday inn. Kickin it old school, it’s where I fit in. Can’t get enough of this pepper jack cheese. Extra ketchup, hold the mustard please!
There’s a really rundown motel over by my house, where the tranny’s shoot up, and the dumb get robbed. It’s a shitty little place with a flickering sign that reads vacancy day and night.
Why is it that when I see the word motel, the first thing that pops into my head is insects- roaches, ants, goodness know what…? Guess I think what makes a motel different from a hotel is a) its ability to trap, and b) the quality of the creatures it traps.
[Most importantly however: how did my train of thought get to be so snobbish and elitist??]
The sheets felt dirty, the shower stall looked grim, and the whole place screamed Horror Movie. I didn’t feel safe and I didn’t feel happy, but I had no where else to go. For now, this stinking motel was my home.
in this horrid room with nothing but the smell of old dirty clothes and burnt macaroni. i lay waiting for him.
We were married by the sea on a thursday, we made love at a motel on a friday and i discovered how heavy a broken heart felt in my hands on a saturday.
She pulled the car into park, and turned the key in the ignition. She hung her head, not ready to exit the safety of the car just yet. In here, everything was how it used to be. Out there, in that foreign motel, things would be oh so different. Sometimes change wasn’t necessary. Maybe this was one of those times.
He never knew where she REALLY went when she said she was going to her yoga class. He didn’t know about the motel. Or Steven. She always came home sweaty and glowing.
“Have a good workout?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she replied with a small smile.
we at the hotel motel holiday inn! i learnt last night that RnB is not my scene and I really can’t dance to it at all. won’t stop me from going back next weekend to shake my ass with the black people of cairns! is my minute up yet? that’s all i have to say about the motel…
I think having dirty sex with her would demean our relationship. I love her too much for motels.
Motel sheets are gross.
I always think about how many people have had sex in them.
Ew.
But they have nice soap sometimes.
And the vending machines have poptarts.
We met at the hotel downtown. She was wearing a blond wig and a long jacket… I don’t recall if she had anything else draped on her lithe frame.
You check into the motel, anxiously awaiting your guest. You’ve heard things about him. He’s a cheat, a heartbreaker, a rat. But you can’t get past those deep blue eyes that tell so many stories.
divide these walls
i want to feel the seperation in this empty hotel
my soul feels related to the mold growing beneath these floor boards
i look at the foggy windows surrounded by rusty frame
i cant seem to keep eye contact with my reflection
or the one i halfheartedly admit my love for.
time, breathe, animals, reflections, clothes
they are reminders that we have no idea why we are on this earth.
they let us remember that we are ignorant 99.9% of our life
while there are a few times we are able to realize
how empty
how full
everything is
between every aspect
in any idea
feeling
experience.
we are alive,
and we do not have the knowledge.
why?
The knife slashed effortlessly through the air. Water hissed at a nearly boiling temperature as the blade sliced through the curtain, ripping it to shreds. Poised to strike, the assailant saw… no one…
Vacations with my family always ended at a motel. Days end, we’d be in some chintzy place, with crappy vacation brochures to even crappier destinations than our current one. But the thing is, I’d give anything to have those days back again.
i fail.
there was this one time i was forced to stay in this dingy motel in wilmington. it was terrible. the room they put me and my roomate had a door that you could push so far in, you could see inside. ridiculous.
It was a dirty, grimey, seedy place. Not the kind of place I’d expected to find myself, and especially not with /her/. But I guess we all make mistakes.
I sleep to escape her, because I can’t keep burying her in the garden.
I’d like to meet you in a motel. A seedy motel in the middle of nowhere. We can just be alone and do what we do best. Then go back to our regular lives. I hate wanting you so much. It’s an awful feeling.
The motel darling—-for us, never. Our love belongs in abandoned theatres and rooftops. Our flight is soaring. I never did see you, darling. The Motel
End of the street. End of the line?
The sign in tatters hanging from the motel awning informed me that ‘vacancies’. I was less than ecstatic.
With their doors leading directly outside they seem
Less safe
More susceptible to shady activities
And mix-ups featured in
movie plots
The motel, never – darling. Our love belongs on rooftops and empty theatres. The Motel. Too earthly for our flight. I never did see you
sleezy pits. i’ve seen a lot of dead people in motels. lots of flies and drugs. leaky people. drugs. did i say that already? late afternoon death, late night death.
ca-caw! ca-caw! the crow called from a tree behind the motel. I saw out the window that more cars had arrived. this meeting might actually go off as planned after all, I thought.
Motel. Wondering where in the world I could be to ever need to stay in a motel. Eerie neon lights flashing to tell me that they’re OPEN, bug-ridden beds and creepy people running the place. Not my idea of a welcoming stay, that’s for sure.
We walked to the motel from downtown. We mostly sat in silence, without saying a word. There wasn’t and still isn’t much to say. I appreciate your visiting, but I can’t give everything to you. I am waiting.
The curtains are yellowed and smell of dust. The air conditioner won’t shut off. It whines and ?? like a black and white ocean. The bed has a dip in the middle and a stain I’d rather not think about.
i was told to meet him at the motel since what we were doing was unacceptable to the normal realm of life. once we got there, we realilzed we were not alone.
He pushed the door shut with his foot and sagged against it with a groan. Then he stumbled into the bathroom and flicked on the light.
He smiled ruefully. *You look like shit.* An image popped into his mind: a shattered mirror, blood covering his hands. He could almost feel the pain. But he just scrubbed his face until his skin turned pink.
Falling onto the bed, he eyed his cell phone, lying on the bedside table. He thought about calling her until he fell asleep.
We met at the motel near the Clark Fork River. The carpets were seafoam green and smelled of cat and cigarettes. We didn’t talk much-we didn’t have to to. The unbuttoning of her dress was all I heard.