Isn’t it something, people assuming or just figuring that humans have come far. But we haven’t. We’re not so distant from our Neanderthal predecessors. We’re still primitive. Hungry. Horny. Angry. We want to fight. Fuck. Eat. Kill. Destroy. Rebuild. And we all stick together for some reason. Because we need each other. That’s fucking tribal.
Life is a mess sometimes. And sometimes we just need to remember that we are primal creatures. We have instincts and we need to trust them. We repress them always, but in all honesty they are what pulls us through some of the toughest times. Release your tribal, primitive self.
I lay on the beach, the warm air enclosing me. I heard their tribal calls in the distance, I don’t know what had gotten into them. two weeks stranded on this island and they were all pigs, every last one of them
To do with old traditions. Something that has to do with a tribe. Great heritage. Most tribes are in Africa with a variety of culture in every one. Tribes are unfortunately dying because of modernization of society.
the print of her leggings, a sharp contrast to the plain grey of her long-sleeved tunic, and the strawberry cream of her vest. it was wild and the print seemed to spin and dance as she moved, giving you a headache as you stared. or maybe that was the whack of her hand on the back of your head for staring that gave you the headache, but her smile was primal and dark as her leggings so you just gave a huff of a laugh and continued staring.
Their dances were tribal and they danced across the desert for nights on end. Their travel would have pushed a Greek god to the limits of exertion, but the motions of their dances and the hypnotic beat of their drums carried them through the moonlight and sunshine to safety, to lush land that would make their tribe thrive.
indians have tribal nature and culture and tribal are like tribes and groups i personaly love the show tribal hunters and it is very unpredictable thank u for all your time today for letting me hang out
Tribal are the men and women who are relatively cut off from civilization for a long period of time. They are not culturally and socially as developed as the rest of the outside world. Such people exhibit primitive thinking and are usually more backward than the rest of the outside world
thinking about what you’ve become and how you never thought you’d be here. learning you are made of red. painting skin, painting walls. fingerprints. watching the rest travel in packs. you become an animal alone. the echo of your past howls worn and tattered in your human eardrums, the wild streak marring your heartless organized structure, a cave made for thousands so empty it presses your skull in.
National Geographic is what initially comes to mind when I ponder the term, tribal. However, with more effort put forth I’m able to do some further analyzing and come up a more modern relation, that being particularly pertaining a specific form of fashion worn by a specific culture, as well as, a good majority of today’s youth (looking to sport an alternative and not so mainstream trendy way dress
His friends took him out to celebrate his win, but Dave didn’t feel very victorious. They spent the evening telling him how he had broken through, how he had set a precedent for all of them. Dave realised that most of his friends were just like him; divorced, fighting to get their kids back, bitter about how life had treated them, angry at the Japanese in general, as if the failure of their marriages was part of some national plan. It suddenly struck him as astonishingly tribal, and more than a little racist.
Not something that I expected to find and it was quite unconventional. But I had to buy the unique blended art so lovingly patterned upon the fabric. We are far too lost in the commercial and the polished brightness of manufactured perfection.
But behold. Someone, a he or she, with their loving hands made this and sent it out into the world.
The girl was half Japanese and half California blonde, but in the photo she posed with a long feathered headdress that came halfway down her back, longer than her hair, and blue circles and dots painted along Her cheekbones. “I’m seeking my roots,” she said, a voiceover.
It fascinates me: the way they flock together. The newest god births a culture amidst the bleating of sheep and the echoes of parrots. Praise to the meme.
“Welcome to the oneword tribe!” screamed a gang of cyber ninjas dressed head to toe in leaves running around rabidly shaking the hands of all the oneword newbies. “And good luck with all your writing ventures!”
almost archaic and wrapped in right angles, depictions of serpentine deities of this earth. old, older than you or i or our ancestors. since the dawn of time, it’s been there. there with us, in us. in our spirits.
Once the base of the wood pile was on fire, the whole thing set ablaze in seconds, and a wall of fire stood between me and the rest of them. We hooted and hollered and danced around the fire like our tribal instinct told us to.
“The tribal has spoken.”
Everyone glanced up.
“Tribal?” Cassidy said, tilting her head to the side. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘tribe’?”
The man laughed. “Who told you that? It’s ‘tribal.'”
“That’s grammatically incorrect,” Victor said.
They’d hate him for this. The ones he left behind. They’d say they always knew how useless he was. Never supporting his family. Never learning anything useful. Never interested in the common goals.
When we set our feet on their territority I had to think of those horrifying stories I heard about them. I could only hope that we wouldn’t be discovered. The tribal law didn’t know the Geneva Convention after all.
The tribal pattern on her skirt was hideous. She wore way too much makeup. Her hair: morbidly bleached. I processed all these atrocities as she approached me, my older sister.
“What a champion…” James commented sarcastically.
“Huh?” came Tim’s distracted reply.
“You see this tosser in the ’86 Laser, tribal decals all down the sides?”
“Oh, yeah. People still do that?”
“Yeah, I guess. You think it looks any good?” James asked.
“Nah.” said Tim, resuming his work, “You?”
James thought for a second, “Nah, not at all.”
there were no fangs on leather thongs
no blood glinting on the blade
instead the dirt.
our fingernails became hardened shells but our faces still cracked during the rains
the people in the tribe had red, black, and white paint on their faces. they would sing by the fire and roast marshmallows. the tents that they would make were made out of palm leaves. the people in the tribe lived on a desolate island.
In the beginning there were tribes and you know i’m not really suer what happened to them but i bet they still exisst somewhere like africa because you know i’ma sexist pig who can’t fucking type to save her life but whatever man okay anyway tribes consisted of hunters and gatherers and nurturers and teachers and i would know because i played virtual villagers for like two weeks straight until i got so fucking tired of it that i quit
Naomi hung outside of the circle, watching in contempt. They were doing that funny chant and some of the women were dancing as if they had ants in their pants again. When the tourists began to gather, an urge to runaway rose up within her like a cobra. She jumped back in surprise when her grandmother’s gentle hand fell on her shoulder. “One day you’ll understand. It is impossible to run away from yourself.”
Izah watched from the underbrush as a malnourished white girl posed with a spear. She wondered if CosmoGirl was going to make spears a trend, if girls from England were going to buy pink-feathered spears like that one from the “strip mall.” The model jutted her hip as Izah spat on the ground, turning her back on the ridiculous scene.
The indians began their routine as I watched fascinated from the bushes. I had been told to take one. A child; preferably a girl since they would be easier. But now, as I watched their happy, carefree lifestyle. . .could not bring myself to move an inch. I was captivated.
Isn’t it something, people assuming or just figuring that humans have come far. But we haven’t. We’re not so distant from our Neanderthal predecessors. We’re still primitive. Hungry. Horny. Angry. We want to fight. Fuck. Eat. Kill. Destroy. Rebuild. And we all stick together for some reason. Because we need each other. That’s fucking tribal.
Anger, upset
homeland destroyed
the tears in my mothers eyes
how fragile human beings make themselves
how uncanny the system is
Life is a mess sometimes. And sometimes we just need to remember that we are primal creatures. We have instincts and we need to trust them. We repress them always, but in all honesty they are what pulls us through some of the toughest times. Release your tribal, primitive self.
I lay on the beach, the warm air enclosing me. I heard their tribal calls in the distance, I don’t know what had gotten into them. two weeks stranded on this island and they were all pigs, every last one of them
To do with old traditions. Something that has to do with a tribe. Great heritage. Most tribes are in Africa with a variety of culture in every one. Tribes are unfortunately dying because of modernization of society.
the print of her leggings, a sharp contrast to the plain grey of her long-sleeved tunic, and the strawberry cream of her vest. it was wild and the print seemed to spin and dance as she moved, giving you a headache as you stared. or maybe that was the whack of her hand on the back of your head for staring that gave you the headache, but her smile was primal and dark as her leggings so you just gave a huff of a laugh and continued staring.
i always wore those
tribal clothes they told me
where i truly came from
Their dances were tribal and they danced across the desert for nights on end. Their travel would have pushed a Greek god to the limits of exertion, but the motions of their dances and the hypnotic beat of their drums carried them through the moonlight and sunshine to safety, to lush land that would make their tribe thrive.
indians have tribal nature and culture and tribal are like tribes and groups i personaly love the show tribal hunters and it is very unpredictable thank u for all your time today for letting me hang out
Tribal are the men and women who are relatively cut off from civilization for a long period of time. They are not culturally and socially as developed as the rest of the outside world. Such people exhibit primitive thinking and are usually more backward than the rest of the outside world
thinking about what you’ve become and how you never thought you’d be here. learning you are made of red. painting skin, painting walls. fingerprints. watching the rest travel in packs. you become an animal alone. the echo of your past howls worn and tattered in your human eardrums, the wild streak marring your heartless organized structure, a cave made for thousands so empty it presses your skull in.
National Geographic is what initially comes to mind when I ponder the term, tribal. However, with more effort put forth I’m able to do some further analyzing and come up a more modern relation, that being particularly pertaining a specific form of fashion worn by a specific culture, as well as, a good majority of today’s youth (looking to sport an alternative and not so mainstream trendy way dress
His friends took him out to celebrate his win, but Dave didn’t feel very victorious. They spent the evening telling him how he had broken through, how he had set a precedent for all of them. Dave realised that most of his friends were just like him; divorced, fighting to get their kids back, bitter about how life had treated them, angry at the Japanese in general, as if the failure of their marriages was part of some national plan. It suddenly struck him as astonishingly tribal, and more than a little racist.
.oneword.com
Not something that I expected to find and it was quite unconventional. But I had to buy the unique blended art so lovingly patterned upon the fabric. We are far too lost in the commercial and the polished brightness of manufactured perfection.
But behold. Someone, a he or she, with their loving hands made this and sent it out into the world.
The girl was half Japanese and half California blonde, but in the photo she posed with a long feathered headdress that came halfway down her back, longer than her hair, and blue circles and dots painted along Her cheekbones. “I’m seeking my roots,” she said, a voiceover.
It fascinates me: the way they flock together. The newest god births a culture amidst the bleating of sheep and the echoes of parrots. Praise to the meme.
“Welcome to the oneword tribe!” screamed a gang of cyber ninjas dressed head to toe in leaves running around rabidly shaking the hands of all the oneword newbies. “And good luck with all your writing ventures!”
“Wholly Hoo Wah NAh NOO noo ” he screamed as the head boiled slowly in the clear liquid.
almost archaic and wrapped in right angles, depictions of serpentine deities of this earth. old, older than you or i or our ancestors. since the dawn of time, it’s been there. there with us, in us. in our spirits.
Once the base of the wood pile was on fire, the whole thing set ablaze in seconds, and a wall of fire stood between me and the rest of them. We hooted and hollered and danced around the fire like our tribal instinct told us to.
“The tribal has spoken.”
Everyone glanced up.
“Tribal?” Cassidy said, tilting her head to the side. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘tribe’?”
The man laughed. “Who told you that? It’s ‘tribal.'”
“That’s grammatically incorrect,” Victor said.
They’d hate him for this. The ones he left behind. They’d say they always knew how useless he was. Never supporting his family. Never learning anything useful. Never interested in the common goals.
Orinoco flowing in its basin, daydreams of my youth, sorrow of my present.
When we set our feet on their territority I had to think of those horrifying stories I heard about them. I could only hope that we wouldn’t be discovered. The tribal law didn’t know the Geneva Convention after all.
The tribal pattern on her skirt was hideous. She wore way too much makeup. Her hair: morbidly bleached. I processed all these atrocities as she approached me, my older sister.
tribal can mean family
bonded for life
your blood runs through my veins, it always will
so no mater what I’ve got your back
“What a champion…” James commented sarcastically.
“Huh?” came Tim’s distracted reply.
“You see this tosser in the ’86 Laser, tribal decals all down the sides?”
“Oh, yeah. People still do that?”
“Yeah, I guess. You think it looks any good?” James asked.
“Nah.” said Tim, resuming his work, “You?”
James thought for a second, “Nah, not at all.”
Imagery.
“We’re going to have a tribal theme!” Mark told me as we walked from class back to his dorm. I looked at him with alarm.
” ‘Tribal’ them! What, like dress up in feathers and dance around?”
“Yeah!” Mark replied. “It’s the new thing! Better than togas!”
“Don’t you think that’s just, I don’t know, a little bit offensive?” I demanded.
“Why the Hell do you care? You’re white.”
I stared him down. “Bitch, I’m Native American. Cherokee.”
there were no fangs on leather thongs
no blood glinting on the blade
instead the dirt.
our fingernails became hardened shells but our faces still cracked during the rains
trible bible trible bible..trivial tribe
tattoos
northlands
fibble fable wobble wobble
try a ball
try balance
trib your all
the people in the tribe had red, black, and white paint on their faces. they would sing by the fire and roast marshmallows. the tents that they would make were made out of palm leaves. the people in the tribe lived on a desolate island.
In the beginning there were tribes and you know i’m not really suer what happened to them but i bet they still exisst somewhere like africa because you know i’ma sexist pig who can’t fucking type to save her life but whatever man okay anyway tribes consisted of hunters and gatherers and nurturers and teachers and i would know because i played virtual villagers for like two weeks straight until i got so fucking tired of it that i quit
people
group
mean
nice
bright
colorful
naked
bare
head
fire
warm
Child Indians freedom power trust
Naomi hung outside of the circle, watching in contempt. They were doing that funny chant and some of the women were dancing as if they had ants in their pants again. When the tourists began to gather, an urge to runaway rose up within her like a cobra. She jumped back in surprise when her grandmother’s gentle hand fell on her shoulder. “One day you’ll understand. It is impossible to run away from yourself.”
Izah watched from the underbrush as a malnourished white girl posed with a spear. She wondered if CosmoGirl was going to make spears a trend, if girls from England were going to buy pink-feathered spears like that one from the “strip mall.” The model jutted her hip as Izah spat on the ground, turning her back on the ridiculous scene.
The indians began their routine as I watched fascinated from the bushes. I had been told to take one. A child; preferably a girl since they would be easier. But now, as I watched their happy, carefree lifestyle. . .could not bring myself to move an inch. I was captivated.