The word has been “local” three times in a row. Does this only change on a daily basis or what? I am so confused. And just a little bit annoyed. I would write something about locality but I can’t really think of anything. So, yeah. I feel awkward.
Kaplow.
local means something near to me like a product or some benefits. I canalso mean someplace on your body, like where to put medicine and stuffs. It also feels like localisation on computers and phones where people can see where you are. It could also be the sport team in your local place.
The locals look at you strangely. Your plain black clothes stand out against the soft beiges of the sand. They tug at the feathers in their hair, the bones around their necks. You are strange, so foreign to them. You have come here to tame them. But all they see is a pampered animal who has yet to let themselves be one with nature, to become who they are truly meant to be.
my local teashop was very odd; it had a cute old woman who always smiled at me, but she didn’t know the real me, i have made too many mistakes that cannot be forgiven, but the teashop made me feel forgiven.
How glorious to be Edmonds Local! I recall while riding on the ferry between Edmonds and Kingston someone saying how neat it would be to live here. And I thought to my self, “AND I DO!!!” hurray for me!
it was the cafe place she always went to. he knew this, but wasn’t sure why. all he knew was he hoped to see her here, to tell her he was in town. to tell her everything he had never said before. he entered the cafe, the bell jingling above him. he glanced around the room, trying to spot her somewhere, anywhere. but it was crowded, more so that he had expected, and he couldn’t see anything.
We lived in a place where there wasn’t much traffic. Everything was local, so people walked or biked or simply stood around the neighborhood, chatting with people they happened to pass by. It was all well and good, that is, until something happened.
We lived in a moderately sized town, not too far from the bustling city of Liang. The locals were very friendly and enjoyed talking with us over dinner and drinks.
Local is not my favorite place but when I go away from there I long to be back there. Local used to be in PA but now it is in NC. I have very little friends there and make no effort to find them. I am going to work harder at making new friends.
I never liked local. Too local for me. A lot of people, living 15 miles from the greatest city in the world, acting as though it was another planet. You could see the Empire State Building baby, right from our street. I said, “I’m going there. And I’m never coming back.” That’s what I did.
That’s what I did.
I’m a yo-yo
wound around a December –
remember –
rinse and repeat: remember
rising suns in the back, pockets
of sunshine turned black
in the same place
between the doorframe
where we heard laughter
before the scream.
Disney books on the shelves,
pressing against me like liars,
because a fairy godparent doesn’t
just forget he’s a father –
doesn’t just rise
like a hot-air erection,
shattering words
like “happiness”
and “protection,”
and a girl
isn’t supposed
to just sit there and smile,
catch his hand
for one moment
and forget she can fight them.
After:
fingerpaint in a heart
that never felt ready
to start, and put your mess
in a frame; say Picasso’s work
isn’t the same –
and how much string
do you need to keep
a young girl pulled together?
Gag on the doctors,
depressors, the knights
dismounting horses just to
climb down your throat
(like Rapunzel,
like glorified boats)
in the wreckage of a graveyard
where they claimed
to be prophesized to float.
The local hang out spot was Rally’s. To an passerby this place must of looked like a slum sanctuary, but to us it was home. The woman who ran it, Martha Vineyard, was a portly, passionate, woman whose hardships in life has somehow not dwindled her hope for better days to come.
walking down the street, I had to narrowly miss the line of traffic, and walk on the pavement next to the grass; there was no sidewalk. On the other side of the street, a Chili’s, an Applebees, a TGI Fridays, a Wendy’s.. nothing about this place was local. Cars kept honking, but no bikes passed me by, it was 98 degrees out and there weren’t any bike lanes. I looked over at Precision Auto Tune, waiting for my car to be finished, and I sighed. Nothing local.
walking down the street, I had to narrowly miss the line of traffic, and walk on the pavement next to the grass; there was no sidewalk. On the other side of the street, a Chili’s, an Applebees, a TGI Fridays, a Wendy’s.. nothing about this place was local
“No, you don’t understand,” the agent said to the Governor. “We’re not here to support the local police, we’re here to bring the riots under control.” “So you’re going to help us, right?” The Governor was now genuinely confused, and more than a little nervous.”No,” the agent replied, taking a moment to push his glasses up on his nose and furtively undo the clip on his sidearm. The Governor noticed this, and his gaze shot to the agent’s face, which predictably did not flinch. “We want you to order all the local law enforcement to stand down, until we can restore order, and the public trust. Before you protest, my orders come from the President himself. And those orders state that I am to arrest you if you do not comply fully with my instructions. Your little kingdom here has come to an end.” The Governor tried to clear his throat, then reached for his pocket. “My asthma. . .!” he wheezed, and his hand rose briskly to his mouth. Agent Miller was a split second too slow in noticing that the tube of the supposed asthma inhaler was in fact the barrel of a small revolver, and he dived across the desk just to late to stop the Governor from evading justice.
Local, just around the block, the place and sense of mind that is just HERE. You belong here. You’re local. You can fly the next, search for yourself furiously, visit as many lands and continents as possible, but you’ll always find yourself back here whether in body, mind, or spirit.
I walked into a bakery next to my apartment in college. They had some cookies, but it was nothing surprising. A glazed outside and sprinkles on top made it look like any ordinary cookie. I bought one, because why not, it was 9:34 in the morning and i was hungry. I took one bite.
everyday,
it’s the same thing.
Like the movie Groundhog’s Day.
Wake up.
Do nothing.
Say boring hi to the same boring faces.
Sleep.
Never once thinking about
what’s beyond the highway.
Never wondering what if things were different.
Never wondering if
maybe there’s someone in an alien land
here on Earth
that feels that same dull
as you.
The word has been “local” three times in a row. Does this only change on a daily basis or what? I am so confused. And just a little bit annoyed. I would write something about locality but I can’t really think of anything. So, yeah. I feel awkward.
Kaplow.
local means something near to me like a product or some benefits. I canalso mean someplace on your body, like where to put medicine and stuffs. It also feels like localisation on computers and phones where people can see where you are. It could also be the sport team in your local place.
The locals look at you strangely. Your plain black clothes stand out against the soft beiges of the sand. They tug at the feathers in their hair, the bones around their necks. You are strange, so foreign to them. You have come here to tame them. But all they see is a pampered animal who has yet to let themselves be one with nature, to become who they are truly meant to be.
locally
vocally
challenged
commuter
computers
run
galaxies forging
heavenly
despite our setting
sun
my local teashop was very odd; it had a cute old woman who always smiled at me, but she didn’t know the real me, i have made too many mistakes that cannot be forgiven, but the teashop made me feel forgiven.
locally grown
in my home
i was birthed on this
paisley couch
that i drape my limbs
on lazily in the summer
(that we lay on breathing heavily
secrets into each other’s skin
wrapped in our own understandings
and desire)
i cannot stray to far
from this living room
as your arms entrap
my sides
How glorious to be Edmonds Local! I recall while riding on the ferry between Edmonds and Kingston someone saying how neat it would be to live here. And I thought to my self, “AND I DO!!!” hurray for me!
it was the cafe place she always went to. he knew this, but wasn’t sure why. all he knew was he hoped to see her here, to tell her he was in town. to tell her everything he had never said before. he entered the cafe, the bell jingling above him. he glanced around the room, trying to spot her somewhere, anywhere. but it was crowded, more so that he had expected, and he couldn’t see anything.
We lived in a place where there wasn’t much traffic. Everything was local, so people walked or biked or simply stood around the neighborhood, chatting with people they happened to pass by. It was all well and good, that is, until something happened.
Boredom was never something that bothered me. Just like the rest of the locals born here, I always just accepted it as an inevitable lull in the day.
We lived in a moderately sized town, not too far from the bustling city of Liang. The locals were very friendly and enjoyed talking with us over dinner and drinks.
Local is not my favorite place but when I go away from there I long to be back there. Local used to be in PA but now it is in NC. I have very little friends there and make no effort to find them. I am going to work harder at making new friends.
I never liked local. Too local for me. A lot of people, living 15 miles from the greatest city in the world, acting as though it was another planet. You could see the Empire State Building baby, right from our street. I said, “I’m going there. And I’m never coming back.” That’s what I did.
That’s what I did.
well…. i love everything local….bcoz it’s already recognised to me… i dont feel good with something i am unaware of;….
I’m a yo-yo
wound around a December –
remember –
rinse and repeat: remember
rising suns in the back, pockets
of sunshine turned black
in the same place
between the doorframe
where we heard laughter
before the scream.
Disney books on the shelves,
pressing against me like liars,
because a fairy godparent doesn’t
just forget he’s a father –
doesn’t just rise
like a hot-air erection,
shattering words
like “happiness”
and “protection,”
and a girl
isn’t supposed
to just sit there and smile,
catch his hand
for one moment
and forget she can fight them.
After:
fingerpaint in a heart
that never felt ready
to start, and put your mess
in a frame; say Picasso’s work
isn’t the same –
and how much string
do you need to keep
a young girl pulled together?
Gag on the doctors,
depressors, the knights
dismounting horses just to
climb down your throat
(like Rapunzel,
like glorified boats)
in the wreckage of a graveyard
where they claimed
to be prophesized to float.
The local hang out spot was Rally’s. To an passerby this place must of looked like a slum sanctuary, but to us it was home. The woman who ran it, Martha Vineyard, was a portly, passionate, woman whose hardships in life has somehow not dwindled her hope for better days to come.
walking down the street, I had to narrowly miss the line of traffic, and walk on the pavement next to the grass; there was no sidewalk. On the other side of the street, a Chili’s, an Applebees, a TGI Fridays, a Wendy’s.. nothing about this place was local. Cars kept honking, but no bikes passed me by, it was 98 degrees out and there weren’t any bike lanes. I looked over at Precision Auto Tune, waiting for my car to be finished, and I sighed. Nothing local.
walking down the street, I had to narrowly miss the line of traffic, and walk on the pavement next to the grass; there was no sidewalk. On the other side of the street, a Chili’s, an Applebees, a TGI Fridays, a Wendy’s.. nothing about this place was local
“No, you don’t understand,” the agent said to the Governor. “We’re not here to support the local police, we’re here to bring the riots under control.” “So you’re going to help us, right?” The Governor was now genuinely confused, and more than a little nervous.”No,” the agent replied, taking a moment to push his glasses up on his nose and furtively undo the clip on his sidearm. The Governor noticed this, and his gaze shot to the agent’s face, which predictably did not flinch. “We want you to order all the local law enforcement to stand down, until we can restore order, and the public trust. Before you protest, my orders come from the President himself. And those orders state that I am to arrest you if you do not comply fully with my instructions. Your little kingdom here has come to an end.” The Governor tried to clear his throat, then reached for his pocket. “My asthma. . .!” he wheezed, and his hand rose briskly to his mouth. Agent Miller was a split second too slow in noticing that the tube of the supposed asthma inhaler was in fact the barrel of a small revolver, and he dived across the desk just to late to stop the Governor from evading justice.
Local, just around the block, the place and sense of mind that is just HERE. You belong here. You’re local. You can fly the next, search for yourself furiously, visit as many lands and continents as possible, but you’ll always find yourself back here whether in body, mind, or spirit.
I walked into a bakery next to my apartment in college. They had some cookies, but it was nothing surprising. A glazed outside and sprinkles on top made it look like any ordinary cookie. I bought one, because why not, it was 9:34 in the morning and i was hungry. I took one bite.
everyday,
it’s the same thing.
Like the movie Groundhog’s Day.
Wake up.
Do nothing.
Say boring hi to the same boring faces.
Sleep.
Never once thinking about
what’s beyond the highway.
Never wondering what if things were different.
Never wondering if
maybe there’s someone in an alien land
here on Earth
that feels that same dull
as you.