I couldn’t get the mechanism to work. Why? Because it wasn’t ingrained in me to learn the complexities of the most insignificant machinery. A pattern repeated through my lineage. Luckily, none of my ancestors were watch makers.
spirals that go on indefinitely, whirls, black and white on repeat.
found in everything.
3.14.
shapes on skin.
shadows on the walls.
smoker’s breath, smoke swirls.
circular.
infinite.
The pattern of her thoughts spun out before her like an intricately woven blanket. All bright colours and interlocking designed that sparkled and danced before her eyes. But there was one constant. In all her muddled thoughts she kept coming back to the same thing.
I see it all around. Sometimes it’s good and beneficial. But sometimes, it is also good to have none of it sometimes. Pattern versus spontaneity. I’m a mix of both sometimes.
fibonacci sequence. Im going to be getting this tattooed on me some time soon. I want this because I am a nerd. and a geek. I am proud to be both. i am happy to be both. it makes me happy to be both
The sun shining through the leaves left patterns on my body as I lay under the cool shade of the tree. It was a warm, peaceful day. Something I needed. It had been a long time since I felt so tranquil and could finally trust that I’d be ok.
There are patterns everywhere. The most beautiful are the ones we don’t see. The pattern of the growing grass or the white water. Be inspired by everything! Go out and see the things that the world has to offer.
The pattern emerged as the last piece of the jigsaw, the final clue, smoothly slotted into place. Her entire body trembled, violently, as she understood what was happening. She snatched the phone from his cold, dead hands and clumsily pressed the buttons. The horror of the ringing and ringing at the other end brought hot bile to the back of the throat. She wouldn’t be able to reach her in time. That’s when the tears fell, loud noisy sobs, splashing on to his navy jacket, staining this memory forever more. She clutched at her hair, willing a voice to answer the phone, but she knew it was too late. Another fatality to add to the growing list of connected names.
Every time I see a pattern on a wall,
I wonder how they made it at all.
All those lines and swirls,
makes my mind go into a whirl.
Seeing patterns on all those walls,
makes me see the whole world all in all.
I love the patterns around me – the patterns that nature has given us – it has inspired me in my work. I walk on for hours just to find these patterns so that i may appreciate what i have
The pattern I see myself gettin into
I see as coming out as destructive
I know no what my mind is goins through
I hope it will be constructive
Patterns are a telegraph that tella us who we are.
Patterns define ourselves, they’re our deepest scar.
Moments of inexplicable repetition (sometimes) and the shape of woven cloth. The way our lives often play out without us noticing. The sound of rain on a tin roof. The way women in the 50s would mark the barometer of their days and the retro girls with sewing machines that now live in Dalston or East Dulwich.
sewing, I like sewing, but when I think about sewing all I want to do is a ton of other projects. So I buy a ton of stuff to do all of these projects and end up just staring at it. I am like a craft hoarder.
Sometimes I fail to believe there is a pattern in the cosmos. Most of the time though, I know there is the truth out there – the answer to all things. All the answers to who we are on the inside are out there. And out there, inside of us.
“Put him down.” The voice was deadly–not just for the chill in the tone, but the soft hissing that trailed off at the end. “Put him down and back away and maybe I won’t claw your eyes out.”
“J-jessa?” Merith squirmed. “Jessa, help!”
“I said to put my little brother down, you empty-headed-” The words trailed off as the tall redhead merely flipped the knife around in her hand and thumped the heavy hilt at the neck of the attacker. “Why is this turning into a pattern of some sort?” She frowned at her little brother.
The bandit had begun to ease the child down to the forest floor, when the unexpected blow sent him stumbling to the ground and set the child free.
“Jessa, Jessa!” He hugged her tight. “You came!”
“Course I came, silly.” She hugged him tight. “You know I’d never leave you.”
“But you came!” He wailed. “I didn’t think you would!”
“Should I change my mind?” She snorted. “Come one, we haven’t got much time. We need to clear out of here before the place is swarming with-oh dear.” It seemed as if her mouth finally caught up to her mind and she realized she hadn’t really stabbed the bandit, but rather, she’d hit him with the heavy hilt. “Merith, run!”
“You shouldn’t have taken your eyes off me.” The velvet voice chuckled darkly. “I guess today is my lucky day.”
like folds in the fabric, our makeup written clearly on our faces we can’t change what we are made of we can’t change what made us, revealing our patterns to everyone who we come across.
pattern itself doesnt exhibit a reapeating pattern in either its sound or its written form. that isnt to say that it doesnt have a pattern, in fact it has a very strict pattern
Pattern, of your attitude. How it changes from lighter to darker. Like your empty smile. Like your empty body. Warm up with tenderness, enojoy the pattern of light.
there were patterns everywhere, across the walls and spinning in on themselves
colors unlike colors are, but rather as feelings feel
I knew I wouldn’t be gone forever
pattern? really? well a pattern could be anything, like something that happens throughout time, or like that weird pattern that’s on my blankets. patterns can be interesting things, all you have to do is take the time to study them and embrace their beauty.
i pattern with my heart on the people i love, i plce a patern everywhere i go. the patten i place is the pattern of my heart. to make a mark where ever i go
The pattern of the colors your eyes make when they cry. Makes me light with wonder, and that wonder turns red, orange and yellow, cause it’s warm like your eyes, like your soul, like your smile. Warm me up ever so gently cause this night is cold and i could fall for such tenderness.
Patters constitute a basis for all connections in the world. They provide a way to interact with different people, objects or ideas that are separate from our own. They are able to connect pictures, people, etc. They serve as a thinking-tool to further our knowledge as human beings.
of lines. The day peters out. The dull noon sun beats once on the grimy window and washes the room, and it stays soaked. Pattern of days. It’s so garish. Mom won’t be home until 8 pm.
pattern is the most beautiful type of asthmatically styling we humans have we have pattern in our bodies and in our emotions, the way we think has had a pattern since the day we were born. pattern can be seen and heard in our current generation, from street art to hip hop music.
This is not a normal pattern.
Boy and girl talk,
become friends,
in a few months
become more than friends.
Boy and girl
want to be together,
miss each other,
want to be
in the same state.
The same room
would be pushing the limits.
Boy and girl
are still together,
waiting
to get one more chance
to feel how we felt,
like we always feel
in our minds and in our hearts,
on our skin.
We want to laugh
in the same room
just once more.
That will be enough
for the next time.
That will be enough
for us.
when i think of pattern, i think of a crochet hat. A crochet hat is meant to use a pattern, but FUCK that… who the fuck needs a pattern to make a sick as hell beanie… like the ones i make… do you know what crochet is? Crochet is similar to knitting, but you can make way sicker stuff and it only uses one needle.. a hook.
a pattern between our heartbeats occurs. beating slowly. right beside each other. i look into your eyes and see the colours looking back at me. your slow blinks create the cutest pattern.
A pattern is a recurring series of events. Often comfortable if repeated daily by a single person, such as myself. But, as well as comfort, a pattern can bring unease, especially when broken.
Last night Laurie gave me a bracelet. Her mum made it. She said it’s her hobby. It’s green, orange, and purple in colour. All my favourite hues! It got little plastic beads as well in chromatic colours. I dont know why I’m just describing it but the bracelet is just nice. I wanna learn how she does it. But most of all I wanna know how I can tie it onto my wrist…
repeating lines and shapes fill my mind a crazy fractal world of shapes and color repeating so pleasing my eyes jump around with glee over what i see. everywhere webs and droplets leave traces of the places they have been of the patterns they have seen.
i ate a pattern of stars, constelations they call them, i call them coincidence, my patterns, not in the world really
I couldn’t get the mechanism to work. Why? Because it wasn’t ingrained in me to learn the complexities of the most insignificant machinery. A pattern repeated through my lineage. Luckily, none of my ancestors were watch makers.
spirals that go on indefinitely, whirls, black and white on repeat.
found in everything.
3.14.
shapes on skin.
shadows on the walls.
smoker’s breath, smoke swirls.
circular.
infinite.
The pattern of her thoughts spun out before her like an intricately woven blanket. All bright colours and interlocking designed that sparkled and danced before her eyes. But there was one constant. In all her muddled thoughts she kept coming back to the same thing.
I see it all around. Sometimes it’s good and beneficial. But sometimes, it is also good to have none of it sometimes. Pattern versus spontaneity. I’m a mix of both sometimes.
fibonacci sequence. Im going to be getting this tattooed on me some time soon. I want this because I am a nerd. and a geek. I am proud to be both. i am happy to be both. it makes me happy to be both
The sun shining through the leaves left patterns on my body as I lay under the cool shade of the tree. It was a warm, peaceful day. Something I needed. It had been a long time since I felt so tranquil and could finally trust that I’d be ok.
There are patterns everywhere. The most beautiful are the ones we don’t see. The pattern of the growing grass or the white water. Be inspired by everything! Go out and see the things that the world has to offer.
love the patterns around us
it makes me wonder out loud
as i stroll through the myriad
The idea switched me on like a lightbulb. It all seemed to make sense. How the criminal killed them. I looked down on to the map. It was a pattern.
The pattern emerged as the last piece of the jigsaw, the final clue, smoothly slotted into place. Her entire body trembled, violently, as she understood what was happening. She snatched the phone from his cold, dead hands and clumsily pressed the buttons. The horror of the ringing and ringing at the other end brought hot bile to the back of the throat. She wouldn’t be able to reach her in time. That’s when the tears fell, loud noisy sobs, splashing on to his navy jacket, staining this memory forever more. She clutched at her hair, willing a voice to answer the phone, but she knew it was too late. Another fatality to add to the growing list of connected names.
Every time I see a pattern on a wall,
I wonder how they made it at all.
All those lines and swirls,
makes my mind go into a whirl.
Seeing patterns on all those walls,
makes me see the whole world all in all.
I love the patterns around me – the patterns that nature has given us – it has inspired me in my work. I walk on for hours just to find these patterns so that i may appreciate what i have
theres a pattern to my life.
its a little dull
school
drink
hookup with boy i like but only when drunk
repeat.
pattern.
could be worse this pattern.
The pattern I see myself gettin into
I see as coming out as destructive
I know no what my mind is goins through
I hope it will be constructive
Patterns are a telegraph that tella us who we are.
Patterns define ourselves, they’re our deepest scar.
Moments of inexplicable repetition (sometimes) and the shape of woven cloth. The way our lives often play out without us noticing. The sound of rain on a tin roof. The way women in the 50s would mark the barometer of their days and the retro girls with sewing machines that now live in Dalston or East Dulwich.
The fabric swayed in the air; a giant, swathing fold. The vibrant colours lit up the greyish room, and settled down on a large, plastic table.
sewing, I like sewing, but when I think about sewing all I want to do is a ton of other projects. So I buy a ton of stuff to do all of these projects and end up just staring at it. I am like a craft hoarder.
Picking patterns at the sewing store, I notice a houndstooth and a brocade. I can’t so on these, I can’t sew silk either, but they are so wonderful.
Sometimes I fail to believe there is a pattern in the cosmos. Most of the time though, I know there is the truth out there – the answer to all things. All the answers to who we are on the inside are out there. And out there, inside of us.
“Put him down.” The voice was deadly–not just for the chill in the tone, but the soft hissing that trailed off at the end. “Put him down and back away and maybe I won’t claw your eyes out.”
“J-jessa?” Merith squirmed. “Jessa, help!”
“I said to put my little brother down, you empty-headed-” The words trailed off as the tall redhead merely flipped the knife around in her hand and thumped the heavy hilt at the neck of the attacker. “Why is this turning into a pattern of some sort?” She frowned at her little brother.
The bandit had begun to ease the child down to the forest floor, when the unexpected blow sent him stumbling to the ground and set the child free.
“Jessa, Jessa!” He hugged her tight. “You came!”
“Course I came, silly.” She hugged him tight. “You know I’d never leave you.”
“But you came!” He wailed. “I didn’t think you would!”
“Should I change my mind?” She snorted. “Come one, we haven’t got much time. We need to clear out of here before the place is swarming with-oh dear.” It seemed as if her mouth finally caught up to her mind and she realized she hadn’t really stabbed the bandit, but rather, she’d hit him with the heavy hilt. “Merith, run!”
“You shouldn’t have taken your eyes off me.” The velvet voice chuckled darkly. “I guess today is my lucky day.”
like folds in the fabric, our makeup written clearly on our faces we can’t change what we are made of we can’t change what made us, revealing our patterns to everyone who we come across.
sequence and symmetry of anything. it is to place something in order. the pattern of anything makes u understand it better than the rough plane.
pattern itself doesnt exhibit a reapeating pattern in either its sound or its written form. that isnt to say that it doesnt have a pattern, in fact it has a very strict pattern
Pattern, of your attitude. How it changes from lighter to darker. Like your empty smile. Like your empty body. Warm up with tenderness, enojoy the pattern of light.
there were patterns everywhere, across the walls and spinning in on themselves
colors unlike colors are, but rather as feelings feel
I knew I wouldn’t be gone forever
pattern? really? well a pattern could be anything, like something that happens throughout time, or like that weird pattern that’s on my blankets. patterns can be interesting things, all you have to do is take the time to study them and embrace their beauty.
i pattern with my heart on the people i love, i plce a patern everywhere i go. the patten i place is the pattern of my heart. to make a mark where ever i go
The pattern of the colors your eyes make when they cry. Makes me light with wonder, and that wonder turns red, orange and yellow, cause it’s warm like your eyes, like your soul, like your smile. Warm me up ever so gently cause this night is cold and i could fall for such tenderness.
Patters constitute a basis for all connections in the world. They provide a way to interact with different people, objects or ideas that are separate from our own. They are able to connect pictures, people, etc. They serve as a thinking-tool to further our knowledge as human beings.
of lines. The day peters out. The dull noon sun beats once on the grimy window and washes the room, and it stays soaked. Pattern of days. It’s so garish. Mom won’t be home until 8 pm.
I have a problem. I love pattern. I love consistency and I hate change. I lie. I tell everyone I love new things but I’m really afraid of everything.
pattern is the most beautiful type of asthmatically styling we humans have we have pattern in our bodies and in our emotions, the way we think has had a pattern since the day we were born. pattern can be seen and heard in our current generation, from street art to hip hop music.
This is not a normal pattern.
Boy and girl talk,
become friends,
in a few months
become more than friends.
Boy and girl
want to be together,
miss each other,
want to be
in the same state.
The same room
would be pushing the limits.
Boy and girl
are still together,
waiting
to get one more chance
to feel how we felt,
like we always feel
in our minds and in our hearts,
on our skin.
We want to laugh
in the same room
just once more.
That will be enough
for the next time.
That will be enough
for us.
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
pattern
when i think of pattern, i think of a crochet hat. A crochet hat is meant to use a pattern, but FUCK that… who the fuck needs a pattern to make a sick as hell beanie… like the ones i make… do you know what crochet is? Crochet is similar to knitting, but you can make way sicker stuff and it only uses one needle.. a hook.
a pattern between our heartbeats occurs. beating slowly. right beside each other. i look into your eyes and see the colours looking back at me. your slow blinks create the cutest pattern.
A pattern is a recurring series of events. Often comfortable if repeated daily by a single person, such as myself. But, as well as comfort, a pattern can bring unease, especially when broken.
Last night Laurie gave me a bracelet. Her mum made it. She said it’s her hobby. It’s green, orange, and purple in colour. All my favourite hues! It got little plastic beads as well in chromatic colours. I dont know why I’m just describing it but the bracelet is just nice. I wanna learn how she does it. But most of all I wanna know how I can tie it onto my wrist…
repeating lines and shapes fill my mind a crazy fractal world of shapes and color repeating so pleasing my eyes jump around with glee over what i see. everywhere webs and droplets leave traces of the places they have been of the patterns they have seen.