it’s a word about books. books stuck in the stacks are never lonely; they are in a community. they have the smell of familiarity, of union, of a story that never gets the chance to end. page 234 of one book may be the thing that makes 235 of the next complete. stuck in the stacks. it’s a great place to be.
A stack of pancakes is a delight. I just love to smear them with butter so that it runs down the side and into the plate. Then I slice the cakes with my fork and clean up the plate with swipes through the maple syrup. At times the cakes get dry so I slather on more butter and syrup. Good to the last gooey bite.
My room is filled with stacks. Stacks of papers, stacks of things, stacks of magazines. Who knows what else. I’ve been lazy, sloth, and these stacks pile higher and higher, never being put into the places they truly belong.
The stack of books was just sitting there, waiting for me to put them away. I couldn’t bear to look at them again after so many years of denying that they even existed. But there they sat…waiting.
“Stack it up or else” said the foreman. He couldn’t but he wanted to badly. His limbs would not allow it. His mind was engaged but nothing else would work. It was new years day. Why else could he be rendered so passive?
I found a stack of firewood outside the house. It was getting all rotten and was really no longer useable as firewood. I thought about all the work that went into cutting it up and stacking it and saving it, only to let it rot because we’re too lazy to clean the chimney and/or build a fire in the fireplace. Besides, there are flying squirrels in the chimney.
there was stack of penises lying on top of me. i didn’t know whether to devour them all one by one till i was free, or to just lay there, and die with glory.
of pancake, stack up the pile, stack of pencils, paper, stack up hair, clack, pack, rack, stack your books up properly, stack of poles, one thought only, no creativity. I’m not doing good at all. This is a very long minute. I can’t believe this is lasting so long.
In the library, in the back… way back in the stacks of book I see him. He’s dirty and alone and can’t see past his book, immersed in his find. It’s what I was looking for and moments from finding it… it was gone.
i stacked some elephants in my cupboard to keep them from attacking my fish. those goddamn elephants always find their way out though. something about narnia…gnarnia? anyways if anyone has any information about this narnia person please call at 327765930 and let me know because my elepjant problem is getting really bad. thanks
there was a stack of papers lying on my front desk. i looked at it, contemplating whther i should go through it or not. i thought to myself, if i was high enough and i would look at that stack of papers based on that judgement. alas, it turns out i was too shit-faced for anything….
The man looked furtively over the horn-rimmed edge of his polaroids and smirked. The stack of chips gleamed dully in the smoky light and his opponent knew the game was up: Aces high, winner takes all.
first word of the year is stack – stack? The years are stacking up – the problems are stacking up – it’s one big stack of crap so we need to reduce the stack – simplify – live a less complicated life – stop stacking up on crap we don’t need
put the dishes together, pack em up, close the cupboard that’s so well stocked. the blue and white porcelain is hardly used these days, they collect dust and remember better days.
i love the stacks at the library they give me such a great whimsical feeling because the dust spreads over my shoulders as the wind blows it towards the tip of my nose He is sitting behind me sometimes trying to work.
the backs of hands
have known much bliss
carrying beyond the ripe
fields
the grains of sand
the vision that
fit the hearts of manor
beings, human offerings
aftertime
time down the alleyways
time down the falls
of all who gain
the mast
the time we met
was left to find
moons new
suns due to the others
we came down the valleys
chiming for green
gracing the kings and queens
of our desire
caroling
was in the air
seconding on the narrow highways
the stack in the corner is getting huge. that stack means that we’re moving out. I have tried to destroy that stack many times. the stack just won’t decide to leave. I do not like that stack.
pile upon pile was stacked around the room. It looked like newspaper clippings, almost, she mused, detatched. She didn’t want to believe that her husband had gone back to his insanity, that he had hidden it from her; that he was still sick.
The Baby! Screaming, she ran out of the door – what if it was too late?
Books everywhere make a great decor style, I think. Smoke stacks. Hay stacks.
Book stacks. Always something to discover and get lost in. Perfect for a gloomy day, or a sunny day. In fact, there’s not a not a time I can think of when absorbing into a good story isn’t a perfect time.
Stack cats is a palindrome. STACK CATS. Rebecca used to come write palindromes on my board, and we would go back and forth, and not make sense. That was back when times were good. It’s funny how dynamics change, and change so slowly we don’t notice them. I wonder what things would be like with Rebecca here still. I miss her, if I think about her, but I usually don’t think about her.
I am jealous of her still, like I was jealous then.
Two boys stacked on one giant pedestal and I honestly can’t choose. Not that I have a choice. Not that the one I thought I loved loves me back. Not that the one I thought I liked likes me in a manner other than sexual.
She tiptoed over to the refrigerator and looked over her shoulder as she pulled open the door. The sound of the magnetic lock coming free was loud in the darkness. But, she was safe. There was not a hint of anyone discovering her. She licked her lips and reached for the stack of chocolates that lay piled up at the back of the fridge’s cavernous body.
There was a stack of fries on his plate about a mile high. Or maybe a few inches. It seemed like a mile, though, and far more than his belly could hold. He did not see that as a problem, and stuffed a fistful of fried potato sticks past his swollen lips.
He stacked the books on the shelf… they were neatly organized. She was amazed at how many books there were…. She’d always thought his room would be so messy, and never so intelligent-looking. Bleah.
The stack of pancakes before me oozed with butter. I wiped some off with my knife and then proceeded to drench the stack with maple syrup. He looked at me and laughed as I shoved a huge bite in my mouth. “What?” I asked. He just shook his head and picked up his own fork.
it’s a word about books. books stuck in the stacks are never lonely; they are in a community. they have the smell of familiarity, of union, of a story that never gets the chance to end. page 234 of one book may be the thing that makes 235 of the next complete. stuck in the stacks. it’s a great place to be.
A stack of pancakes is a delight. I just love to smear them with butter so that it runs down the side and into the plate. Then I slice the cakes with my fork and clean up the plate with swipes through the maple syrup. At times the cakes get dry so I slather on more butter and syrup. Good to the last gooey bite.
Darting between the stacks, browsing the archives of love and tragedy, stumbling into dramatic interludes, falling in love by the non-fiction.
big up pile neat paper hugh big quarters build chimney pipe clothes
stack theory – теория пучков, вау!
He lay on the library’s dusty floor, books of every size and weight scattered around him. He watched the stack sway. Then it began to tip toward him.
My room is filled with stacks. Stacks of papers, stacks of things, stacks of magazines. Who knows what else. I’ve been lazy, sloth, and these stacks pile higher and higher, never being put into the places they truly belong.
The stack of books was just sitting there, waiting for me to put them away. I couldn’t bear to look at them again after so many years of denying that they even existed. But there they sat…waiting.
monkey r cool
stack is a wrod that nobody likes because it is too…… stacky. in fact, i wish it were removed from the dictionary.
“Stack it up or else” said the foreman. He couldn’t but he wanted to badly. His limbs would not allow it. His mind was engaged but nothing else would work. It was new years day. Why else could he be rendered so passive?
I found a stack of firewood outside the house. It was getting all rotten and was really no longer useable as firewood. I thought about all the work that went into cutting it up and stacking it and saving it, only to let it rot because we’re too lazy to clean the chimney and/or build a fire in the fireplace. Besides, there are flying squirrels in the chimney.
there was stack of penises lying on top of me. i didn’t know whether to devour them all one by one till i was free, or to just lay there, and die with glory.
of pancake, stack up the pile, stack of pencils, paper, stack up hair, clack, pack, rack, stack your books up properly, stack of poles, one thought only, no creativity. I’m not doing good at all. This is a very long minute. I can’t believe this is lasting so long.
this word seems awkward. I do not know what to talk, but I want to say something. That is I love you all, my friend. Happy new year 2010 ^^!
In the library, in the back… way back in the stacks of book I see him. He’s dirty and alone and can’t see past his book, immersed in his find. It’s what I was looking for and moments from finding it… it was gone.
i stacked some elephants in my cupboard to keep them from attacking my fish. those goddamn elephants always find their way out though. something about narnia…gnarnia? anyways if anyone has any information about this narnia person please call at 327765930 and let me know because my elepjant problem is getting really bad. thanks
there was a stack of papers lying on my front desk. i looked at it, contemplating whther i should go through it or not. i thought to myself, if i was high enough and i would look at that stack of papers based on that judgement. alas, it turns out i was too shit-faced for anything….
The man looked furtively over the horn-rimmed edge of his polaroids and smirked. The stack of chips gleamed dully in the smoky light and his opponent knew the game was up: Aces high, winner takes all.
there was a candle blowing in the wind near a stack of papers folded by the glistening morning sun e
leaves
mushrooms
pile
life
grove
exellent
i have a stack and a pile of fish
interesting
this stack is bullshit!
cigarette
first word of the year is stack – stack? The years are stacking up – the problems are stacking up – it’s one big stack of crap so we need to reduce the stack – simplify – live a less complicated life – stop stacking up on crap we don’t need
put the dishes together, pack em up, close the cupboard that’s so well stocked. the blue and white porcelain is hardly used these days, they collect dust and remember better days.
i love the stacks at the library they give me such a great whimsical feeling because the dust spreads over my shoulders as the wind blows it towards the tip of my nose He is sitting behind me sometimes trying to work.
the backs of hands
have known much bliss
carrying beyond the ripe
fields
the grains of sand
the vision that
fit the hearts of manor
beings, human offerings
aftertime
time down the alleyways
time down the falls
of all who gain
the mast
the time we met
was left to find
moons new
suns due to the others
we came down the valleys
chiming for green
gracing the kings and queens
of our desire
caroling
was in the air
seconding on the narrow highways
the stack in the corner is getting huge. that stack means that we’re moving out. I have tried to destroy that stack many times. the stack just won’t decide to leave. I do not like that stack.
pile upon pile was stacked around the room. It looked like newspaper clippings, almost, she mused, detatched. She didn’t want to believe that her husband had gone back to his insanity, that he had hidden it from her; that he was still sick.
The Baby! Screaming, she ran out of the door – what if it was too late?
My life is in that stack. That and the one next to it. I’m a stacker. The important papers on the counter top – neatly stacked. Desk – same way.
Books everywhere make a great decor style, I think. Smoke stacks. Hay stacks.
Book stacks. Always something to discover and get lost in. Perfect for a gloomy day, or a sunny day. In fact, there’s not a not a time I can think of when absorbing into a good story isn’t a perfect time.
of potatoes…that’s it…nothing else
Stack cats is a palindrome. STACK CATS. Rebecca used to come write palindromes on my board, and we would go back and forth, and not make sense. That was back when times were good. It’s funny how dynamics change, and change so slowly we don’t notice them. I wonder what things would be like with Rebecca here still. I miss her, if I think about her, but I usually don’t think about her.
I am jealous of her still, like I was jealous then.
Two boys stacked on one giant pedestal and I honestly can’t choose. Not that I have a choice. Not that the one I thought I loved loves me back. Not that the one I thought I liked likes me in a manner other than sexual.
She tiptoed over to the refrigerator and looked over her shoulder as she pulled open the door. The sound of the magnetic lock coming free was loud in the darkness. But, she was safe. There was not a hint of anyone discovering her. She licked her lips and reached for the stack of chocolates that lay piled up at the back of the fridge’s cavernous body.
There was a stack of fries on his plate about a mile high. Or maybe a few inches. It seemed like a mile, though, and far more than his belly could hold. He did not see that as a problem, and stuffed a fistful of fried potato sticks past his swollen lips.
He stacked the books on the shelf… they were neatly organized. She was amazed at how many books there were…. She’d always thought his room would be so messy, and never so intelligent-looking. Bleah.
i like to stack stuff up. Mostly my responsibilities. I don’t know why. Why not? If I’m happy with myself that way, then it doesn’t matter.
The stack of pancakes before me oozed with butter. I wiped some off with my knife and then proceeded to drench the stack with maple syrup. He looked at me and laughed as I shoved a huge bite in my mouth. “What?” I asked. He just shook his head and picked up his own fork.
Stacks and stacks of random contributions, that’s what we’ve got here. And I like it, I like it, yes I do.
If you were to stack all the something-somethings end-to-end, they’d reach from here to the moon and back. (So they say.)
Stacks of albums and a dead turntable. This digital age has left me behind. I could digitize, but that’s not my bag, man.