I added a hundred and three more today. I could build a house with them! There are stacks holding up the stacks. I am sure it’s a compulsion, evidence that I’m in need of a twelve-step program, proof that I am a couple of bubbles off, but really, how can I resist, who can blame me, God knows if there was a pill to cure this, I would hold it under my tongue and spit it out as soon at the Whitecoat was not looking, they just do not understand… books… glorious books… books… books… books… books… books.
There are many stacks of sandwiches in every alley that we pass by. But the amount in Costco couldn’t even compare. There are hundreds upon thousands of stacks of various different products for sale. Pinesol is among my favorite of Costco product stacks.
Stacks and stacks of papers … how does he ever get anything done! Stacks all over the place – on the desk, on the chairs, on tghe floor! I sincerely doubt that he could find what he wanted if he tried – but he prides himself t hat “everything is here”!
The stacks of books took up the entire room. It was unbelievable how many there were. I felt like I was going deep sea diving in someone elses’ memories.
Are there stacks of things I can write about this word stacks of times? I doubt it, I have already wasted stacks of time thinking about what my second sentence would be. I’m sure there are stcks of ideas for this word, but I don’t have any!
There are stacks of books that pile for miles and miles on top of each other. What kind of books are they? You go to the stack of books and grab for Treasure Island. However in your excitement, you knock down the stack and the books jump in to smaller neater stacks on the floor. You step back bewildered and look around you as a sea of books starts closing in on you.
upon shelves, under beds, in closets, over our heads. they pile up to the ceiling, they take up space in cabinets, they sit on desks and sometimes they fall off. they loom over us. hold us accountable.
There are stacks and stacks and stacks of reasons why I’d rather be able to sit here and write all day rather than get up and go to the hospital, discuss my ailments and then go to school and teach a year 8 group who have zero attention span – frustrating.
I have stacks of money. well, I think I can only call it one stack. Somehow even though I worked hard for this money and the only reason I’m not paying my pile of college loans off with it right now is so I can travel which is exactly the path I want my life to be on, I feel bad about having it…
Stacks on deck. Higher and higher and higher and then I can’t even see the top. Paper and piles and stuff that doesn’t matter, and stuff that does, but mostly stuff that doesn’t. Figures. Numbers. Characters. People. On top of each other. Everything.
The stacks and stacks of books lined his room. There might have been thousands, you figure.
You had known he was smart, sure, but as you approach the books and recognize some of your favorite books and ones you’d always wanted to read, you appreciate a new depth in him.
He chose these books, just like you had. What did that mean?
There are stacks of books lining the walls. She can’t see how high they go, but she knows that knocking a single book over will be the death of her. She smiles, this is going to be a fun task to complete,organizing all these tombs of knowledge. “Ready, set, go!”
She isn’t talking to anyone in particular, but she sets off. She pulls her brown hair into a loose bun and slips on the gloves. Alphabetical, by date, she’s been given free reign.
Pancakes. With maple syrup from that he had put in the fridge. So many happy memories of pancakes. Saturday mornings that had quickly become adolescent Saturday afternoons. Blueberry pancakes and orange juice. Naked and love.
Stacks and stacks and stacks of books. The homework. THE HOMEWORK!!! My desk is never clean. I don’t have time for such menial tasks, thus they remain in stacks. Piles and piles of books I want to read, books I have to read, books I should have read…so…many…cursed…stacks…one day…one day, I will do something about them…but for now…rest…
stacks of books. I love books. Disappearing into a mystical land of magic and wonder. Better than real life. But still real life. Just not yours. Unfortunate. You always want whats better. So you read all these stacks of books. All of them telling you what you can’t have but so desperatly want.
On the desk in his bedroom he had written on several hundred sheets of paper over and over again in black ink, “She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.” He had repeated these words to himself the second he learned about her pregnancy considering the fact her fiance and her weren’t sleeping together at the time; but they were. The two of them, but he had never voiced his declaration, only swallowed it and felt it burn going down like coffee that hadn’t yet cooled or maybe nothing like a simile but maybe just the way words did, the kind that carried weight and weren’t ever meant to be digested but rather sung or screamed as his was an injustice that was insufferable. She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine. She was his, that little girl, that little girl who had been handed to that weak-chinned man with thick wrists after she had been bled out of her mother and given a name our protagonist had nothing to do with. Still though, it was a beautiful name. It was a beautiful name the little girl would never hear come out of her father’s mouth despite being a name he would often whisper to himself years later as he sleep, inadvertently whispering to himself with his face half submerged in a sea of muggy pillows: She’s mine she’s mine she’s mine.
PokeR chips on a black velvet table. Elegant women sit around smoking cigarettes through long thin gold holders. Smoke swirls in the air as tension grows. The bets are raised. Eyebrows raise.
stacks of wood are fun to stand on. i like stacking pancakes on top of each other while I sleeep, I used to have a P.E. teacher named mrs. stacks, she was really nice :D alos like to stack people on top of each other, if that mkaes sense… O.o uummmm Stackity stack stack, sounds like lack, I lack to stack.
There were stacks and stacks of old cigarettes she had abandoned years before. Many of them were stuck together and yellow with age. She picked one up and noticed that it was marked with the year of her birth. Why was this marking here? Who had done this? She thought at first that it must be the demon procrastination, a demon she had cast off many years before.
It was in the stacks where we first kissed. It was rushed but passionate. I thought I was in love. I look back in sadness at that moment. When did it all change? What happened to those two teenagers so in love and so ready to face the world? We were once brave and in love, nothing could stop us.
He hands me a stack of boxes, and I put them in the trunk. We move about the house silently, and neither one of us wants to break the stillness. When he leaves, he doesn’t say goodbye, and neither do I.
Where everyone makes out in the library, or perhaps where all the knowledge worth looking for is hidden. Its a shame that so few people enter that area in pursuit of knowledge.
Every time I see books stacked up I feel a burden because I am always stressed about having a load of work to do. When i see a stack of rackets, I’m excited to try them all out because it is an interest and a hobby I really enjoy.
Stacks. Stacks of books. Lots and lost of books. Stacked neatly throughout the house. It’s chill. They’re only the good ones. Like the ones teachers love. The classics. Top 100.
mountains of blue pills he took out of his wallet and put in a cup, stacking another cup and yet another on top so they would be hard to find. we were meeting the police downstairs and he didn’t want them to see them, so he horded them away. i wondered if that was how he lived but i didn’t ask. the police didn’t search either of us and he walked me home. we smoked cigarettes and he told me he loved me. i wonder where he is now, it’s been two days and i’m back home. he could be doing anything, loving anyone with those blue pills.
there are stacks of books layering my walls, most of them unread, some i try to delve deep inside, but most i awaken after only a glance. there is no dream state in those stacks of books that cover my walls they flow in from every cornor crowding me reminding me of my weaknessess, and sometimes, if only for a moment they englighten me and take me to a distant world i never knew existed…
Stacks how we organize things in our modern day. Instead of building out, we build up. We have become so accustomed to this way of making ourselves seem clean and put together, but we’re not. We just throw things on top of one another out of laziness thus piling up our debt of effort in everyday living. However, we will survive.
stacks. At first I think of the word smokestacks, which remind me of industry and the roaring 20’s. Realizing I have only seen very few smokestacks in my life, I instead think of stacks of lumber or stacks of hay, which I am more familiar with. These have no real significance to me, but have some practical use to many.
of money that everyone wants; and books that everyone should read that leads to library stacks. and hay … which you should make while the sun shines ..
i think of books. a lovely library… buried underneath and in between the rows of literature. the smell, the aroma, of old books. knowing that you can and will be instantly transported to any and every world possible. possibility. wonder. READING. i sit in libraries almost every day, and never get sick of being surrounded by books. exquisite. exquisite beauty.
I wandered among the stacks of books in the dusty old Library. I was afraid to touch the books because they were so old and they looked so brittle. The stacks of books seemed to last for many miles. The Library was filled with books.
The stacks of paper sat on her desk, overwhelming in size. /How could he possibly think that I could finish reading all of these in one day? I swear, he’s gone off his rocker./ The stacks of manuscripts were piled high, sorted in envelops so they wouldn’t get confused. “Well, gotta start somewhere,” she said, grabbing one off the top.
Stacks on stacks on stacks. “Got stacks on deck like he saving up.” Superbase by Nicki Minaj. Stackhouse. Becca Stackhouse. Kristen Stackhouse. That’s weird that I’m thinking of people. Whatevs. I have a “stack” of homework I need to do. Stacks on stacks on stacks. That’s not even accurate. It’s racks on racks on racks. Who cares. Not me. I’m just typing about stacks.
sliding down haystacks in skerries with straw sticking into my skin, love the smell of hay
I added a hundred and three more today. I could build a house with them! There are stacks holding up the stacks. I am sure it’s a compulsion, evidence that I’m in need of a twelve-step program, proof that I am a couple of bubbles off, but really, how can I resist, who can blame me, God knows if there was a pill to cure this, I would hold it under my tongue and spit it out as soon at the Whitecoat was not looking, they just do not understand… books… glorious books… books… books… books… books… books.
There are many stacks of sandwiches in every alley that we pass by. But the amount in Costco couldn’t even compare. There are hundreds upon thousands of stacks of various different products for sale. Pinesol is among my favorite of Costco product stacks.
Stacks and stacks of papers … how does he ever get anything done! Stacks all over the place – on the desk, on the chairs, on tghe floor! I sincerely doubt that he could find what he wanted if he tried – but he prides himself t hat “everything is here”!
The stacks of books took up the entire room. It was unbelievable how many there were. I felt like I was going deep sea diving in someone elses’ memories.
Are there stacks of things I can write about this word stacks of times? I doubt it, I have already wasted stacks of time thinking about what my second sentence would be. I’m sure there are stcks of ideas for this word, but I don’t have any!
There are stacks of books that pile for miles and miles on top of each other. What kind of books are they? You go to the stack of books and grab for Treasure Island. However in your excitement, you knock down the stack and the books jump in to smaller neater stacks on the floor. You step back bewildered and look around you as a sea of books starts closing in on you.
upon shelves, under beds, in closets, over our heads. they pile up to the ceiling, they take up space in cabinets, they sit on desks and sometimes they fall off. they loom over us. hold us accountable.
There are stacks and stacks and stacks of reasons why I’d rather be able to sit here and write all day rather than get up and go to the hospital, discuss my ailments and then go to school and teach a year 8 group who have zero attention span – frustrating.
I have stacks of money. well, I think I can only call it one stack. Somehow even though I worked hard for this money and the only reason I’m not paying my pile of college loans off with it right now is so I can travel which is exactly the path I want my life to be on, I feel bad about having it…
Stacks on deck. Higher and higher and higher and then I can’t even see the top. Paper and piles and stuff that doesn’t matter, and stuff that does, but mostly stuff that doesn’t. Figures. Numbers. Characters. People. On top of each other. Everything.
The stacks and stacks of books lined his room. There might have been thousands, you figure.
You had known he was smart, sure, but as you approach the books and recognize some of your favorite books and ones you’d always wanted to read, you appreciate a new depth in him.
He chose these books, just like you had. What did that mean?
There are stacks of books lining the walls. She can’t see how high they go, but she knows that knocking a single book over will be the death of her. She smiles, this is going to be a fun task to complete,organizing all these tombs of knowledge. “Ready, set, go!”
She isn’t talking to anyone in particular, but she sets off. She pulls her brown hair into a loose bun and slips on the gloves. Alphabetical, by date, she’s been given free reign.
Pancakes. With maple syrup from that he had put in the fridge. So many happy memories of pancakes. Saturday mornings that had quickly become adolescent Saturday afternoons. Blueberry pancakes and orange juice. Naked and love.
Stacks and stacks and stacks of books. The homework. THE HOMEWORK!!! My desk is never clean. I don’t have time for such menial tasks, thus they remain in stacks. Piles and piles of books I want to read, books I have to read, books I should have read…so…many…cursed…stacks…one day…one day, I will do something about them…but for now…rest…
stacks of books. I love books. Disappearing into a mystical land of magic and wonder. Better than real life. But still real life. Just not yours. Unfortunate. You always want whats better. So you read all these stacks of books. All of them telling you what you can’t have but so desperatly want.
On the desk in his bedroom he had written on several hundred sheets of paper over and over again in black ink, “She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.” He had repeated these words to himself the second he learned about her pregnancy considering the fact her fiance and her weren’t sleeping together at the time; but they were. The two of them, but he had never voiced his declaration, only swallowed it and felt it burn going down like coffee that hadn’t yet cooled or maybe nothing like a simile but maybe just the way words did, the kind that carried weight and weren’t ever meant to be digested but rather sung or screamed as his was an injustice that was insufferable. She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine. She was his, that little girl, that little girl who had been handed to that weak-chinned man with thick wrists after she had been bled out of her mother and given a name our protagonist had nothing to do with. Still though, it was a beautiful name. It was a beautiful name the little girl would never hear come out of her father’s mouth despite being a name he would often whisper to himself years later as he sleep, inadvertently whispering to himself with his face half submerged in a sea of muggy pillows: She’s mine she’s mine she’s mine.
I have stacks of bills to pay, and not a single dollar to play them with. I am the 99%.
PokeR chips on a black velvet table. Elegant women sit around smoking cigarettes through long thin gold holders. Smoke swirls in the air as tension grows. The bets are raised. Eyebrows raise.
stacks of wood are fun to stand on. i like stacking pancakes on top of each other while I sleeep, I used to have a P.E. teacher named mrs. stacks, she was really nice :D alos like to stack people on top of each other, if that mkaes sense… O.o uummmm Stackity stack stack, sounds like lack, I lack to stack.
There were stacks and stacks of old cigarettes she had abandoned years before. Many of them were stuck together and yellow with age. She picked one up and noticed that it was marked with the year of her birth. Why was this marking here? Who had done this? She thought at first that it must be the demon procrastination, a demon she had cast off many years before.
It was in the stacks where we first kissed. It was rushed but passionate. I thought I was in love. I look back in sadness at that moment. When did it all change? What happened to those two teenagers so in love and so ready to face the world? We were once brave and in love, nothing could stop us.
He is moving out.
He hands me a stack of boxes, and I put them in the trunk. We move about the house silently, and neither one of us wants to break the stillness. When he leaves, he doesn’t say goodbye, and neither do I.
Where everyone makes out in the library, or perhaps where all the knowledge worth looking for is hidden. Its a shame that so few people enter that area in pursuit of knowledge.
Hay stacks
looking for my needle
autumn straws
brisk winds
brisk loves
Stack me on
top of you
Every time I see books stacked up I feel a burden because I am always stressed about having a load of work to do. When i see a stack of rackets, I’m excited to try them all out because it is an interest and a hobby I really enjoy.
Stacks. Stacks of books. Lots and lost of books. Stacked neatly throughout the house. It’s chill. They’re only the good ones. Like the ones teachers love. The classics. Top 100.
mountains of blue pills he took out of his wallet and put in a cup, stacking another cup and yet another on top so they would be hard to find. we were meeting the police downstairs and he didn’t want them to see them, so he horded them away. i wondered if that was how he lived but i didn’t ask. the police didn’t search either of us and he walked me home. we smoked cigarettes and he told me he loved me. i wonder where he is now, it’s been two days and i’m back home. he could be doing anything, loving anyone with those blue pills.
there are stacks of books layering my walls, most of them unread, some i try to delve deep inside, but most i awaken after only a glance. there is no dream state in those stacks of books that cover my walls they flow in from every cornor crowding me reminding me of my weaknessess, and sometimes, if only for a moment they englighten me and take me to a distant world i never knew existed…
Stacks how we organize things in our modern day. Instead of building out, we build up. We have become so accustomed to this way of making ourselves seem clean and put together, but we’re not. We just throw things on top of one another out of laziness thus piling up our debt of effort in everyday living. However, we will survive.
You have stacks of money.
I have stacks of books.
Books that apparently seem to have
no interest in being opened by the
person who needs them the most.
Why, you ask?
Because I’d rather have stacks of money
Than stacks of unopened books not
wanting to be opened by its borrower.
Luckily, you have a degree.
I don’t, at least not yet…
stacks of paper? stacks of cards? stacks of what? I’m really not sure.
stacks. At first I think of the word smokestacks, which remind me of industry and the roaring 20’s. Realizing I have only seen very few smokestacks in my life, I instead think of stacks of lumber or stacks of hay, which I am more familiar with. These have no real significance to me, but have some practical use to many.
of money that everyone wants; and books that everyone should read that leads to library stacks. and hay … which you should make while the sun shines ..
i think of books. a lovely library… buried underneath and in between the rows of literature. the smell, the aroma, of old books. knowing that you can and will be instantly transported to any and every world possible. possibility. wonder. READING. i sit in libraries almost every day, and never get sick of being surrounded by books. exquisite. exquisite beauty.
I wandered among the stacks of books in the dusty old Library. I was afraid to touch the books because they were so old and they looked so brittle. The stacks of books seemed to last for many miles. The Library was filled with books.
The stacks of paper sat on her desk, overwhelming in size. /How could he possibly think that I could finish reading all of these in one day? I swear, he’s gone off his rocker./ The stacks of manuscripts were piled high, sorted in envelops so they wouldn’t get confused. “Well, gotta start somewhere,” she said, grabbing one off the top.
found stacks of cash at the corner of a street. Donated it to charity.
I think I would like books better if you read them to me.
Stacks on stacks on stacks. “Got stacks on deck like he saving up.” Superbase by Nicki Minaj. Stackhouse. Becca Stackhouse. Kristen Stackhouse. That’s weird that I’m thinking of people. Whatevs. I have a “stack” of homework I need to do. Stacks on stacks on stacks. That’s not even accurate. It’s racks on racks on racks. Who cares. Not me. I’m just typing about stacks.