table
i am sitting at one
it is actualy a desk
i drew all over our kitchen table when i was young
my parents don’t know because i did it on the underside
that was over a decade ago
rawr
i might write a song abotu a table
i like it on a table
i like tables you can put things on them and it is useful. t in front of able! i am able to use a table because they are everywhere. tables enable you to be able! woohoooooooooooooo
Mountains of bills line the edges of my tables.
Big brother, watching high up in your fancy, tax-payer funded podium,
Where in the world is MY bailout?
“So!” He slammed his hands down on the table and gave a mischievous grin. “I have decided… thaaaat…”
“You are *not* going to–”
“Yes, I am, and you don’t even know what I’m going to say so shush.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “I have decided that… you are going to join me on tour.”
Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wh-What? You– I– what?”
“Ah-ha!” he said. “I told you you didn’t know what I was going to say.”
She was still stammering, except now her face had turned strawberry. “I’m– you– really?”
“Yes. Do you want to?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“Um, um, yes! My god. Yes, definitely. Oh my *god!*” A huge smile lit her face, and the next instant she launched herself at him. “I’m so excited!”
He caught her, and down they went with the table. But neither of them cared.
A table. A thing with four legs and a flat surface. That’s where I do all my work. I’m a writer after all. I need a surface like that. It’s one of the most handy things in my trade. It’s always covered with sticky notes and notecards and so many other office supplies. Its my home away from home.
It was all on the table now. She knew that I loved her, she knew I was said that I was sorry but you can never ever make anyone really know you’re sorry. Likewise, I know she said she understood but I can never know that she does. We looked across the table at each other, and we both knew we felt better off this way: empty and exposed.
I should leave a note here as well, I thought. I wrote my message on the back of the wine list and propped it against a table tent advertising their happy hour. A happy hour that apparently would never happen.
The table never was very pleasant looking, but that didn’t seem to matter now that it was smashed into a million pieces amongst large piles of rubble. The storm didn’t seem to care what houses it knocked down; poor houses, rich houses, happy houses, sad houses. It just didn’t matter.
meanwhile at the university…”let me just put all my cards on the table,professor,”began powerful girl,”the zombie mind control gene is caused by cellphones and my research shows that the corporations know it-in fact-that they must have known it for years.”
I sat on the table… and suddenly felt a smack on my head. I jumped off quickly to the sound of my father “Get down! How many times have I told you? You’ll break it!” …Says the man who, at twice my size and weight, stood on top of it to reach something way up high.
The table was old, yet sturdy. Various stains about its surface gave clues as to its purpose. A little red, a little bile green. The tools about the table were not necessary to know what this table was for.
Nina Einstein woke up in the morning feelin’ like P. Diddy. “Oh, Table-kun, you were fantastic last night!” The table had no comment. Nina got up and put on her shoes, ready to go brush her teeth with a bottle of Jack and go on a date with the table.
Kathy sat down at the mahoghany table and sighed. Was today literally going to be like every other day in her life?
She opened the mail from Robert slowly… trying to believe that he wasn’t going to do what she thought he was going to do… and then gasped as she realized she was totally right as to his intentions.
I like it on the table….that is all. No, I’m not kinky like that. Refer to my earlier post about October being Cancer Awareness Month for clarification.
The process of finding and buying this coffee table had taken far longer than we had anticipated. We’d examined low tables, high tables, skinny tables, ornate tables, minimalistic tables, and even a flamboyant bright yellow table or two.
the table sat still, but the stack of plates you sat upon it moves precariously. like this, really. triptriptrip, oh god it’s going to fall- you think to yourself how life is kind of like jenga.
the tables legs werent really that great. they curled and alsost buckled down to the clawed feet, in a most disturbing manner. it was the kind of table that had coffe stains and jam on it, the kind of table that made you want to fall in love.
on the table sat a letter. she knew what it said already. he was leaving her. she had tried to ignore all the sings, just thinking that he was stressed. That’s why he was never around her anymore. But that didn’t explain why he was always with her.
Tables. Not ordinary tables. But ones of octaves and intervals.
And enegrams and body systems and universes. It was all so hard to wrap my head around. But I wanted to keep trying to understand. For that ah-ha moment.
you were furious. there was nothing – NOTHING – you wanted more in the world to throw him down on that table and hit him. but you kissed him instead. why?
A table is wooden, usually, and has four legs. it is surrounded by chairs and holds food. I love tables with flowers, painted ones. Tables that is, not flowers. Sometimes they are times tables, or for table tennis. I’ve never really considered tables, but I like them. E
The man’s burly fists slammed down hard on top of the table, rattling everything on its smooth, carved surface. The vibrations sent ripples across Echo’s soup, and she stared indifferently into it. Her muscles were tensed and taut as an acrobat’s tightrope, and silently she shrieked within the confines of her own mind. She had been trapped in this situation far too many times to count, far too many bruises resulting in a situation like this. Her pale, bony hand gripped her spoon so tightly the cool metal bit sharply into her flesh, but she didn’t let go. Experience told her that that would not be the only pain she would be experiencing within the next few moments.
I like sex on tables. They’re also good for writing. And other stuff. I can eat there, too. With my wife. Then eat her. -giggles- Where am i going with this? SEX. Of course, yes. good…goood. Where’s the fucking timer? Fuckin’ shit. I miss you. My wife. 60 seconds?
When I was drinking my coffee yesterday I placed it down on the table. The next time I picked it I saw a awful coffee stain, centre of the table, ‘oh no’ I exclaimed.
I would like to sit at my kitchen table again. So many good memories with my family, especially from game night. I miss playing games!! I brought all my awesome card games to school with me but no one ever wants to play any of them! It is rather upsetting! I can’t wait to go home for break and have game night again =)
I fill my table with words, until they start sliding off the other end. My words are my thoughts, slipping, crowding, and sliding away, until I’ll have nothing left to add. And then my table will fall.
Set the table, my mother said, and I hurried to do it, admiring the way the yellow and blue ceramic plates contrasted with the crisp white of the tablecloth. I used a ruler to make the forks and knives equidistant from the plates.
Table able label cradle walking across the balance beam my dad tells me to pretend its a huge flat table that I can walk across easily, just don’t look down red checkered
At the table right now, I’m resting my elbows. It feels comfortable; the wood is comforting and pleasing to the eye. I sit here also thinking about what to write right now at this table. There are so many tables out there.
There once was a table that held the world, it was a round table. The table didn’t littlerally hold up the world, but it held up the world of the people who sat around it… plus their drinks…
She crawled under it, holding up her doll for inspection. A match in one hand, scissors in the other. How should she torture her today?
Cuttings of synthetic hair drifted all around her as she began to cut. Snip. Snip.
The table held up the weight of all the food on it. It looked like it wanted to bow under the 7-lb turkey. It was quite a sight seeing my mom make that much food. There was everything I loved and a lot I hated.
Banging her forehead against the wood, she winced, ready to cry.There just wasn’t any way she could easily deal with this thing. No one could help her, and this just plain hurt.
So many uses for a table
Life references
Family dinners and hamburger helper
Sipping coffee and sharing stories
Space for the board game
An essential piece of
Furniture
Tables represent a place where families come together – to share stories, to share memories, to share emotions, to share laughter. Though an everyday item, it has the power to connect us closer together.
The table sat there unknowingly a co-conspirator to the note that he had left. It felt as if the whole world had stood still from the first time she saw it.
“Why are you giving us these?” Julian asked. “These are charts and tables of the neighboring forests. They show the creatures that reside there, letting us prepare defense before we go in.” Leiko said. Julian took his arm and swiped the papers onto the floor. I laughed silently while Leiko looked on in surprise.
table
i am sitting at one
it is actualy a desk
i drew all over our kitchen table when i was young
my parents don’t know because i did it on the underside
that was over a decade ago
rawr
i might write a song abotu a table
i like it on a table
i like tables you can put things on them and it is useful. t in front of able! i am able to use a table because they are everywhere. tables enable you to be able! woohoooooooooooooo
Mountains of bills line the edges of my tables.
Big brother, watching high up in your fancy, tax-payer funded podium,
Where in the world is MY bailout?
“So!” He slammed his hands down on the table and gave a mischievous grin. “I have decided… thaaaat…”
“You are *not* going to–”
“Yes, I am, and you don’t even know what I’m going to say so shush.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “I have decided that… you are going to join me on tour.”
Her jaw nearly hit the floor. “Wh-What? You– I– what?”
“Ah-ha!” he said. “I told you you didn’t know what I was going to say.”
She was still stammering, except now her face had turned strawberry. “I’m– you– really?”
“Yes. Do you want to?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“Um, um, yes! My god. Yes, definitely. Oh my *god!*” A huge smile lit her face, and the next instant she launched herself at him. “I’m so excited!”
He caught her, and down they went with the table. But neither of them cared.
A table. A thing with four legs and a flat surface. That’s where I do all my work. I’m a writer after all. I need a surface like that. It’s one of the most handy things in my trade. It’s always covered with sticky notes and notecards and so many other office supplies. Its my home away from home.
It was all on the table now. She knew that I loved her, she knew I was said that I was sorry but you can never ever make anyone really know you’re sorry. Likewise, I know she said she understood but I can never know that she does. We looked across the table at each other, and we both knew we felt better off this way: empty and exposed.
I should leave a note here as well, I thought. I wrote my message on the back of the wine list and propped it against a table tent advertising their happy hour. A happy hour that apparently would never happen.
The table never was very pleasant looking, but that didn’t seem to matter now that it was smashed into a million pieces amongst large piles of rubble. The storm didn’t seem to care what houses it knocked down; poor houses, rich houses, happy houses, sad houses. It just didn’t matter.
meanwhile at the university…”let me just put all my cards on the table,professor,”began powerful girl,”the zombie mind control gene is caused by cellphones and my research shows that the corporations know it-in fact-that they must have known it for years.”
I sat on the table… and suddenly felt a smack on my head. I jumped off quickly to the sound of my father “Get down! How many times have I told you? You’ll break it!” …Says the man who, at twice my size and weight, stood on top of it to reach something way up high.
She used both her arms to hurriedly clear the table. She turned around and pointed at the man standing in the doorway. “You. Here.Now.”
The table was old, yet sturdy. Various stains about its surface gave clues as to its purpose. A little red, a little bile green. The tools about the table were not necessary to know what this table was for.
Nina Einstein woke up in the morning feelin’ like P. Diddy. “Oh, Table-kun, you were fantastic last night!” The table had no comment. Nina got up and put on her shoes, ready to go brush her teeth with a bottle of Jack and go on a date with the table.
Kathy sat down at the mahoghany table and sighed. Was today literally going to be like every other day in her life?
She opened the mail from Robert slowly… trying to believe that he wasn’t going to do what she thought he was going to do… and then gasped as she realized she was totally right as to his intentions.
I like it on the table….that is all. No, I’m not kinky like that. Refer to my earlier post about October being Cancer Awareness Month for clarification.
The process of finding and buying this coffee table had taken far longer than we had anticipated. We’d examined low tables, high tables, skinny tables, ornate tables, minimalistic tables, and even a flamboyant bright yellow table or two.
the table sat still, but the stack of plates you sat upon it moves precariously. like this, really. triptriptrip, oh god it’s going to fall- you think to yourself how life is kind of like jenga.
the tables legs werent really that great. they curled and alsost buckled down to the clawed feet, in a most disturbing manner. it was the kind of table that had coffe stains and jam on it, the kind of table that made you want to fall in love.
on the table sat a letter. she knew what it said already. he was leaving her. she had tried to ignore all the sings, just thinking that he was stressed. That’s why he was never around her anymore. But that didn’t explain why he was always with her.
Tables. Not ordinary tables. But ones of octaves and intervals.
And enegrams and body systems and universes. It was all so hard to wrap my head around. But I wanted to keep trying to understand. For that ah-ha moment.
you were furious. there was nothing – NOTHING – you wanted more in the world to throw him down on that table and hit him. but you kissed him instead. why?
A table is wooden, usually, and has four legs. it is surrounded by chairs and holds food. I love tables with flowers, painted ones. Tables that is, not flowers. Sometimes they are times tables, or for table tennis. I’ve never really considered tables, but I like them. E
The man’s burly fists slammed down hard on top of the table, rattling everything on its smooth, carved surface. The vibrations sent ripples across Echo’s soup, and she stared indifferently into it. Her muscles were tensed and taut as an acrobat’s tightrope, and silently she shrieked within the confines of her own mind. She had been trapped in this situation far too many times to count, far too many bruises resulting in a situation like this. Her pale, bony hand gripped her spoon so tightly the cool metal bit sharply into her flesh, but she didn’t let go. Experience told her that that would not be the only pain she would be experiencing within the next few moments.
I like sex on tables. They’re also good for writing. And other stuff. I can eat there, too. With my wife. Then eat her. -giggles- Where am i going with this? SEX. Of course, yes. good…goood. Where’s the fucking timer? Fuckin’ shit. I miss you. My wife. 60 seconds?
When I was drinking my coffee yesterday I placed it down on the table. The next time I picked it I saw a awful coffee stain, centre of the table, ‘oh no’ I exclaimed.
I would like to sit at my kitchen table again. So many good memories with my family, especially from game night. I miss playing games!! I brought all my awesome card games to school with me but no one ever wants to play any of them! It is rather upsetting! I can’t wait to go home for break and have game night again =)
I fill my table with words, until they start sliding off the other end. My words are my thoughts, slipping, crowding, and sliding away, until I’ll have nothing left to add. And then my table will fall.
Set the table, my mother said, and I hurried to do it, admiring the way the yellow and blue ceramic plates contrasted with the crisp white of the tablecloth. I used a ruler to make the forks and knives equidistant from the plates.
on the table there is a load of homework. I should be doing it right now, instead of tyipng this… Life has failed me. Or i fail at it. either way
Table able label cradle walking across the balance beam my dad tells me to pretend its a huge flat table that I can walk across easily, just don’t look down red checkered
At the table right now, I’m resting my elbows. It feels comfortable; the wood is comforting and pleasing to the eye. I sit here also thinking about what to write right now at this table. There are so many tables out there.
There once was a table that held the world, it was a round table. The table didn’t littlerally hold up the world, but it held up the world of the people who sat around it… plus their drinks…
She crawled under it, holding up her doll for inspection. A match in one hand, scissors in the other. How should she torture her today?
Cuttings of synthetic hair drifted all around her as she began to cut. Snip. Snip.
The table held up the weight of all the food on it. It looked like it wanted to bow under the 7-lb turkey. It was quite a sight seeing my mom make that much food. There was everything I loved and a lot I hated.
Banging her forehead against the wood, she winced, ready to cry.There just wasn’t any way she could easily deal with this thing. No one could help her, and this just plain hurt.
So many uses for a table
Life references
Family dinners and hamburger helper
Sipping coffee and sharing stories
Space for the board game
An essential piece of
Furniture
alone, empty. waiting for the family it misses to eat with it once again.
Tables represent a place where families come together – to share stories, to share memories, to share emotions, to share laughter. Though an everyday item, it has the power to connect us closer together.
The table sat there unknowingly a co-conspirator to the note that he had left. It felt as if the whole world had stood still from the first time she saw it.
“Why are you giving us these?” Julian asked. “These are charts and tables of the neighboring forests. They show the creatures that reside there, letting us prepare defense before we go in.” Leiko said. Julian took his arm and swiped the papers onto the floor. I laughed silently while Leiko looked on in surprise.