The moment I noticed them for the first time I ceased to be a child. These people with their bland faces following me wherever I went and no one could help me because they couldn’t see them.
everyday.
the same thing.
I clock in. stare. day dream.
clock out.
go home. tv.
no adventure.
no spice.
nothing to break this cycle of sameness.
Is this what teachers meant by you can be anything
when you grow up?
they meant be nothing?
“The food here lacks flavor. Just like the people, its bland.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“There isn’t any spice. there’s just… there’s nothing to any of them. I want to go home.”
“This is home now, love. Our home is gone so lets just try to make the best of it. Maybe we can spice them up a bit?”
It tasted like nothing. Which was not normal. It’s not like yogurt usually had the attribute of tasting like nothing. It’s that she couldn’t taste it, almost didn’t even notice it was in her mouth. She stared solemnly out the window, dutifully, distractedly. Eating over the sink is the saddest ritual.
He wore gray suits and ate macaroni and cheese, the prepacked heat up kind, every day. He took his wife to the same restaurant and followed the same routine. He said it was orderly but he never experienced color. He was shocked when his wife wouldn’t kiss him because she found him…bland.
The sheer boredom of predictability began to, if you can believe it, wear thin. Cracks in the facade appear. Spider veins give way to larger ruts, a condition of ennui perhaps, as it’s like an artery pulsing faintly, steadily, wearily. How the reliability of bland perfection, whatever that means to anyone at any given time, did weigh so heavily on the illusion of total stability of the system. A certain evolution of the day that become days that becomes seasons that become years that become eons. Everything to everybody, one size fits all, the conditions of the laws of physics and human ingenuity made writ. Although it does well to bear in mind, that slowly chaos will worm its way to the surface, like a maggot coming up for air. And so it cycles again and again.
tastes like nothing. Looks like nothing. Nothing special. what is life if bland. Ho humm! BORING!! Some people prefer bland. It’s safe. Non confrontational. Be BOLD!!! Colorful!
Bland is to be without flavor. In a person, it is to be without personality or interesting traits. However, bland is also security. It’s predictability. I think that bland used to be a good thing. Bland food was good for your digestion. Bland people were predictable and stable. Today, bland is bad. Bland is to be without excitement, when did excitement become the end all, be all of interest?
She loved him so much knowing that he needed a bland diet she wanted to learn what foods would help heal him and make him well so that they could have a long happy life together.
Bland. It sounded like everything in my life. It was the word telling me what my life had been up to this point — bland. Devoid of flavor. Meaningless and boring. Bland.
Cheryl often finds her mind wandering. She is married to her first love and has never known anything else. She finds it hard to imagine greener grass somewhere else because every manicured lawn in her neighborhood mirrors her own.
simple. tasteless. white. gray. white out.
devoid of life or is it just calmness.
resigned or contentment.
would you want your life to be bland or would you want your life to be full of colours but none that are yours.
The coffee I drank this morning was bland. I was expecting the punchy taste, the savouriness that I’m used to but this morning it didn’t happen to be. I got a taste of a bland, plain coffee that made me wonder if my life is not the same.
The entire room was exactly the same in every aspect. From the beige walls to the nondescript furniture. The entire room was as bland as the people currently inhabing it. I would rather drink straight acid than be here for another moment, but that wasn’t a choice.
Ever so bland is the day when you and I are separated.
I wish to stay by your side for forever and a day.
Alas I know time will tear us apart.
I cannot help but think of what such a fantasy would be like.
like that porridge served in Oliver Twist, his lectures drip on like sludge. there’s nothing exhilarating about the things he offers or the conclusions he draws, and yet, for about 200 students falling asleep in front of him, what he says is The Law because this lecture, unlike many others, is a weeder.
i kind of like things that are bland. they’re very grounding. if too much is happening at once I get overwhelmed and can’t enjoy what’s in front of me. I’m trying to work on that. I get overwhelmed a lot actually. I try to enjoy everything way too much and ruin it for myself
Bland was the sand on the grey, grey beach. The waves didn’t crash or shimmer, they were simply there. Down fell the sandcastles made of bland, bland sand, and still I waited for you there.
I needed to eat only bland food in order for the stomach upset to go away. White crackers and white bread and rice and boiled chicken with no seasoning or anything. By the end of the week I was ready to murder for some sugar, some oil and some spice.
It was a bland day to be out on the terrace. Sarah and I stood and looked out at the ocean anyways. We were going away soon, both of us. We’d take what chances the world would allow us
Doyle had a dual purpose in meeting with Matt. Normally his business was one of persuasion, using either money or threatening the target’s reputation, but he knew neither of those tools could help him now. The use of force was a foreign language to him, one he didn’t want to learn; so he needed a different perspective, hence his involving Matt. Matt was an ex-soldier, who had spent what he would only describe as an “eventful” time in the service of his nation. He followed that with a decade in the Presidential protection detail, apparently having been specifically requested by the President himself, “in return for an old favour”. Matt could also serve as a witness to all that was about to happen, as Doyle was sure that whatever was really happening, the illusion was being planned so that no one would believe anything HE claimed to have happened. him. He knew he could trust Matt, a brave soldier capable of hiding his fierce loyalty behind a bland, apparently cynical demeanour, of doing the right thing when the time came. Doyle could only hope that time would come soon enough.
The walls were tastelessly bland, very beige and boring. The entire place left a slightly bitter taste on his tongue. It was sickening, what they did here.
Eric chewed on his pencil nervously waiting for the test to be handed out to the class but found the eraser was very bland and spit it out on George (a friend sitting next to him). George picked up the eraser and through it back to Eric who picked it up and started chewing on it once again.
the gruel he pushes around the misshapen bowl is bland at best. it sits on his tongue, thick and sticky, and he forces himself to swallow. according to the wild-eyed woman sitting across from him, she had used the bowl to bash someone’s head in. he doesn’t doubt it.
“this shit is bland,” carlos dumps the dark liquid into the sink. “back in Montana, this is the stuff we’d give to the little kiddies. i dont know how you manage to survive so many nights on somethin’ this weak.” he pulled out a bag of suspiciously white, suspiciously powderlike “secret ingredients”. “Put this in instead. It’ll liven you right up.”
Fitz was a professional average man. Hired by the federal police not to stand out, he monitored his appearance closely. He was below average in height, which helped. He kept his hair short, face shaven and wore bland t-shirts and old sneakers. HIs smile let him down though, as did his affable charm, which women in particular, found entirely memorable.
I sigh, picking at my plain meal. A peanut butter jelly sandwich, strawberry yogurt, and an apple. Day after day after day, eating the same things over and over again, visiting the same places, seeing the same people.
“Bland.” Sara made a face. “And slightly burnt, too. Seriously, who made this?”
I sighed. “My mother’s always wanted to be a better cook than my dad was,” I explained, hiding my lips behind the lip of a beer tankard. The ale was the only thing adding flavor to this hapless meal. “After he died, she kept trying new recipes. All of them failures. I admire her for making the attempt, but…”
“It’s something, at least. Food is something,” said Sara, inhaling sharply as she reached for her glass of wine.
Bland.The walls,the skies, the air we breathe,seemed to be lacking in individuality,each built up of different properties,yet oh so similar.And,I was no different.
the blandest sunset will
still be beautiful
colors will fade like
old clothes, washed too
many times
dye runs from thread
but still fibers weave together
and the sky will never unravel;
cloud suspended from hueless space
The moment I noticed them for the first time I ceased to be a child. These people with their bland faces following me wherever I went and no one could help me because they couldn’t see them.
everyday.
the same thing.
I clock in. stare. day dream.
clock out.
go home. tv.
no adventure.
no spice.
nothing to break this cycle of sameness.
Is this what teachers meant by you can be anything
when you grow up?
they meant be nothing?
“The food here lacks flavor. Just like the people, its bland.”
“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“There isn’t any spice. there’s just… there’s nothing to any of them. I want to go home.”
“This is home now, love. Our home is gone so lets just try to make the best of it. Maybe we can spice them up a bit?”
It tasted like nothing. Which was not normal. It’s not like yogurt usually had the attribute of tasting like nothing. It’s that she couldn’t taste it, almost didn’t even notice it was in her mouth. She stared solemnly out the window, dutifully, distractedly. Eating over the sink is the saddest ritual.
He wore gray suits and ate macaroni and cheese, the prepacked heat up kind, every day. He took his wife to the same restaurant and followed the same routine. He said it was orderly but he never experienced color. He was shocked when his wife wouldn’t kiss him because she found him…bland.
“This tastes pretty boring, Mom. You probably need some more sugar or something before you want to go into the smoothie business.”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s not a smoothie you just drank. That’s a magical potion!”
“What is this I don’t…”
Jared looked at the cup of white goop he had just swallowed, then belched and leaned backward and let out a bestial howl.
“Still needs more sugar,” he said after spouting two rows of teeth and a meter-long muzzle.
The sheer boredom of predictability began to, if you can believe it, wear thin. Cracks in the facade appear. Spider veins give way to larger ruts, a condition of ennui perhaps, as it’s like an artery pulsing faintly, steadily, wearily. How the reliability of bland perfection, whatever that means to anyone at any given time, did weigh so heavily on the illusion of total stability of the system. A certain evolution of the day that become days that becomes seasons that become years that become eons. Everything to everybody, one size fits all, the conditions of the laws of physics and human ingenuity made writ. Although it does well to bear in mind, that slowly chaos will worm its way to the surface, like a maggot coming up for air. And so it cycles again and again.
tastes like nothing. Looks like nothing. Nothing special. what is life if bland. Ho humm! BORING!! Some people prefer bland. It’s safe. Non confrontational. Be BOLD!!! Colorful!
#JusticeforSandraBland
Bland is to be without flavor. In a person, it is to be without personality or interesting traits. However, bland is also security. It’s predictability. I think that bland used to be a good thing. Bland food was good for your digestion. Bland people were predictable and stable. Today, bland is bad. Bland is to be without excitement, when did excitement become the end all, be all of interest?
She loved him so much knowing that he needed a bland diet she wanted to learn what foods would help heal him and make him well so that they could have a long happy life together.
put your feet down and look close
if you go to fast you will miss so much
it will blur
out of focus
stop
savor
resist bland
Bland. It sounded like everything in my life. It was the word telling me what my life had been up to this point — bland. Devoid of flavor. Meaningless and boring. Bland.
Cheryl often finds her mind wandering. She is married to her first love and has never known anything else. She finds it hard to imagine greener grass somewhere else because every manicured lawn in her neighborhood mirrors her own.
simple. tasteless. white. gray. white out.
devoid of life or is it just calmness.
resigned or contentment.
would you want your life to be bland or would you want your life to be full of colours but none that are yours.
The coffee I drank this morning was bland. I was expecting the punchy taste, the savouriness that I’m used to but this morning it didn’t happen to be. I got a taste of a bland, plain coffee that made me wonder if my life is not the same.
The entire room was exactly the same in every aspect. From the beige walls to the nondescript furniture. The entire room was as bland as the people currently inhabing it. I would rather drink straight acid than be here for another moment, but that wasn’t a choice.
“Ugh! This is bland. Do you get it! Bland!! How many times do I have to tell you to add the salt.”
“We didn’t have salt, Sire.”
“Well then buy that jolly salt, d’ya here me!”
“Life is always bland, Sire.”
“Just get out!”
Ever so bland is the day when you and I are separated.
I wish to stay by your side for forever and a day.
Alas I know time will tear us apart.
I cannot help but think of what such a fantasy would be like.
like that porridge served in Oliver Twist, his lectures drip on like sludge. there’s nothing exhilarating about the things he offers or the conclusions he draws, and yet, for about 200 students falling asleep in front of him, what he says is The Law because this lecture, unlike many others, is a weeder.
I mean if you’re wondering.
i kind of like things that are bland. they’re very grounding. if too much is happening at once I get overwhelmed and can’t enjoy what’s in front of me. I’m trying to work on that. I get overwhelmed a lot actually. I try to enjoy everything way too much and ruin it for myself
Bland was the sand on the grey, grey beach. The waves didn’t crash or shimmer, they were simply there. Down fell the sandcastles made of bland, bland sand, and still I waited for you there.
Things are bland all too often, and it isn’t even a nice word. Bland. Let’s light up the world so the word bland doesn’t have to be used anymore!
I needed to eat only bland food in order for the stomach upset to go away. White crackers and white bread and rice and boiled chicken with no seasoning or anything. By the end of the week I was ready to murder for some sugar, some oil and some spice.
I havd no idea what this word means. I an from argentina and high right now.. idk what i shoud write.. god save me. Im nervous.
bland, a lack of flavor, perhaps color,
is that a bad thing? some days yes
but some days everything hurts so much
and a little less feels better
It was a bland day to be out on the terrace. Sarah and I stood and looked out at the ocean anyways. We were going away soon, both of us. We’d take what chances the world would allow us
Doyle had a dual purpose in meeting with Matt. Normally his business was one of persuasion, using either money or threatening the target’s reputation, but he knew neither of those tools could help him now. The use of force was a foreign language to him, one he didn’t want to learn; so he needed a different perspective, hence his involving Matt. Matt was an ex-soldier, who had spent what he would only describe as an “eventful” time in the service of his nation. He followed that with a decade in the Presidential protection detail, apparently having been specifically requested by the President himself, “in return for an old favour”. Matt could also serve as a witness to all that was about to happen, as Doyle was sure that whatever was really happening, the illusion was being planned so that no one would believe anything HE claimed to have happened. him. He knew he could trust Matt, a brave soldier capable of hiding his fierce loyalty behind a bland, apparently cynical demeanour, of doing the right thing when the time came. Doyle could only hope that time would come soon enough.
The walls were tastelessly bland, very beige and boring. The entire place left a slightly bitter taste on his tongue. It was sickening, what they did here.
Eric chewed on his pencil nervously waiting for the test to be handed out to the class but found the eraser was very bland and spit it out on George (a friend sitting next to him). George picked up the eraser and through it back to Eric who picked it up and started chewing on it once again.
As Eric chewed on his pencil he found that it was very bland and spit it on George, his friend sitting next to him.
the gruel he pushes around the misshapen bowl is bland at best. it sits on his tongue, thick and sticky, and he forces himself to swallow. according to the wild-eyed woman sitting across from him, she had used the bowl to bash someone’s head in. he doesn’t doubt it.
“this shit is bland,” carlos dumps the dark liquid into the sink. “back in Montana, this is the stuff we’d give to the little kiddies. i dont know how you manage to survive so many nights on somethin’ this weak.” he pulled out a bag of suspiciously white, suspiciously powderlike “secret ingredients”. “Put this in instead. It’ll liven you right up.”
Fitz was a professional average man. Hired by the federal police not to stand out, he monitored his appearance closely. He was below average in height, which helped. He kept his hair short, face shaven and wore bland t-shirts and old sneakers. HIs smile let him down though, as did his affable charm, which women in particular, found entirely memorable.
Tasteless. Not that crap of a taste yet boring so to speak.
Life is bland without challenges and triumph over what we hurdle.
I sigh, picking at my plain meal. A peanut butter jelly sandwich, strawberry yogurt, and an apple. Day after day after day, eating the same things over and over again, visiting the same places, seeing the same people.
“How’s the soup?”
“Bland.” Sara made a face. “And slightly burnt, too. Seriously, who made this?”
I sighed. “My mother’s always wanted to be a better cook than my dad was,” I explained, hiding my lips behind the lip of a beer tankard. The ale was the only thing adding flavor to this hapless meal. “After he died, she kept trying new recipes. All of them failures. I admire her for making the attempt, but…”
“It’s something, at least. Food is something,” said Sara, inhaling sharply as she reached for her glass of wine.
Bland.The walls,the skies, the air we breathe,seemed to be lacking in individuality,each built up of different properties,yet oh so similar.And,I was no different.