Taking the route less followed is not the cliche word-for-word, but it is still good advice. Not necessarily literally, what with the pothole and unpaved road problem, but in life, so we don’t find ourselves constantly looking at the backs of those ahead of us. Sometimes the sensation of being first in line, first to take a new route, can give you the boost you need to think of yourself as a trendsetter. An inovative thinker. Stepping on new ground can be uncertain, but titalating , too, like a kiss with someone entirely new. That heart-racing, giggly feeling of discovering something completely unknown. Of feeling it for the first time, maybe for the first time anyone has felt it. Like a first kiss, and a first kiss is a route worth taking as well.
my dad always makes me print out map directions when we go places. he’s not a stereotypical male my mom says. he never follows the map to a T though, he usually finds quicker ways. but sometimes we end up lost and he tries to figure out where we’re going, and it’s cool because you can see the concentration in his eyes and it’s nice to know we are safe in cars with him. and when we think we’re lost, we never really are.
The route I take is the one that will lead to happiness. I will map out the route by taking the turns that my heart feels should be taken. I hope not to deviate from the route but I know that it can happen. Hopefully, I will turn back to the happy route.
Coloured lines, veins overlapping. To Baker Street, Bank, Mile End. Clots in the veins but trains smooth as elongated pills, sliding down the oesophagus of the Underground.
You’re turning the wrong way. This is not a predetermined path, there are no signs to follow. There is no such thing as a route, only a meandering path that dodges and twists. Turns and bends. Just walk without hesitation and with blind faith.
My immediate response is to think of the route home – but this raises the question of what we mean by home. The house I was brought up in? Where I live now? Routes imply purpose, rather than wandering. I think wandering is more fun, even if you end up back at the beginning.
The way you make a journey, with or without planning, the path you take, in life. The road you walk, the way you chose to be, and how you become who you are…The turns you take. The wrong and right ones. Getting there.
No plan, no defined path, the route through traffic in all its chaos, starting and stopping, pedestrians appearing tentatively between the warm boxes. Three wheels and paying passengers mean the life of a rickshaw rider is filled with a responsibility to entertain, throwing safety aside, skimming the boundaries of spatial awareness.
If you keep going the same way you have always gone you’re going to end up at the same place. But if you realize that there are always, ALWAYS multiple ways to accomplish a task you might be able to branch out from what is comfortable and change your course. which changes everything.
which way are we going from here? there seems to be many
directions but in actuality there is only ever one. the illusion of
choice, pre-determinism versus self will. paths less taken seem
just as beat down, now. route canal mine-shaft canary.
the route which is very close from my apartment is so spectaculous. it has a lot of beautiful trees . whenever i feel bored i just go to that place to feel better.
when i was in the route i saw my best friends . i had a lot of fun being with them. we played dodgeball, football, vollyball and swimming . i love them so much.
A perfect arc, calculated to perfection- strange to think that in the vast emptiness of space, with nothing but the odd errant rock or discarded solar panel to cause a collision, the accuracy of your route is still hugely important- this is the one instance where the gravity of the situation is truly apparent, and on a global scale.
Eric sat in ground control, sweat on his brow and his jaw manically decimating the gum over and over- by strange co-incidence, the gums brand was orbit.
where am i going?
i dont want to know.
home is where i can stay forever
but i wonder why i chose not to.
i take different routes/
different adventures.
so i can see everything
“You don’t have to go,” she said at first. She looked determined and strong as she always had, and if I hadn’t been en route to another life I might have been convinced.
The route was anything but what he thought it would be. the drops off to the left were dizzying and he thought time and time again that he’s lose himself to the panic and paralysis of those fears and end up down in the depths of death. The route was, shall we say, hazardous to his health.
We were going to be lost, I knew that we couldn’t follow the route. We never could. There was always a distraction, or a shortcut that would call to us. The destination was hardly ever reached. But I can’t understand why anyone would fallow the route.
We decided to pack a bag and leave for awhile. Spur of the moment adventures always brought us closer together. You were always been afraid I was going to get bored but I’m not that girl anymore. You were the only one who could keep me, I was yours. We’d left work at home for a couple weeks and reschedule our books. You always wanted to travel the entire length of Route 66. I was always down for anything involving you.
On route to the opera, we found a rather disturbing place. This place had a history that was known to many, but not often thought about. I suppose that is how disturbances work.
God, he had forgotten the way again. Fuck this, I couldn’t
be doing with his insane wanderings again. I pumped up the piano
and gazed out to the fields shooting past the stained window. I
knew he didn’t know where we were going, he was driving too
slowly.
I took the road less traveled by. What is a route? Follow the correct route. The shortest route. Why does it have to be the shortest? Americans prefer everything to be shorter. Well, in theory.
The usual route home was not so usual this morning. She stared, hardly believing her eyes. Before the streets greeted her with busy people on busy errands. Today it was as if the entire city conspired to dress crazy without giving her the memo. It was a veritable Skittles meets circus explosion.
Watching a movie from 1984 that’s all about tracing the route along this very special treasure map. It’s so cheesy, as an adult I can’t believe I watched this movie as a kid and thought it was “interesting.” Although, I’m starting to see patterns in the “map” and it’s vaguely amusing.
We were speeding along Old St. Augustne Road, and it was dark. I didn’t even know where we were, really. The nostalgia burned – there was an Old St Aug in jax, but this one was differernt. We were going about 100mph, and he stopped, asked me if he should slow down, if I was scared. I see now that that was a metaphor for more than just driving; it was a metaphor for everything we were, are, and will become. let’s go faster.
The scenic route, it’s pretty but takes too long. You won’t even enjoy it since you’ve been driving forever and eyes have desencitised to any landscape. I’ll take the practical route thanks.
The pathway to my heart isn’t what you would call easy.
It’s filled with twists and turns, bumps and hills, and quite possibly, a few hitch hikers left over.
But when you get to the center, and you find the love saved there especially for you, you’ll know that the tricky route was absolutely worth it :)
Route 66, jazz band last year with Mr, T.
Got me to want to direct a band.
Got me to want to create something beautiful in the world and spread it on and make it perfect.
Got me to want my saxophone more than life and death and sex.
Got me to love my instrument
Got me to sit next to Kyle and love him
Jazz
I love it now
Thank you
thank you
Route 66
jazz band
senior year.
We had no idea where we were going. We’d lost our map a few miles back, and every landmark looked the same. The road was empty and the only things in the sky were the stars and moon, with no sign of civilized lifeforms for what felt like an eternal distance. We were en route to absolutely nowhere and we had never been happier.
The route was marked out before her, there was no way she was going to remember it all. She tried to formulate some kind of referencing system to remember. A song, not enough time. An acronym: no. Not much time left. Image yes, an image.
Routte 66 reminds me of traveling. From moving to iowa from michigan, to traveling to visit families for holidays. other people don’t seem to understand the distances i’ve traveled. to them driving 20 minutes is a long time. I’m willing to go 10 hours.
This is the same word as last time. I thought it would be a different word. I was very intrigued… But the same word, again? What’s so significant about the word route? What am I supposed to write about? Is this a study to see if people tend to write about the same things?
I took the route to go to the places that I’ve once been. Forever here and forever gone. This is weird and I don’t know what else to write. A route is something that takes a person to their destination. It is smooth and flawless, exactly as it is meant to be. In a sense at least.
We went along the path, twisting and turning throughout the countryside. We came across a beaten down portion, very old, and very used. With nothing else to do, we set out to explore it, leaving our old lives behind.
The route to heaven was confusing, invisible almost. Could only saints go up there? Could people, possibly people like me even go there? It is confusing how God ever is able to distinguish good from bad. Not everything is black and white so it seems from my experience. I’ve done many bad deeds indeed, but I’ve regretted them and have changed myself. Could I go to heaven? Maybe, just maybe, God will realize that there is still some good even in the worst people and accept me. I can just hope…
routes along interstates — interstates being routes themselves. taking different ways from place to place. discovering some new route, for better or for worse. Taking those routes you know, travelling by way of memory. Cranking out those physical reckonings of each footfall and hopefully clinging closer to nature.
Taking the route less followed is not the cliche word-for-word, but it is still good advice. Not necessarily literally, what with the pothole and unpaved road problem, but in life, so we don’t find ourselves constantly looking at the backs of those ahead of us. Sometimes the sensation of being first in line, first to take a new route, can give you the boost you need to think of yourself as a trendsetter. An inovative thinker. Stepping on new ground can be uncertain, but titalating , too, like a kiss with someone entirely new. That heart-racing, giggly feeling of discovering something completely unknown. Of feeling it for the first time, maybe for the first time anyone has felt it. Like a first kiss, and a first kiss is a route worth taking as well.
my dad always makes me print out map directions when we go places. he’s not a stereotypical male my mom says. he never follows the map to a T though, he usually finds quicker ways. but sometimes we end up lost and he tries to figure out where we’re going, and it’s cool because you can see the concentration in his eyes and it’s nice to know we are safe in cars with him. and when we think we’re lost, we never really are.
The route I take is the one that will lead to happiness. I will map out the route by taking the turns that my heart feels should be taken. I hope not to deviate from the route but I know that it can happen. Hopefully, I will turn back to the happy route.
Coloured lines, veins overlapping. To Baker Street, Bank, Mile End. Clots in the veins but trains smooth as elongated pills, sliding down the oesophagus of the Underground.
Where to now?
“what? You don’t want to go that route? “
You’re turning the wrong way. This is not a predetermined path, there are no signs to follow. There is no such thing as a route, only a meandering path that dodges and twists. Turns and bends. Just walk without hesitation and with blind faith.
My immediate response is to think of the route home – but this raises the question of what we mean by home. The house I was brought up in? Where I live now? Routes imply purpose, rather than wandering. I think wandering is more fun, even if you end up back at the beginning.
Connecting the dots to form a path into the future. Every choice, every blunder, every success forms your route to happiness.
The way you make a journey, with or without planning, the path you take, in life. The road you walk, the way you chose to be, and how you become who you are…The turns you take. The wrong and right ones. Getting there.
No plan, no defined path, the route through traffic in all its chaos, starting and stopping, pedestrians appearing tentatively between the warm boxes. Three wheels and paying passengers mean the life of a rickshaw rider is filled with a responsibility to entertain, throwing safety aside, skimming the boundaries of spatial awareness.
If you keep going the same way you have always gone you’re going to end up at the same place. But if you realize that there are always, ALWAYS multiple ways to accomplish a task you might be able to branch out from what is comfortable and change your course. which changes everything.
which way are we going from here? there seems to be many
directions but in actuality there is only ever one. the illusion of
choice, pre-determinism versus self will. paths less taken seem
just as beat down, now. route canal mine-shaft canary.
the route which is very close from my apartment is so spectaculous. it has a lot of beautiful trees . whenever i feel bored i just go to that place to feel better.
when i was in the route i saw my best friends . i had a lot of fun being with them. we played dodgeball, football, vollyball and swimming . i love them so much.
A perfect arc, calculated to perfection- strange to think that in the vast emptiness of space, with nothing but the odd errant rock or discarded solar panel to cause a collision, the accuracy of your route is still hugely important- this is the one instance where the gravity of the situation is truly apparent, and on a global scale.
Eric sat in ground control, sweat on his brow and his jaw manically decimating the gum over and over- by strange co-incidence, the gums brand was orbit.
i am in route to my house.
mailboxes lining the street
people mowing lawns
going to and from
this route is my favorite
route 27
this route leads to heaven
the divine
encountered
where am i going?
i dont want to know.
home is where i can stay forever
but i wonder why i chose not to.
i take different routes/
different adventures.
so i can see everything
“You don’t have to go,” she said at first. She looked determined and strong as she always had, and if I hadn’t been en route to another life I might have been convinced.
“I do,” I said. It was definitive.
She broke down. “Please – don’t go…”
The route was anything but what he thought it would be. the drops off to the left were dizzying and he thought time and time again that he’s lose himself to the panic and paralysis of those fears and end up down in the depths of death. The route was, shall we say, hazardous to his health.
We were going to be lost, I knew that we couldn’t follow the route. We never could. There was always a distraction, or a shortcut that would call to us. The destination was hardly ever reached. But I can’t understand why anyone would fallow the route.
We decided to pack a bag and leave for awhile. Spur of the moment adventures always brought us closer together. You were always been afraid I was going to get bored but I’m not that girl anymore. You were the only one who could keep me, I was yours. We’d left work at home for a couple weeks and reschedule our books. You always wanted to travel the entire length of Route 66. I was always down for anything involving you.
On route to the opera, we found a rather disturbing place. This place had a history that was known to many, but not often thought about. I suppose that is how disturbances work.
God, he had forgotten the way again. Fuck this, I couldn’t
be doing with his insane wanderings again. I pumped up the piano
and gazed out to the fields shooting past the stained window. I
knew he didn’t know where we were going, he was driving too
slowly.
I took the road less traveled by. What is a route? Follow the correct route. The shortest route. Why does it have to be the shortest? Americans prefer everything to be shorter. Well, in theory.
The usual route home was not so usual this morning. She stared, hardly believing her eyes. Before the streets greeted her with busy people on busy errands. Today it was as if the entire city conspired to dress crazy without giving her the memo. It was a veritable Skittles meets circus explosion.
Watching a movie from 1984 that’s all about tracing the route along this very special treasure map. It’s so cheesy, as an adult I can’t believe I watched this movie as a kid and thought it was “interesting.” Although, I’m starting to see patterns in the “map” and it’s vaguely amusing.
path direction taoism love people follow leader courage steps time minute sentence word love apathy sympathy sex
We were speeding along Old St. Augustne Road, and it was dark. I didn’t even know where we were, really. The nostalgia burned – there was an Old St Aug in jax, but this one was differernt. We were going about 100mph, and he stopped, asked me if he should slow down, if I was scared. I see now that that was a metaphor for more than just driving; it was a metaphor for everything we were, are, and will become. let’s go faster.
Fuck the world, and fuck the people in it. Fuck the routes
people take, and fuck the way people treat one another. Fuck
everything.
The scenic route, it’s pretty but takes too long. You won’t even enjoy it since you’ve been driving forever and eyes have desencitised to any landscape. I’ll take the practical route thanks.
The pathway to my heart isn’t what you would call easy.
It’s filled with twists and turns, bumps and hills, and quite possibly, a few hitch hikers left over.
But when you get to the center, and you find the love saved there especially for you, you’ll know that the tricky route was absolutely worth it :)
Route 66, jazz band last year with Mr, T.
Got me to want to direct a band.
Got me to want to create something beautiful in the world and spread it on and make it perfect.
Got me to want my saxophone more than life and death and sex.
Got me to love my instrument
Got me to sit next to Kyle and love him
Jazz
I love it now
Thank you
thank you
Route 66
jazz band
senior year.
We had no idea where we were going. We’d lost our map a few miles back, and every landmark looked the same. The road was empty and the only things in the sky were the stars and moon, with no sign of civilized lifeforms for what felt like an eternal distance. We were en route to absolutely nowhere and we had never been happier.
The route was marked out before her, there was no way she was going to remember it all. She tried to formulate some kind of referencing system to remember. A song, not enough time. An acronym: no. Not much time left. Image yes, an image.
Routte 66 reminds me of traveling. From moving to iowa from michigan, to traveling to visit families for holidays. other people don’t seem to understand the distances i’ve traveled. to them driving 20 minutes is a long time. I’m willing to go 10 hours.
This is the same word as last time. I thought it would be a different word. I was very intrigued… But the same word, again? What’s so significant about the word route? What am I supposed to write about? Is this a study to see if people tend to write about the same things?
I took the route to go to the places that I’ve once been. Forever here and forever gone. This is weird and I don’t know what else to write. A route is something that takes a person to their destination. It is smooth and flawless, exactly as it is meant to be. In a sense at least.
We went along the path, twisting and turning throughout the countryside. We came across a beaten down portion, very old, and very used. With nothing else to do, we set out to explore it, leaving our old lives behind.
The route to heaven was confusing, invisible almost. Could only saints go up there? Could people, possibly people like me even go there? It is confusing how God ever is able to distinguish good from bad. Not everything is black and white so it seems from my experience. I’ve done many bad deeds indeed, but I’ve regretted them and have changed myself. Could I go to heaven? Maybe, just maybe, God will realize that there is still some good even in the worst people and accept me. I can just hope…
routes along interstates — interstates being routes themselves. taking different ways from place to place. discovering some new route, for better or for worse. Taking those routes you know, travelling by way of memory. Cranking out those physical reckonings of each footfall and hopefully clinging closer to nature.