why primitive again? this is just annoying and wasting my time……. booooo…. i’m bored so i will keep on typing :P I”M BORED!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!?! blah. how do you actually end this thing? wait for 60 second? i’m bored, so i will end this now :D okay its ending byeeee
Space-captian Collins, eldest of elders, flicks thoughtfully through the thousands of pages of the old brown book in his hands, his long index finger tracing the words.
Beneath them the blue-green ball squirms silently on its axis.
Collins reaches out his arm to pluck the rocket from the sky between his thumb and forefinger, examining it in close detail.
“Primitive creatures,” he mutters, tossing the warhead over his shoulder into the oblivion beyond.
The primitive concept of music was capable of truly profound results. The simplistic nature of sounds became complex the instant they were strung together with others of their ilk. Indeed, the nuances of noise were so great as to change men and their history a like.
It wasn’t enough to see me beg and cry. You needed me to crawl to the house we built together and bruise my knuckles on the door. You opened the door only to look down on the mess I’d become after leaving you for a younger version of you who did what you should have done all those years ago.
“Love Languages; the vehicles by which we express and understand affection”. The green-eyed girl read clearly and expressively from the book she was holding, ignoring the obvious apathy of the olive-skinned man sat opposite her.
“Time, Touch, Gifts, Acts of Service, Words.” Decisively, she placed the book face-down, spine straining as the pages lay splayed apart, holding the page ready in a way which alerted Thomas to his fiancee’s determination to complete this convoluted exercise.
“Women!” he thought. “It’s never enough to just love them; now I have to analyse and scrutinize the way I love.”
Thomas’ annoyance was temporarily abated by Katy’s clear utterance of a seemingly unrelated word.
“Primitive.”
She grinned at his momentary confusion. “Funny, isn’t it, how they’re all really primitive human behaviors? To communicate, to touch, to do things for one another. To spend time together, to give. Love in the age of cavemen.”
Ivory against bone bears the same density. Marrow is a crippling thing when considered the milky, brown essence of everything. Funny how they say we’re all made of stardust–simple–when all we are and ever were are running forms on a distant field.
primitive.. to be vey honest I dont even know what does that word means, but as tyou have asked me to write so here I am writing… just for the sake of writing and think in my mind that what ever i am writing as of now will go viral on
love is a primitive feeling. cant help but feel it. its overwhelming and unexpected. what to do when the butterflies flutter in your stomach and you feel the blood rush through your veins? no thoughts are needed, no need to over analyze the situation or need to sit down to understand its complexity. Its primitive therefore its the only thing that can be complex in its nature and not require a meaning as to why.
Primitive. That’s how it feels when I think about her. I just want to protect her, you know. From the bullying, the hate, but most especially. I want to protect her from him.
I never hear the trains
go by anymore.
I hear them almost every time of night.
But I don’t recognize a bit of sound.
But when I walk by them
I can see the metal tanks,
the massive weights
being pushed laterally
along metal railroad tracks,
everything ten times the size
of me.
Here the tracks sit
among gravel,
dirt, trees.
In some ways,
although I can’t always hear it,
I see how glorious
the tracks are,
traveling, embedded
into the earth
for miles
to serve our own
primitive needs.
We owe some appreciation
to the world
and to mundane marvels
we pass everyday,
without blinking.
anti-intellectualism chokes society. because, whether you like it or not, we are all primitive. it is in my opinion that we can move forward in a much better fashion after we grasp this. our ancestors came from the trees and now we pillage and burn our ancestral homes. lobby groups cannot sway the truth.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t make out the words on the wall. They were so familiar to what she knew, what she had spent her life learning, but yet something completely different. The language she knew was refined, but this one was dangerous.
She didn’t really think about the words that much. They were just so… primitive, she thought. She hadn’t seen anything like them before, and they were rough, shaped by unsteady hands that were obviously unused to writing. But there was a simple beauty to the writing on the wall, one that she could appreciate.
In the days of primitive live, we scrounged for food in strange places. Others scrounged too, always competing for new sources of edibles, even those edibles that animals had left untouched. We were desperate. We had eaten even those animals that wouldn’t eat what we now ate.
I don’t get it. Maybe I’m stupid, maybe my social skills are too primitive. But I never feel like I belong. Like, really belong. Every now and then, yeah, for a little bit. But then something comes along and messes it up. I just want a safe place, you know?
adi, 3 sounds,
dont knoe the meaning
dont worry, we always face anything we dont know.
remenber it,
try to find a solution,, e,g ask frds , google , dictionary
It’s so primitive to be child-like. You don’t care what anyone thinks. We are all still led by our primitive desires, the one at full-strength right now is carnal desire and a lust for power. The others are hindered by the most powerful imaginary object in human history. Currency.
The cavemen are primitive.
Sometimes old furniture are primitive.
Primitive means old.
My grandparents are primitive.
Some people think primitive is limited.
Primitive is a long time ago and old.
It hurt to think that there could be more. That there was more. That there was potential that went unused and unrealized, that we were capable of the impossible. Instead we lie in shambles, crawling, limping when we should be sprinting, flying. Primitive, that’s their excuse. Pathetic, that’s mine.
furred hands below knees descend and find rocks in the ground and then become rocks themselves, lost to sedimentary ages as footsteps embedded in mud, forever the source of paper and ridicule from the future. What were these steps? where did they go? let me tell you, they were just going to take a crap.
desire is primitive. sex is primitive. but the way i want him isn’t primitive. it’s more than just a pure carnal need. it’s intellectual. i think i’m falling in love with him but the only way i can describe it to anyone else is a basic need to be near him. a primitive need… that is so much more
I want to keep things the way they are right now forever. I love life. I love the people in it. Especially him. With him it just feels right. I want to stay in the moments with him forever. He is truely amazing.
Sometimes I wish that everything could be primitive again. It’d be so simple. People could focus so much more on the things that really matter, like people and interactions rather than technology and bullshit.
The cavemen are primitive. And the cavemen are my school mascot. Once, at a theater conference I joked about caveman mascot, and a girl said her mascot was a pirate and we laughed when she said, “Neither of our mascots had basic orthodontia.” I thought she was funny, but she turned out to be weird.
She couldn’t stop the sob that tore from her chest. She didn’t consciously know the exact cause of her anguish, but she felt it was something to do with the way he looked at her. There was something in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the flexing of a muscle here or there in his face that told some part of her that it was over. He didn’t say anything; life had continued as normal between them, but she knew on that base level that nothing would ever be the same again.
The skill is primitive, as though I was born with the talent. Practice is needed, but the initial feel, the words, the talent flows naturally. Yes, writing is primitive. It is a matter of instict, to get my ideas on paper, rather than a forced obbsession.
Caves and men, art that depicts scores of loin-cloth wearing savages spearing mammoths. Primitive reminders of the greatness of man.
why primitive again? this is just annoying and wasting my time……. booooo…. i’m bored so i will keep on typing :P I”M BORED!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!?! blah. how do you actually end this thing? wait for 60 second? i’m bored, so i will end this now :D okay its ending byeeee
doin’ laad ?
faaag balls are yuumm
ofivhaoruighqoirhguhirurgirkrgihqoiernvgo;erinfroiqhnqo5ihgnoq[i5gno4i[5rrd
ilovepenis.
Pencils are primitive writing tools.
It was one moment in time rough, slow like primitive beings they joined together.
Primitive, cavemen, Neanderthal, body hair, hunchback. Undeveloped land and lush jungles, Dull stone tools and spears. Charge of the hunt,
caveman
Space-captian Collins, eldest of elders, flicks thoughtfully through the thousands of pages of the old brown book in his hands, his long index finger tracing the words.
Beneath them the blue-green ball squirms silently on its axis.
Collins reaches out his arm to pluck the rocket from the sky between his thumb and forefinger, examining it in close detail.
“Primitive creatures,” he mutters, tossing the warhead over his shoulder into the oblivion beyond.
The primitive concept of music was capable of truly profound results. The simplistic nature of sounds became complex the instant they were strung together with others of their ilk. Indeed, the nuances of noise were so great as to change men and their history a like.
It wasn’t enough to see me beg and cry. You needed me to crawl to the house we built together and bruise my knuckles on the door. You opened the door only to look down on the mess I’d become after leaving you for a younger version of you who did what you should have done all those years ago.
“Love Languages; the vehicles by which we express and understand affection”. The green-eyed girl read clearly and expressively from the book she was holding, ignoring the obvious apathy of the olive-skinned man sat opposite her.
“Time, Touch, Gifts, Acts of Service, Words.” Decisively, she placed the book face-down, spine straining as the pages lay splayed apart, holding the page ready in a way which alerted Thomas to his fiancee’s determination to complete this convoluted exercise.
“Women!” he thought. “It’s never enough to just love them; now I have to analyse and scrutinize the way I love.”
Thomas’ annoyance was temporarily abated by Katy’s clear utterance of a seemingly unrelated word.
“Primitive.”
She grinned at his momentary confusion. “Funny, isn’t it, how they’re all really primitive human behaviors? To communicate, to touch, to do things for one another. To spend time together, to give. Love in the age of cavemen.”
To be primitive is to be uncivilized. I think animals from the jungle. Nature. Animal urges. Primal needs.
Primitive thoughts, primary thoughts, productive thoughts, permissible thoughts, practical thoughts, pristine thoughts, polluted thoughts, private thoughts, painful thoughts, particular thoughts, pressing thoughts, prime thoughts –
thought I primitively.
Ivory against bone bears the same density. Marrow is a crippling thing when considered the milky, brown essence of everything. Funny how they say we’re all made of stardust–simple–when all we are and ever were are running forms on a distant field.
The walls are dark and dripping with natural spring water that carries ancient secrets away into the earth.
primitive.. to be vey honest I dont even know what does that word means, but as tyou have asked me to write so here I am writing… just for the sake of writing and think in my mind that what ever i am writing as of now will go viral on
love is a primitive feeling. cant help but feel it. its overwhelming and unexpected. what to do when the butterflies flutter in your stomach and you feel the blood rush through your veins? no thoughts are needed, no need to over analyze the situation or need to sit down to understand its complexity. Its primitive therefore its the only thing that can be complex in its nature and not require a meaning as to why.
Primitive. That’s how it feels when I think about her. I just want to protect her, you know. From the bullying, the hate, but most especially. I want to protect her from him.
I never hear the trains
go by anymore.
I hear them almost every time of night.
But I don’t recognize a bit of sound.
But when I walk by them
I can see the metal tanks,
the massive weights
being pushed laterally
along metal railroad tracks,
everything ten times the size
of me.
Here the tracks sit
among gravel,
dirt, trees.
In some ways,
although I can’t always hear it,
I see how glorious
the tracks are,
traveling, embedded
into the earth
for miles
to serve our own
primitive needs.
We owe some appreciation
to the world
and to mundane marvels
we pass everyday,
without blinking.
anti-intellectualism chokes society. because, whether you like it or not, we are all primitive. it is in my opinion that we can move forward in a much better fashion after we grasp this. our ancestors came from the trees and now we pillage and burn our ancestral homes. lobby groups cannot sway the truth.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t make out the words on the wall. They were so familiar to what she knew, what she had spent her life learning, but yet something completely different. The language she knew was refined, but this one was dangerous.
She didn’t really think about the words that much. They were just so… primitive, she thought. She hadn’t seen anything like them before, and they were rough, shaped by unsteady hands that were obviously unused to writing. But there was a simple beauty to the writing on the wall, one that she could appreciate.
In the days of primitive live, we scrounged for food in strange places. Others scrounged too, always competing for new sources of edibles, even those edibles that animals had left untouched. We were desperate. We had eaten even those animals that wouldn’t eat what we now ate.
I don’t get it. Maybe I’m stupid, maybe my social skills are too primitive. But I never feel like I belong. Like, really belong. Every now and then, yeah, for a little bit. But then something comes along and messes it up. I just want a safe place, you know?
adi, 3 sounds,
dont knoe the meaning
dont worry, we always face anything we dont know.
remenber it,
try to find a solution,, e,g ask frds , google , dictionary
It’s so primitive to be child-like. You don’t care what anyone thinks. We are all still led by our primitive desires, the one at full-strength right now is carnal desire and a lust for power. The others are hindered by the most powerful imaginary object in human history. Currency.
The cavemen are primitive.
Sometimes old furniture are primitive.
Primitive means old.
My grandparents are primitive.
Some people think primitive is limited.
Primitive is a long time ago and old.
When the world was primitive, everything was simple. Sometimes, I wish we’re in primitive times….simple.
There are primitive beings called neanderthals. they are cavemen who lived with the dinosaurs. Neanderthals hunted and gathered as early roles of man.
It hurt to think that there could be more. That there was more. That there was potential that went unused and unrealized, that we were capable of the impossible. Instead we lie in shambles, crawling, limping when we should be sprinting, flying. Primitive, that’s their excuse. Pathetic, that’s mine.
furred hands below knees descend and find rocks in the ground and then become rocks themselves, lost to sedimentary ages as footsteps embedded in mud, forever the source of paper and ridicule from the future. What were these steps? where did they go? let me tell you, they were just going to take a crap.
The writer finds it primitive to write on a medium that can not be seen in the here and now.
desire is primitive. sex is primitive. but the way i want him isn’t primitive. it’s more than just a pure carnal need. it’s intellectual. i think i’m falling in love with him but the only way i can describe it to anyone else is a basic need to be near him. a primitive need… that is so much more
I want to keep things the way they are right now forever. I love life. I love the people in it. Especially him. With him it just feels right. I want to stay in the moments with him forever. He is truely amazing.
Sometimes I wish that everything could be primitive again. It’d be so simple. People could focus so much more on the things that really matter, like people and interactions rather than technology and bullshit.
The cavemen are primitive. And the cavemen are my school mascot. Once, at a theater conference I joked about caveman mascot, and a girl said her mascot was a pirate and we laughed when she said, “Neither of our mascots had basic orthodontia.” I thought she was funny, but she turned out to be weird.
The first part of the word prim Mabey prime or the first/ beginning Mabey the first part of the task or the primary main objective
She couldn’t stop the sob that tore from her chest. She didn’t consciously know the exact cause of her anguish, but she felt it was something to do with the way he looked at her. There was something in his eyes, the set of his mouth, the flexing of a muscle here or there in his face that told some part of her that it was over. He didn’t say anything; life had continued as normal between them, but she knew on that base level that nothing would ever be the same again.
The skill is primitive, as though I was born with the talent. Practice is needed, but the initial feel, the words, the talent flows naturally. Yes, writing is primitive. It is a matter of instict, to get my ideas on paper, rather than a forced obbsession.
The primitive to life is love, as is the smile to the sun. To look back and then turn back around and look forward and see how far it is both ways.