She places her CD’s in stacks. The most important ones sit proudly on the top, and the ones she only keeps for nostalgia’s sake lay at the bottom. Just like she had outgrown her Legos and her Barbie dolls, they are just placeholders now. They serve no purpose except for reminding her of a time in her life when things were happy and when her regrets weren’t shown by the size of her waistline.
i dont’t know stacks. all i know is that i love tine tolentino. very much :'( I can’t live a day without her :(( I miss her. I really do. and i’m sorry for what ive done. Please come back. please. i love you so much. give me another chance. please. i accept that i made a big mistake. and i would like to change it. i want to prove you. please. i love you!
there are stacks and stacks of papers and supplies, photos, books and yarns, cds, cassettes (really?!)…..bills, bottles……inspiration. we need to clean up the noise so we can find our focus back here again – and hopefully not be buried alive as our hoarder paths begin to engulf us.
The stacks of books line the walls. Their musty smell is distilled in the dusty and poorly-lit room. A ghost-like quality is present within the boundaries of the room that sends shivers down my spine as I proceed cautiously. I dare not stop to think about what awful terrors I might be embarking toward, rather, one foot followed the other in a rhythm that carries me past the long table, set with dishes and silverware but lacking the food or merriment that it showed signs of once bearing, beyond the grand piano that sits lurking in the corner, a brave bit of sunlight illuminating shriveled music where it lies resting above the well-worn keys.
I used to work in the stacks of my local library. Small. Dusty. Very chilly. But good books for such a small town. I miss it there, huddling in my fuzzy sweaters and reading books as fast as I could get through them. Words are always, always warm.
Stacks and stacks of books. All waiting to be arranged in alphabetical order. Where to start? Where’s my favourites? What if the shelves don’t hold them? I look around the floor at the dusty books, pleading with me to be cleaned and sorted. What was it I was doing before I came in here? I’m not sure I should be in here, Mr Findow never said I could come in this room…
stacks of papers, stacks of books, buildings stacked into the skies. as each stack grows so does our mind, and our imagination. We can reach new heights and achieve new boundaries.
I stack the books high up, the tower I’ve created wobbling, daring to tip over, and spill out onto the floor of the second hand bookstore. The shelves here are crowded with all the books they possess. Even the floor is littered with novels.
the only stacks that I have been able to see lately have been the fricken smokestacks from the coal plant next door. I am a college student with no money so my green stacks have been a bit short
There they sat on his desk. He pushed the stacks forward towards me, gesturing to put them all in my bag. I was hesitant. The job was done. Sure some parts of the plan were messed up, and a lot of people got hurt but we improvised and the job got done. That’s all that mattered. So I took the stacks of hundred dollar bills and stuffed them into my bag, walked away and never looked back.
stacks of books fill my room and i can’t help but think i should try to read one of them one of these days. Instead I lie and do nothing, feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my laziness.
stacks is a bon iver song bon iver is rain and tea and under the quilt and that kind of day where it’s sad outside it feels sad and the sun is gone or inexistant there’s just nothing behind all the clouds and then his guitar. Stacks, was this stacks? this was bon iver, i guess, stacks of tea stacks of clouds stacks of books stacks of
stacks and stacks of homework are sitting before me right now…i have two papers to write and yet i cannot…my mind is full..but not full of information…full of hope that he is going to keep texting me as he has been for the last 48 hours….i only met him saturday and yet i feel like i’ve known him forever….maybe things will work out for the better…but right now i need to finish these stacks and stacks of homework….
It’s important to keep things neat, he says. Everything in its place, stacks reaching as far as the eye can see. Might not look organized to you, but it does to me.
i was in shock as i saw stacks of bodies lying outside of the holy temple. i wonders in fear of what could await us through the temple gate. vampires, devils, or even murderers? any of those are a possibility. suddenly i wish this to be a dream but really i couldn’t awake and i knew it. as i see the gore of these young children and adults, a tear slips through as i move on with my journey.
stacks of stacks and nested nests of rested bests
and bested tests, layered under lines and statements and linear latency
where numbers don’t align like they might
if i knew what to do
my room. i try to clean it pretty much every year. that’s a lie, i’m sorry. you don’t deserve lies. it gets clean about once a year. and i mean really clean. but i try to clean it at least once a month. it usually takes about a year for it to look pristine, like in Annie, shining like the top of the chrysler building. then it takes about a day for it to look like a ransacked hovel. like it does right now. now it’s just stacks and stacks of life. oh who am i kidding. stacks and stacks of junk.
Back in the 70’s, there was a radio station that always claimed they had the “stacks of the racks” or “racks of the stacks” or soemthing like that. I have no idea now what the hell that means, and I probably had no better idea what it meant back then. but hey, it was radio, and in radio, if it sounds good, it IS good. When I worked at WUPJ, one DJ would always announce the time by the minutes before or after the hour as “upside” or “downside,” like “6 minutes on the upside of 4.” Upside, downside, stacks, racks… yeah.
I have stacks of things to do tomorrow… She smiled wanly, exasperated, having written yet another To-Do list. She’d forgotten something important, she just knew it. And it was the most important thing! Tears welled up, blurring her vision. *What was it….* The phone rang, she ignored it, continued to write laboriously, only to stop after filling the page written in her neat, painstaking hand, embellished with dramatic curlicues that seemed to almost dance right off the page, impatiently trying to lead her towards remembering… Remembering…
“I’m afraid there’s no improvement”, sighed the Doctor. “She still writes her lists, one after the other, tormented by thinking there is one important thing she has forgotten. We’ve tried therapy. She remains locked in her desperate struggle”. He sighed, rubbed his eyes. “5 years.” He looked at them searchingly. “Following our email, had you managed to think of anything perhaps you’d missed, when you cast your minds back to that day, 24th November 2006. She would have been 23…” he tailed off, looking at the blank and strained faces before him. They collectively shook their heads, as they heard yet another sheet of paper crumple into a small heap and drop into the waste paper basket, another tiny ray of hope, dashed. “One day, she’ll remember,” said her sister, firmly. “We refuse to give up hope. She held his gaze. One day she will remember us.”
the stories are stacked up high, their fingertips reaching out– far
the eyes staring out into the unseen
to the world of the bizarre
“let’s try to sing to the stars”
i think: what ever do you mean?
Stacks are things like piles. Anyone can stack paper, to sort things or do anything. It can organize or keep things separated. A stack of pancakes is fun. A stack of homework is not as fun. Stacks are so cool
Akira stared at the stacks of training pads his dojo kept on hand. today he would leave it all behind. he would betray Kazuko. but why? “why do i feel this way!” he shouted. “why do i feel like i must kill Kazuko? I…I… I love her. but the love i feel is forbidden by the laws of this dojo. what are these thoughts of evil, this shadow consuming me?” he grabbed the ornate sheath of his sword and mounted it on his back. “i can’t ignore this. I’m have to kill her.” so he headed off to where Kazuko was meditating to kill her.
She looked up at the stacks of boxes and sighed.
” I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he left me..” She mumbled.
A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and Kyouya’s low voice whispered in her ear, “You’ll never be alone again Haruhi. Trust me, I won’t leave you, not now, not ever.”
When I was a kid, there was this game called speed Stacks. Basically, the point of the game is to stack a bunch of neon cups in formations of 3 and 6 and 10 as fast as you possibly could and the faster you got it, the awesomer you were. It was pretty ridiculous,now that I think about it, but at the time it was the best game ever. Goes to show how times change.
She slipped into the stacks. Stumbled! Fell, then she woke with her mind split into thirds. She desecrated the minions of their old minds; forfeiting their sovereign misery to be left with rogue sparks of rage ravaging the flowing rivers of her blood. She only wanted one thing!
Down in the basement, there are stacks and stacks of old magazines. We never threw them away, and we bought a lot of them. No one ever read one of them after they were taken downstairs. I think Dad may have meant to build a fire hazard, just in case he ever wanted to take the family out.
she had stacks of paperwork to go through. as the empress her people expected the most from her. she had to sign treaties, contracts, and much much more. she needed a break, and so the young empress ran away. it wasn’t the first time she ran away. the first time was when she was six and she ran away from her “father’s” house. she went to go lie with the monks in a monastery. they treated her better than Emperor Ichiro.
so she ran away, knowing they would never find her. she had the appropriate stealth and combat training from her years at the order of the black tiger’s dojo.
she ran for days, but then decided to return. her people needed her, and she needed them.
My mom likes them, we joke that if my dad wasn’t around our whole house would be full of stacks. They have a good system though my mom creates them and my dad destroys them. I think I take after mom.
piles… torrents. The papers were laid carefully in stacks weeks before, but now they flowed freely like the euphrades river down the tile floor and they slid around as if they were blown by the boreas.
Stacks is a funny word because it is a plural of a group of something. So stacks is a plural of a plural almost. For example, stacks of potato chips would be groups of groups of potato chips.
stacks of paper, is what i wish i had in my wallet, stacks of cards stacks of concrete= a building.. maybe. Back to stacks of money, i wonder how many others thought of that as the first thing that came to mind.
She places her CD’s in stacks. The most important ones sit proudly on the top, and the ones she only keeps for nostalgia’s sake lay at the bottom. Just like she had outgrown her Legos and her Barbie dolls, they are just placeholders now. They serve no purpose except for reminding her of a time in her life when things were happy and when her regrets weren’t shown by the size of her waistline.
i dont’t know stacks. all i know is that i love tine tolentino. very much :'( I can’t live a day without her :(( I miss her. I really do. and i’m sorry for what ive done. Please come back. please. i love you so much. give me another chance. please. i accept that i made a big mistake. and i would like to change it. i want to prove you. please. i love you!
there are stacks and stacks of papers and supplies, photos, books and yarns, cds, cassettes (really?!)…..bills, bottles……inspiration. we need to clean up the noise so we can find our focus back here again – and hopefully not be buried alive as our hoarder paths begin to engulf us.
The stacks of books line the walls. Their musty smell is distilled in the dusty and poorly-lit room. A ghost-like quality is present within the boundaries of the room that sends shivers down my spine as I proceed cautiously. I dare not stop to think about what awful terrors I might be embarking toward, rather, one foot followed the other in a rhythm that carries me past the long table, set with dishes and silverware but lacking the food or merriment that it showed signs of once bearing, beyond the grand piano that sits lurking in the corner, a brave bit of sunlight illuminating shriveled music where it lies resting above the well-worn keys.
Some people have stacks of objects. I have stacks of memories.
I used to work in the stacks of my local library. Small. Dusty. Very chilly. But good books for such a small town. I miss it there, huddling in my fuzzy sweaters and reading books as fast as I could get through them. Words are always, always warm.
Stacks and stacks of books. All waiting to be arranged in alphabetical order. Where to start? Where’s my favourites? What if the shelves don’t hold them? I look around the floor at the dusty books, pleading with me to be cleaned and sorted. What was it I was doing before I came in here? I’m not sure I should be in here, Mr Findow never said I could come in this room…
Stacks and stacks of papers sat everywhere, you couldn’t even see the floor. In the middle of this whole mess was my mom. Her hair………..
stacks of papers, stacks of books, buildings stacked into the skies. as each stack grows so does our mind, and our imagination. We can reach new heights and achieve new boundaries.
I stack the books high up, the tower I’ve created wobbling, daring to tip over, and spill out onto the floor of the second hand bookstore. The shelves here are crowded with all the books they possess. Even the floor is littered with novels.
the only stacks that I have been able to see lately have been the fricken smokestacks from the coal plant next door. I am a college student with no money so my green stacks have been a bit short
Stacks and stacks. My thoughts revolve around stacks of books today, I believe that is because I’ve been spending a lot of time in a library.
There they sat on his desk. He pushed the stacks forward towards me, gesturing to put them all in my bag. I was hesitant. The job was done. Sure some parts of the plan were messed up, and a lot of people got hurt but we improvised and the job got done. That’s all that mattered. So I took the stacks of hundred dollar bills and stuffed them into my bag, walked away and never looked back.
stacks of books fill my room and i can’t help but think i should try to read one of them one of these days. Instead I lie and do nothing, feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my laziness.
stacks is a bon iver song bon iver is rain and tea and under the quilt and that kind of day where it’s sad outside it feels sad and the sun is gone or inexistant there’s just nothing behind all the clouds and then his guitar. Stacks, was this stacks? this was bon iver, i guess, stacks of tea stacks of clouds stacks of books stacks of
stacks and stacks of homework are sitting before me right now…i have two papers to write and yet i cannot…my mind is full..but not full of information…full of hope that he is going to keep texting me as he has been for the last 48 hours….i only met him saturday and yet i feel like i’ve known him forever….maybe things will work out for the better…but right now i need to finish these stacks and stacks of homework….
It’s important to keep things neat, he says. Everything in its place, stacks reaching as far as the eye can see. Might not look organized to you, but it does to me.
The stacks belched out smoke bragging about their hard work, their domination of the industry, their control of the money.
i cant think today.
stacks of thoughts.
i was in shock as i saw stacks of bodies lying outside of the holy temple. i wonders in fear of what could await us through the temple gate. vampires, devils, or even murderers? any of those are a possibility. suddenly i wish this to be a dream but really i couldn’t awake and i knew it. as i see the gore of these young children and adults, a tear slips through as i move on with my journey.
stacks of stacks and nested nests of rested bests
and bested tests, layered under lines and statements and linear latency
where numbers don’t align like they might
if i knew what to do
my room. i try to clean it pretty much every year. that’s a lie, i’m sorry. you don’t deserve lies. it gets clean about once a year. and i mean really clean. but i try to clean it at least once a month. it usually takes about a year for it to look pristine, like in Annie, shining like the top of the chrysler building. then it takes about a day for it to look like a ransacked hovel. like it does right now. now it’s just stacks and stacks of life. oh who am i kidding. stacks and stacks of junk.
Back in the 70’s, there was a radio station that always claimed they had the “stacks of the racks” or “racks of the stacks” or soemthing like that. I have no idea now what the hell that means, and I probably had no better idea what it meant back then. but hey, it was radio, and in radio, if it sounds good, it IS good. When I worked at WUPJ, one DJ would always announce the time by the minutes before or after the hour as “upside” or “downside,” like “6 minutes on the upside of 4.” Upside, downside, stacks, racks… yeah.
I have stacks of things to do tomorrow… She smiled wanly, exasperated, having written yet another To-Do list. She’d forgotten something important, she just knew it. And it was the most important thing! Tears welled up, blurring her vision. *What was it….* The phone rang, she ignored it, continued to write laboriously, only to stop after filling the page written in her neat, painstaking hand, embellished with dramatic curlicues that seemed to almost dance right off the page, impatiently trying to lead her towards remembering… Remembering…
“I’m afraid there’s no improvement”, sighed the Doctor. “She still writes her lists, one after the other, tormented by thinking there is one important thing she has forgotten. We’ve tried therapy. She remains locked in her desperate struggle”. He sighed, rubbed his eyes. “5 years.” He looked at them searchingly. “Following our email, had you managed to think of anything perhaps you’d missed, when you cast your minds back to that day, 24th November 2006. She would have been 23…” he tailed off, looking at the blank and strained faces before him. They collectively shook their heads, as they heard yet another sheet of paper crumple into a small heap and drop into the waste paper basket, another tiny ray of hope, dashed. “One day, she’ll remember,” said her sister, firmly. “We refuse to give up hope. She held his gaze. One day she will remember us.”
the stories are stacked up high, their fingertips reaching out– far
the eyes staring out into the unseen
to the world of the bizarre
“let’s try to sing to the stars”
i think: what ever do you mean?
stacks of paper. a busy office. when will my life actually start?
stacks of problems flood my mind every second.
stacked boys
Loads of people stacked in the library, Smoke stacks spewing stinky air into our air. Enormous warehouses full of stuff stacked from the ceiling.
Stacks are things like piles. Anyone can stack paper, to sort things or do anything. It can organize or keep things separated. A stack of pancakes is fun. A stack of homework is not as fun. Stacks are so cool
stacks of what? boxes? papers? papers would suck..i’d hate to work in an office. one with no windows with just stacks of paper….blech.
Akira stared at the stacks of training pads his dojo kept on hand. today he would leave it all behind. he would betray Kazuko. but why? “why do i feel this way!” he shouted. “why do i feel like i must kill Kazuko? I…I… I love her. but the love i feel is forbidden by the laws of this dojo. what are these thoughts of evil, this shadow consuming me?” he grabbed the ornate sheath of his sword and mounted it on his back. “i can’t ignore this. I’m have to kill her.” so he headed off to where Kazuko was meditating to kill her.
She looked up at the stacks of boxes and sighed.
” I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he left me..” She mumbled.
A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind and Kyouya’s low voice whispered in her ear, “You’ll never be alone again Haruhi. Trust me, I won’t leave you, not now, not ever.”
When I was a kid, there was this game called speed Stacks. Basically, the point of the game is to stack a bunch of neon cups in formations of 3 and 6 and 10 as fast as you possibly could and the faster you got it, the awesomer you were. It was pretty ridiculous,now that I think about it, but at the time it was the best game ever. Goes to show how times change.
She slipped into the stacks. Stumbled! Fell, then she woke with her mind split into thirds. She desecrated the minions of their old minds; forfeiting their sovereign misery to be left with rogue sparks of rage ravaging the flowing rivers of her blood. She only wanted one thing!
Down in the basement, there are stacks and stacks of old magazines. We never threw them away, and we bought a lot of them. No one ever read one of them after they were taken downstairs. I think Dad may have meant to build a fire hazard, just in case he ever wanted to take the family out.
she had stacks of paperwork to go through. as the empress her people expected the most from her. she had to sign treaties, contracts, and much much more. she needed a break, and so the young empress ran away. it wasn’t the first time she ran away. the first time was when she was six and she ran away from her “father’s” house. she went to go lie with the monks in a monastery. they treated her better than Emperor Ichiro.
so she ran away, knowing they would never find her. she had the appropriate stealth and combat training from her years at the order of the black tiger’s dojo.
she ran for days, but then decided to return. her people needed her, and she needed them.
My mom likes them, we joke that if my dad wasn’t around our whole house would be full of stacks. They have a good system though my mom creates them and my dad destroys them. I think I take after mom.
Stacks, people stack things and they are called stacks. Stacks can be made up of almost anything.
piles… torrents. The papers were laid carefully in stacks weeks before, but now they flowed freely like the euphrades river down the tile floor and they slid around as if they were blown by the boreas.
Stacks is a funny word because it is a plural of a group of something. So stacks is a plural of a plural almost. For example, stacks of potato chips would be groups of groups of potato chips.
stacks of paper, is what i wish i had in my wallet, stacks of cards stacks of concrete= a building.. maybe. Back to stacks of money, i wonder how many others thought of that as the first thing that came to mind.