Five hundred twenty five thousand dollars spent do distribute this fuckin’ flyer. Seriously, what the actual fuck? Why does my nemesis have to be so ridiculously rich?
The bird dipped and soared and disappeared from sight. And as they laid side by side, he could feel her heart beating in time with flap of the birds wings. Was she ever going to be content here? He wanted to reach over and touch her, kiss her gently on the lips and wrap an arm around her waist. But how?
“Come one, come all! Witness the miracle of the Red Rider!” The flyer next to Smith’s door frame read. He tore it down in disgust, grumbling to himself.
I always open my mailbox with the expectation that something fabulous will be waiting there for me. A note from a secret admirer or a check for a million dollars. But nope… never anything apart from bills and the hundreds of flyers that come each day. What a waste of paper! It’s not like I ever look at what’s inside. They always go straight in the bin and everyday I hope once again for something fabulous.
Dear Noun/adjective that has so much potential but doesn’t know what to be, you don’t need to know. You’ll be picked up and used over and over until you’re made redundant. Just try to find out who’s economy you live in.
Flyer like flyers everywhere or one who takes to the sky soaring soaring. but it was so hot out there today would you have melted too? i did not melt not yet. find the cosucations in the sky, not the sun there are other ones too if you find them in the blue. when it is hot and bright and the clouds, when they are empty
The little girl wiggled her hips and licked her lips in concentration. Her grandfather tossed the ball, light but with sure aim, and it went soaring. Wow, that was a real shitty shot. Did you check out this flyer I found on the door?
She looked over the cliff edge and took a deep breath. Once upon a time, this was terrifying, but now it was second nature. She threw herself over the cliff, and as she fell into thin air, her wings unfurled and she flew.
There was Samson, scraggly hair and beard, dressed in his best black T-shirt and jeans, standing on the corner. He was passing out pink slips of fragile paper. Flyers for the small metal concert held in the back of the dive bar where he held a dead-end, minimum wage job, fobbing off recycled sheets of advertising to any helpless passerby still twiddling on their phones and borderline sucking their thumbs. His eyes were like black vacuums as he handed out the modern parchment, drawing in every night star like his skull was lifting up two tiny black holes.
Climbing to the top of the big top the man waved down at the adoring crowds. With a quick prayer to gain confidence, he stepped from the ledge and within momentds was flying through the air towards the outstrecthed hands of his capture.
Oh, what a fierce fresh funky flyer you are, said the furry character in the psychedelic 70s childrens show Trent was watching when coming down on acid. The sentence made sense at the time, but upon further reflection sober, he was unable to capture whatever insight he had at the moment
I’ve written about this word three times now, this being the third. Are you flying? Are you a flyer, or is it just a subjective object in the midst of a objective world?
cognitive dissonance
“i don’t fucking give a shit
about supporting my fucking teammates”
ha.
Funny.
Calm songs playing in
angry minds
and apathetic heart.
Wondering how to pull them down
flying
into a large building and
shatter their femur,
blind their eyes
so they can be
just as unaware of the world
as they already have been.
They’ll just notice it this time.
I was flying over the city. I looked out the window wondering what was going on down on the grown. They seem to have bustling around like ants. Some time I like to think were are they going, what are they talking about. Was is a mother taking her daughter to her first residual.
I opened the mailbox and there sitting inside the little cavern was a flyer from three days ago. It was slightly damp from the morning precipitation, and no longer relevant as it was advertising a an add from three days ago as reviously mentioned. I pick it up anyway and tossed it on the counter with out another moments thought.
Joyfully, pitifully, with no majesty whatsoever, the tiny dragon spread its wings. Such dainty appendages for such a heavy load. But as it unfolded itself for the first time to attempt escalation, it couldn’t help but let out a fiery hoot of exhilaration.
I am a flying squirrel. I buried my nuts before the winter rolled in, but now I can’t seem to find them. The cold is seeping in through the hollows of my tree. My tail always seems to be quivering. And now my poor nuts are all by themselves in the bitter frost, where another can just snatch them up and claim them for their own. I am very alone these days, longing for my nuts.
“Mama,” he calls out, and she looks over to see him with arms stretched out, like he’s trying to wrap his arms around the moon. “Mama, look! I’m a flyer!”
She asks him what he means. He points up, up, up. “A flyer, mama!” he cries, like it’s the easiest thing to understand, and God, she wishes it was.
He’s frustrated. She’s disappointed. She asks him again, “What do you mean, love?” and he spreads his arms.
I was asked once how to spell the cheap, paper posters, 8″X11″ seen stapled to telephone poles screaming yard sale,
or rip this telephone number where it has a make believe perforation and you rip all of them. You now have ten telephone numbers, and nobody else has one.
Pop Pop took off every single Sunday from Mass after he retired from the Post Office and drove around from pole to pole eradicating the town of the wet and wilted, torn and ink stained sheets,
and made it a point to tell me that people are tacky. I took off from Mass on Sunday’s too. The problem seemed to grow, and it was important to keep it under control.
I remember the first flyer for a punk show at the Cafe Savoie that I was given. I was excited that the kids who I thought were cool decided to include me in the group. Who knew that I’d be married with three kids to one of them.
It is difficult to underestimate the difference a bit of height makes when looking down upon the world. As well, it is difficult to properly respect the complicated dance of breezes and crossbreezes that are required for a good soaring. One wrong move and you can get far more turned about than you anticipate — or worse, gravity can take over and send you for a tumble.
She ripped the flyer off the wall, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Why would he do this? She thought, as she spun around overwhelmed by all the pictures that only his eyes were meant for him to see. The tears grew into heaving sobs and then came the panicked breathing. RING. The final bell rang and students flooded into the hallway. Standing in the middle of it all, she was silenced by their presence. Tears now gracefully falling down her face, she took in the radio silence. Everyone else was unsure of how to react, because what do you do when you accidentally witness a person’s weakest moment? They all looked to her, searching for normal in an incredibly fucked up situation. A normal that wasn’t going to be found; and once she realized that she started to laugh and people started to move back into their normal routine. Because that’s what you do when life throws you a curveball. You keep playing the game.
In Edinburgh, flyers are all over the place. People handing out flyers left, right, and indeed centre. I once had someone pretend a flyer was a telephone just to get me to take it. There’s a simple art to flyering and that flyerer achieved it.
High flyer. Balancing everything perfectly. Dancing and jumping and entertaining. My smile as big as the Big Top or the feathers on my head. Inside my head I’m screaming. “Keep it up, don’t fall, Keep it up, don’t fall!” My gaze intense as I balance precariously my thoughts, actions, emotions. Looking fluid-but inside…I’m falling.
Five hundred twenty five thousand dollars spent do distribute this fuckin’ flyer. Seriously, what the actual fuck? Why does my nemesis have to be so ridiculously rich?
The bird dipped and soared and disappeared from sight. And as they laid side by side, he could feel her heart beating in time with flap of the birds wings. Was she ever going to be content here? He wanted to reach over and touch her, kiss her gently on the lips and wrap an arm around her waist. But how?
“Come one, come all! Witness the miracle of the Red Rider!” The flyer next to Smith’s door frame read. He tore it down in disgust, grumbling to himself.
A person who flyes.
Leaflets. Five folded pages that have to express an entire topic, or view, or product. A blend of colour, pictures and words.
she was a high-flyer
a real roadie
a never-part-with-her, free-wheelin’, thriller
leaving a trail of beats behind her.
I always open my mailbox with the expectation that something fabulous will be waiting there for me. A note from a secret admirer or a check for a million dollars. But nope… never anything apart from bills and the hundreds of flyers that come each day. What a waste of paper! It’s not like I ever look at what’s inside. They always go straight in the bin and everyday I hope once again for something fabulous.
Airplane
Trips to anywhere
Leaving right now
I want to see it all
Aeroplanes. Paper ones, back and forth over the library. me, you, them. us. We love it. oh how we love it so. old books and coffee cups, we love it.
It was her cute neighboor, standing in the corner.
“New pizza place two blocks from here!”
She smiled and winked as she took the flyer.
Dear Noun/adjective that has so much potential but doesn’t know what to be, you don’t need to know. You’ll be picked up and used over and over until you’re made redundant. Just try to find out who’s economy you live in.
Flyer like flyers everywhere or one who takes to the sky soaring soaring. but it was so hot out there today would you have melted too? i did not melt not yet. find the cosucations in the sky, not the sun there are other ones too if you find them in the blue. when it is hot and bright and the clouds, when they are empty
Welcome to FLYERS INTERNATIONAL! For just $4.99 you can have all the flyers you could dream of
The little girl wiggled her hips and licked her lips in concentration. Her grandfather tossed the ball, light but with sure aim, and it went soaring. Wow, that was a real shitty shot. Did you check out this flyer I found on the door?
the flyer fell off from the door by the sudden force of the drunken college kids running on the hall. Here I stand, watching the last leaf fall. Well.
She looked over the cliff edge and took a deep breath. Once upon a time, this was terrifying, but now it was second nature. She threw herself over the cliff, and as she fell into thin air, her wings unfurled and she flew.
There was Samson, scraggly hair and beard, dressed in his best black T-shirt and jeans, standing on the corner. He was passing out pink slips of fragile paper. Flyers for the small metal concert held in the back of the dive bar where he held a dead-end, minimum wage job, fobbing off recycled sheets of advertising to any helpless passerby still twiddling on their phones and borderline sucking their thumbs. His eyes were like black vacuums as he handed out the modern parchment, drawing in every night star like his skull was lifting up two tiny black holes.
Climbing to the top of the big top the man waved down at the adoring crowds. With a quick prayer to gain confidence, he stepped from the ledge and within momentds was flying through the air towards the outstrecthed hands of his capture.
Oh, what a fierce fresh funky flyer you are, said the furry character in the psychedelic 70s childrens show Trent was watching when coming down on acid. The sentence made sense at the time, but upon further reflection sober, he was unable to capture whatever insight he had at the moment
I’ve written about this word three times now, this being the third. Are you flying? Are you a flyer, or is it just a subjective object in the midst of a objective world?
As the mailman left, I summarily opened my door and opened the white box to find an old flyer.
FLYING, AMAZING FEELING, COOL,AIR, AMAZINGNESS
wings soaring through the sky. Unbound by human cares. Can’t be tamed.
cognitive dissonance
“i don’t fucking give a shit
about supporting my fucking teammates”
ha.
Funny.
Calm songs playing in
angry minds
and apathetic heart.
Wondering how to pull them down
flying
into a large building and
shatter their femur,
blind their eyes
so they can be
just as unaware of the world
as they already have been.
They’ll just notice it this time.
I was flying over the city. I looked out the window wondering what was going on down on the grown. They seem to have bustling around like ants. Some time I like to think were are they going, what are they talking about. Was is a mother taking her daughter to her first residual.
I opened the mailbox and there sitting inside the little cavern was a flyer from three days ago. It was slightly damp from the morning precipitation, and no longer relevant as it was advertising a an add from three days ago as reviously mentioned. I pick it up anyway and tossed it on the counter with out another moments thought.
Joyfully, pitifully, with no majesty whatsoever, the tiny dragon spread its wings. Such dainty appendages for such a heavy load. But as it unfolded itself for the first time to attempt escalation, it couldn’t help but let out a fiery hoot of exhilaration.
I am a flying squirrel. I buried my nuts before the winter rolled in, but now I can’t seem to find them. The cold is seeping in through the hollows of my tree. My tail always seems to be quivering. And now my poor nuts are all by themselves in the bitter frost, where another can just snatch them up and claim them for their own. I am very alone these days, longing for my nuts.
“Mama,” he calls out, and she looks over to see him with arms stretched out, like he’s trying to wrap his arms around the moon. “Mama, look! I’m a flyer!”
She asks him what he means. He points up, up, up. “A flyer, mama!” he cries, like it’s the easiest thing to understand, and God, she wishes it was.
He’s frustrated. She’s disappointed. She asks him again, “What do you mean, love?” and he spreads his arms.
“A flyer, Mama. I can fly.”
I was asked once how to spell the cheap, paper posters, 8″X11″ seen stapled to telephone poles screaming yard sale,
or rip this telephone number where it has a make believe perforation and you rip all of them. You now have ten telephone numbers, and nobody else has one.
Pop Pop took off every single Sunday from Mass after he retired from the Post Office and drove around from pole to pole eradicating the town of the wet and wilted, torn and ink stained sheets,
and made it a point to tell me that people are tacky. I took off from Mass on Sunday’s too. The problem seemed to grow, and it was important to keep it under control.
I remember the first flyer for a punk show at the Cafe Savoie that I was given. I was excited that the kids who I thought were cool decided to include me in the group. Who knew that I’d be married with three kids to one of them.
You can get business going by handling flyers. Although they may be a little overrated these days, they still give some charm to the promotion.
It is difficult to underestimate the difference a bit of height makes when looking down upon the world. As well, it is difficult to properly respect the complicated dance of breezes and crossbreezes that are required for a good soaring. One wrong move and you can get far more turned about than you anticipate — or worse, gravity can take over and send you for a tumble.
She ripped the flyer off the wall, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. Why would he do this? She thought, as she spun around overwhelmed by all the pictures that only his eyes were meant for him to see. The tears grew into heaving sobs and then came the panicked breathing. RING. The final bell rang and students flooded into the hallway. Standing in the middle of it all, she was silenced by their presence. Tears now gracefully falling down her face, she took in the radio silence. Everyone else was unsure of how to react, because what do you do when you accidentally witness a person’s weakest moment? They all looked to her, searching for normal in an incredibly fucked up situation. A normal that wasn’t going to be found; and once she realized that she started to laugh and people started to move back into their normal routine. Because that’s what you do when life throws you a curveball. You keep playing the game.
In Edinburgh, flyers are all over the place. People handing out flyers left, right, and indeed centre. I once had someone pretend a flyer was a telephone just to get me to take it. There’s a simple art to flyering and that flyerer achieved it.
High flyer. Balancing everything perfectly. Dancing and jumping and entertaining. My smile as big as the Big Top or the feathers on my head. Inside my head I’m screaming. “Keep it up, don’t fall, Keep it up, don’t fall!” My gaze intense as I balance precariously my thoughts, actions, emotions. Looking fluid-but inside…I’m falling.