I make bracelets with thread. Give them to people. Keep them for myself. Children especially love my bracelets I make of thread. I don’t understand why. Maybe its the large spectrum of colors. (: I love thread. It makes me happy.
I wish I could sew. I wish I could thread needles and loop threads one around another, weaving colors together to create something useful, functional, or even just nice to look at. Maybe I’ll learn.
My thread is mangaled. I don’t know where it ended, where it thinned out, where it eventually tore. Too weak to hold everything in place, but I was so sure it was securely fastened. I thought we shared one thread. I thought it was golden. I thought it was woven through eah of us and would continue to sew despite the snags and pulls.
An impossible thing to go, i just want to be the same guy i was 60 seconds ago.
The simplicity is spectacular, but the time i lost i will never get it back.
Thread all I want
My heart is made of string, and some one found the beginning of the thread. Instead of building it up, and tying in their heart, they slowly unraveled my heart, breaking me down, Now my heart is nothing but a raveled piece of thread, hoping to be accepted by anybody.
Thread is string It’s cool you know. Having nothing to do but go with the flow. It’s admirable quite honestly. Just to be so carefree. It’s lovely. And graceful if you think about it. I don’t know. I’d thread some things together if I could.
threads are something that intrinsically unite two separate entities. Whether they be inanimate or animate objects, and whether or not these threads can be observed. Threads can be created between two people, and threads can be cut. What the true challenge is is creating as many as possible for a variety of reasons, for things that even transcend our conscious understanding.
It is not always easy to follow the thread of someone else’s conversation – especially if they are given to constantly hmming and hawing or saying things such as “You know!” Yet it is quite easy to follow the thread of a spoken poet, who may speak rapidly and often with passion. Why is this? In the case of spoken poetry, the poet’s very passion, their intonation draws us in as listeners and we adjust our listening and very thought processes to fall in line with their cadence and story
A thread, for those who wait, dangling loosely at dusk, unable to tell black from white. Up and down and up again, it burrows into fabrics, joining them indefinitely.
hanging on. i keep pulling and pulling, it keeps coming apart. i wonder if i had done something wrong. she gives no indication either way. she is so hard to read.
thread is a small mixture of fiber used to tie things together such as in sewing. It can also be used to describe something in terms of messages that are in a line of conversation between 2 or more people. Thread is also a word that conveys mechanicalism or the thought of construction to a degree.
The chinese may manufacture most of our clothing, but most of the thread used in chinese factories use american-made thread. This is because compamies in the united states have faster machinery than their chinese competitors.
thread is what holds together what keeps us apart. without thread of some sort we would go around naked, not keeping secrets from ourselves or those around us. thread binds us to our differences, to our inhumanity, to our literal material things. thread seems to help us but it is a red herring.
the threads flowed from the crusty sphere, falling down the crevices and the cliffs of her body. some threads curled into limp, skeletal fingers, around the canyons of her ears, but others lay flat on the valleys of her cheeks
It goes thru a needle slowly, over, and over again. It tries to stitch together two pieces that were once standing on its own. The thread acts as a form of unity for your clothes.
Threads are used to keep things together like shirts, socks, swimming suits. Threads are also parts of a story line. Thinking about the intricacy of interesting novels. Threads are parts of a family everyone with their own personality and history. Thread is not a simple word, it has many meanings.
A thread could be a lot of things. Tumblr posts, the thing you use with a needle. Look how the times have changed. Back in my grandma’s day she had no idea about the internet let alone Tumblr and Facebook and “threads”. To her, it was just a thin piece of string. Times have changed.
it was threaded together
the maker lost count
the pattern fell slowly
it was smothered in doubt
the needle was piercing
the cotton was soft
the lines were broken
the blanket was lost
There was a thread that connected every person and plant together throughout the world. The plants could somehow find a way to communicate with people and the people could understand them. The plants discussed much of the tedious tasks involved with photosynthesis and in return, overly pregnant mothers shared the inside story on their own stretching wombs and the process of making a child.
a conversation that just keeps going, a tangling piece of material that can be pulled and called destruction, to make your way through a crowd towards your goal
the main idea and theme that runs through our lives. much like a tapestry, there is one thread that we follow, we may stray from it, but as we look back at our lives we can see one disntinct path or thread that we followed and that we created. we get to choose the color.
once in awhilke there is a ball of thread that comes down the stairs and it follows me around, once in awhile i think maybe i should follow it as it clips by my heel nudging me along and waiting for the day where i say ok ball of thread take me to where you wish ill follow you i promise just stop showing up uninvited or i may be tempted to make scarves.
I mean, it’s one of life’s most basic elements. Threads of fabric, threads of time, threads of a human being. The threads of personality and emotion and the forces that drive this and how they all compliment each other, with so much beauty, and so much taken for granted. The threads of who we are aren’t just inherited, they’re woven by ourselves. What do your threads say about you?
Thread is a funny word. Immediatley thread worms popped into my mind! I don’t know why… I don’t have them. I used to be worried about them though. My uncle had a teddy bear called Fred Bear but he got so tattered they ended up calling him Thread Bear.
A thread. Simple. Small. Strong. Thread weaves in and out of the fabric we call life. Ups and downs, ins and outs, we have no choice but to go with it. To catch each stitch of laughter and each passing tear. For each thread is a part of something greater.
Ha, how can you chose that today? Of all days. There is no time for thread, for the many upcoming craft projects. Lined up in their boxes. Waiting till after festival season. There is only time for checking and rechecking. Last minute throw togethers will not work now. The man burns in 18 days!
one world, one place, one love, one unknown universe. everybody is the same, we think, we scream, we cry, we laugh, we dance, we jump, we drink, we eat, we have friends, or we don’t. Everybody wants the same, but nobody can influence there lifes, it’s one world, just one big bowl, with many many tiny little things on it. One world in which we have to survive in our own way.
THREAD OF HOME. Sewing with thread the quilt of life. Loose thread something to do all the time . Thread snapping and unraveling . finding the common thread.
Thoroughbred. That’s how it reads. Well to me anyway. What on earth does it mean. Of course I know what it means but it’s origins are from a darker time. Does that mean we’re a little more enlightened now? Can we claim that. Well of course, we’ve evolved some. But by how much? And by whose yard stick?
Thread bare in the midst of a forest. Cold, collected only one man can survive. A heart with no pulse rests, an iceberg amongst the symphony of arteries and veins. No love nor feeling runs it’s natural course alongside the warm blood that allows life.
Thread holds things together. Especially when things are about to fall apart, it keeps it together. Just hanging by a thread, it’s the last lifeline. Thread pieces together the beautiful things but can be torn apart easy. This is because it is fragile and delicate but strong at the same time.
I make bracelets with thread. Give them to people. Keep them for myself. Children especially love my bracelets I make of thread. I don’t understand why. Maybe its the large spectrum of colors. (: I love thread. It makes me happy.
I wish I could sew. I wish I could thread needles and loop threads one around another, weaving colors together to create something useful, functional, or even just nice to look at. Maybe I’ll learn.
My thread is mangaled. I don’t know where it ended, where it thinned out, where it eventually tore. Too weak to hold everything in place, but I was so sure it was securely fastened. I thought we shared one thread. I thought it was golden. I thought it was woven through eah of us and would continue to sew despite the snags and pulls.
An impossible thing to go, i just want to be the same guy i was 60 seconds ago.
The simplicity is spectacular, but the time i lost i will never get it back.
Thread all I want
My heart is made of string, and some one found the beginning of the thread. Instead of building it up, and tying in their heart, they slowly unraveled my heart, breaking me down, Now my heart is nothing but a raveled piece of thread, hoping to be accepted by anybody.
Thread is string It’s cool you know. Having nothing to do but go with the flow. It’s admirable quite honestly. Just to be so carefree. It’s lovely. And graceful if you think about it. I don’t know. I’d thread some things together if I could.
threads are something that intrinsically unite two separate entities. Whether they be inanimate or animate objects, and whether or not these threads can be observed. Threads can be created between two people, and threads can be cut. What the true challenge is is creating as many as possible for a variety of reasons, for things that even transcend our conscious understanding.
It is not always easy to follow the thread of someone else’s conversation – especially if they are given to constantly hmming and hawing or saying things such as “You know!” Yet it is quite easy to follow the thread of a spoken poet, who may speak rapidly and often with passion. Why is this? In the case of spoken poetry, the poet’s very passion, their intonation draws us in as listeners and we adjust our listening and very thought processes to fall in line with their cadence and story
A thread, for those who wait, dangling loosely at dusk, unable to tell black from white. Up and down and up again, it burrows into fabrics, joining them indefinitely.
i should like to thread my life together, take all the patches and make one big quilt of my SELF
spool, sew, sewing, cotton, stitch, worm, needle, colours, haberdashery, nylon, craft,
String. Thin, simple length of unfull material. Ties knots, holds togrther objects. A delicate material with strong usefulness.
hanging on. i keep pulling and pulling, it keeps coming apart. i wonder if i had done something wrong. she gives no indication either way. she is so hard to read.
thread is a small mixture of fiber used to tie things together such as in sewing. It can also be used to describe something in terms of messages that are in a line of conversation between 2 or more people. Thread is also a word that conveys mechanicalism or the thought of construction to a degree.
A spool,
A needle,
and
Thread.
Ravel,
Unravelled,
Woven
white
Thread.
The chinese may manufacture most of our clothing, but most of the thread used in chinese factories use american-made thread. This is because compamies in the united states have faster machinery than their chinese competitors.
thread is what holds together what keeps us apart. without thread of some sort we would go around naked, not keeping secrets from ourselves or those around us. thread binds us to our differences, to our inhumanity, to our literal material things. thread seems to help us but it is a red herring.
i’m hanging by a thread
as my life unravels around me
and i feel
frozen
in the chances i should i have taken
the threads flowed from the crusty sphere, falling down the crevices and the cliffs of her body. some threads curled into limp, skeletal fingers, around the canyons of her ears, but others lay flat on the valleys of her cheeks
the needle
rhymes with bread
has read in the end of it
daerht is thread backwards
reminds me of grandmothers
I’m watching bachelor pad
It goes thru a needle slowly, over, and over again. It tries to stitch together two pieces that were once standing on its own. The thread acts as a form of unity for your clothes.
Threads are used to keep things together like shirts, socks, swimming suits. Threads are also parts of a story line. Thinking about the intricacy of interesting novels. Threads are parts of a family everyone with their own personality and history. Thread is not a simple word, it has many meanings.
A thread could be a lot of things. Tumblr posts, the thing you use with a needle. Look how the times have changed. Back in my grandma’s day she had no idea about the internet let alone Tumblr and Facebook and “threads”. To her, it was just a thin piece of string. Times have changed.
it was threaded together
the maker lost count
the pattern fell slowly
it was smothered in doubt
the needle was piercing
the cotton was soft
the lines were broken
the blanket was lost
There was a thread that connected every person and plant together throughout the world. The plants could somehow find a way to communicate with people and the people could understand them. The plants discussed much of the tedious tasks involved with photosynthesis and in return, overly pregnant mothers shared the inside story on their own stretching wombs and the process of making a child.
a conversation that just keeps going, a tangling piece of material that can be pulled and called destruction, to make your way through a crowd towards your goal
Threadless moonbeams of sky, welled open in search of a flicker, a yawn of heart. Eat me up. Eat me whole. Swallowed by candacing sky.
the main idea and theme that runs through our lives. much like a tapestry, there is one thread that we follow, we may stray from it, but as we look back at our lives we can see one disntinct path or thread that we followed and that we created. we get to choose the color.
once in awhilke there is a ball of thread that comes down the stairs and it follows me around, once in awhile i think maybe i should follow it as it clips by my heel nudging me along and waiting for the day where i say ok ball of thread take me to where you wish ill follow you i promise just stop showing up uninvited or i may be tempted to make scarves.
Facebook. Yarn. Stalking. Together. Kittens. Knots. Shit I ran out of ideas. And now I’m waiting for this thing to run out…
I mean, it’s one of life’s most basic elements. Threads of fabric, threads of time, threads of a human being. The threads of personality and emotion and the forces that drive this and how they all compliment each other, with so much beauty, and so much taken for granted. The threads of who we are aren’t just inherited, they’re woven by ourselves. What do your threads say about you?
Thread is a funny word. Immediatley thread worms popped into my mind! I don’t know why… I don’t have them. I used to be worried about them though. My uncle had a teddy bear called Fred Bear but he got so tattered they ended up calling him Thread Bear.
A thread. Simple. Small. Strong. Thread weaves in and out of the fabric we call life. Ups and downs, ins and outs, we have no choice but to go with it. To catch each stitch of laughter and each passing tear. For each thread is a part of something greater.
Ha, how can you chose that today? Of all days. There is no time for thread, for the many upcoming craft projects. Lined up in their boxes. Waiting till after festival season. There is only time for checking and rechecking. Last minute throw togethers will not work now. The man burns in 18 days!
thread from your head, can be left in bed if you’re not prepared from stitch to thread
one world, one place, one love, one unknown universe. everybody is the same, we think, we scream, we cry, we laugh, we dance, we jump, we drink, we eat, we have friends, or we don’t. Everybody wants the same, but nobody can influence there lifes, it’s one world, just one big bowl, with many many tiny little things on it. One world in which we have to survive in our own way.
THREAD OF HOME. Sewing with thread the quilt of life. Loose thread something to do all the time . Thread snapping and unraveling . finding the common thread.
Thoroughbred. That’s how it reads. Well to me anyway. What on earth does it mean. Of course I know what it means but it’s origins are from a darker time. Does that mean we’re a little more enlightened now? Can we claim that. Well of course, we’ve evolved some. But by how much? And by whose yard stick?
Thread bare in the midst of a forest. Cold, collected only one man can survive. A heart with no pulse rests, an iceberg amongst the symphony of arteries and veins. No love nor feeling runs it’s natural course alongside the warm blood that allows life.
Thread holds things together. Especially when things are about to fall apart, it keeps it together. Just hanging by a thread, it’s the last lifeline. Thread pieces together the beautiful things but can be torn apart easy. This is because it is fragile and delicate but strong at the same time.