am i normal? no. that is the short answer to it, there is no way for any of to be normal. Has anyone ever defined the word normal? no. It is a completely arbitrary idea with positive connotations meaning any one outside of the so called norm is shunned from our completely abnormal society.
MY face was covered in pimples and scars. MY arms were hairy. MY voice was raspy as if I had a neverending cough. Why ME?
All i’ve ever wanted is to be NORMAL – normal like the girls who had long wavy coffee colored hair, not like me with ebony hair blacker than a midnight winter sky, normal like the girls with slender legs sculpted with years of ballet so appealing next to my chunky “too muscular” thighs, normal like the girls with dainty curved eyebrows so thin in comparison to mine, so thick and caterpillar-like.
This is quite normal. Being normal is really subjective. What can we define as normal? Is it really normal just because we think about what others will say when we do something? Or do we only do something that we justify as normal even though it may not be agreed upon? What is normal?
Normality is something undervalued. being the average joe, being ‘normal’, being unextraordinary, isn’t a crime. One need not strive to be abnormal to stand out and be successful. Normal is also a type of Pokemon. Like Clefairy? No wait.
Like laying down for a catnap in a shaft of sunlight, a slit in the blinds of west facing window, the ordinary imbued the scene with peace and order. Dust motes existed like they had for a millennia before and possibly as they would continue to do for the rest of eternity. It seemed a normal routine for a lazy Sunday. But what’s to come of all the dreams? Did he idly sit by and wonder if he ever appeared in any of them, he didn’t dare risk the hope that somewhere in the subconscious was a stubborn streak that wouldn’t let him go. So he went back to scribbling in his notebook about the laws of nature and the logical reasons behind a system of classification. Applied knowledge: simple, straightforward, unlike the dreams he often pondered.
Ha. Normal. As if. “Normal” is a myth. How can you go around saying everyone is unique and special in their own way and still call people “normal”? It’s fucking ridiculous.
“She’s never going to be normal, Katie.” He watched her eyes flash with pain.
“Don’t say that, Jason. Don’t. Do not talk about my daughter like that.”
“Oh, your daughter. I see.”
“Stop it.”
“No, no, I just want to make sure I understand, because she’s YOUR daughter. Not OUR daughter.”
normal is what they all want you to be. if you set yourself apart, then what is good? what is true? for them everything must fall into one line, must fall under one name, else all is lost. they don’t want to wonder what sets them apart, for there is nothing. they abide by the laws of others, and they hate nothing more than to see a free man. they are slaves to normal, and they wish you shared their master.
Normalcy is in the windowsill,
two cats and a novella later,
chai stains in the wood and
a blanket with a wolf pack
howling to a yellow moon.
Normalcy is one load of laundry,
one reflection in every window
after dusk, and one month between
each existential crises,
because life is slipping away faster
and death seems to be approaching
slower, not even worth a greeting –
until he’s in the room hulking
as a reminder from someone’s casket.
Perhaps ‘normalcy’ is simply
the distraction between each
lifetime and the scales
which weigh its value.
fellow mortals
how normal differs from each one of each
the degree to which we are accustomed to consider something as normal
something familiar
something which we feel secure knowing about
It’s was as normal as homemade apple pie, depending on how you treated said item. Which assumes the fabric of space and time are not warped, by perversions or inversions, and the general definition for logical use, in this case consumption or throwing it away, was observed by all who chanced upon it.
That would be an example of normal.
Perfect as a Target commercial or stream lined like an Apple product.
But this America, where the definitions range, even if the strange is banal or at worst horrific and sometimes the definitions of banal and horrific to have a way of meeting when history reveals the faces of evil. Still at least their not chopping off all the heads of animals some teenage boy has defiled before hanging him, because you know what’s normal for the Old Testment, right?
It’s a trip. This new normal. Every moment where the laws of physics don’t implode or reverse themselves. Each moment that your still alive to still appreciate these facts that is.
I only wish what normal is like but I am sure I am not it. As a matter of fact, I think that there really is not such thing as normal becuase where would be be if normal existed. I enjoy me in all my beautiful splendor.
Normal? Is your life always normal? Isn’t that boring? No new adventures, no experiences, no craziness! I would definitely not want that kind of “normal” life
i think its great to be normal but sometimes it is unusual these days. It seems it is hard to find people who are simply just normal. I also use this word quite often to describe a person.
i always thought that i was normal. it wasn’t until the day at the party that i wasn’t. that there was something terribly wrong with me that would ensure that i could never ever be normal. i was never normal. i was always their machine.
It’s a normal thing now, the crack of lightening between my fingertips. It jumps quickly and comfortably, burning the piece of paper I hold in my hand. I will not pay a fine.
What’s normal for me is not normal for you. I find milk and cereal normal for breakfast and you…you prefer eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. I go quietly about my day thinking and writing and you…you prefer to watch TV and talk with your siblings.
Can’t we just go back to the way things were, and everything returns to normal?
No. We can’t. Because we weren’t normal in the first place.
We had dreams that didn’t fit right in boxes, hopes that had to be tied down by strings and ropes or else they would drift away. We sang songs where the words trailed off into non-sequiturs, and the prayers we made weren’t to any gods, but to ourselves.
We can’t go back to the way things were because if we tried, it’d be forced and hackneyed. This is who we are now.
Blond curled locks and ripped blouse she stared in the mirror. “Good enough” “okay” “tempting” she screamed in her mind that she was not these things she was more so much more but sarah walked by, “you like being normal?”
like ice and like sunday morning and like hating some one that I once loved, non of it was out of the picture out of mind or thought I had degraded these disgraces to a normal way of things.
The woman in the butterfly scarf shifts impatiently from foot to foot as the checkout girl punches buttons and meets her gaze long enough to inquire about her well being. “How are you doing today, Ma’am?” “Oh better than normal,” she says placing a stack of tuna six cans high on the conveyor belt. I watch she scurries out with the bag boy, scanning the cart one last time, placing one hand gently on the 18-count extra large egg carton that rests just on top and to the side of everything else. I wish silently for her that her “normal” days would hold just a little more joy, a little more wonder, so that the better than normal ones would be the rule and not just the exception.
I thisted for a moment just a moment I could break from the aching mold that had conformed me in his pressence it was fearful and invigorating. His hand they knew things, the things that I wanted to know that his lips would tell me
I kissed her in the harsh way that he had hated and I knew what I was doing was wrong but it felt right and that couldn’t be noraml . to want to make him jelios and still want to make her moan. It fusterated me
wHAT IS AVERAGE…those perceived to be like most. However normal is different things to different people. Different areas of the world make it very clear. Normal..??
Be Normal, hastily scrawled across a yellowing sticky note. It was stuck on the underside of the decrepit book. A decrepit book that she still loved. Just like she still loved the man who put hastily scrawled, yellowing sticky notes, on her decrepit books.
Normal. That’s all everything ever was. The day was normal. The food was normal. The clothes were normal. Everything. If I had known it would be this boring, I wouldn’t have left home.
this time let’s us think that life is normal…. although
life is hard; and time is so fast; our knowledge is just with technologies… so why we see that’s normal but in reality we see it’s not normal hhh @___@
am i normal? no. that is the short answer to it, there is no way for any of to be normal. Has anyone ever defined the word normal? no. It is a completely arbitrary idea with positive connotations meaning any one outside of the so called norm is shunned from our completely abnormal society.
MY face was covered in pimples and scars. MY arms were hairy. MY voice was raspy as if I had a neverending cough. Why ME?
All i’ve ever wanted is to be NORMAL – normal like the girls who had long wavy coffee colored hair, not like me with ebony hair blacker than a midnight winter sky, normal like the girls with slender legs sculpted with years of ballet so appealing next to my chunky “too muscular” thighs, normal like the girls with dainty curved eyebrows so thin in comparison to mine, so thick and caterpillar-like.
This is quite normal. Being normal is really subjective. What can we define as normal? Is it really normal just because we think about what others will say when we do something? Or do we only do something that we justify as normal even though it may not be agreed upon? What is normal?
Normality is something undervalued. being the average joe, being ‘normal’, being unextraordinary, isn’t a crime. One need not strive to be abnormal to stand out and be successful. Normal is also a type of Pokemon. Like Clefairy? No wait.
Like laying down for a catnap in a shaft of sunlight, a slit in the blinds of west facing window, the ordinary imbued the scene with peace and order. Dust motes existed like they had for a millennia before and possibly as they would continue to do for the rest of eternity. It seemed a normal routine for a lazy Sunday. But what’s to come of all the dreams? Did he idly sit by and wonder if he ever appeared in any of them, he didn’t dare risk the hope that somewhere in the subconscious was a stubborn streak that wouldn’t let him go. So he went back to scribbling in his notebook about the laws of nature and the logical reasons behind a system of classification. Applied knowledge: simple, straightforward, unlike the dreams he often pondered.
Ha. Normal. As if. “Normal” is a myth. How can you go around saying everyone is unique and special in their own way and still call people “normal”? It’s fucking ridiculous.
Coincidence enough, a screening of the SOCIAL NORM was very normal. Filmmaking with straight forward techniques. Does it want to excel?
“She’s never going to be normal, Katie.” He watched her eyes flash with pain.
“Don’t say that, Jason. Don’t. Do not talk about my daughter like that.”
“Oh, your daughter. I see.”
“Stop it.”
“No, no, I just want to make sure I understand, because she’s YOUR daughter. Not OUR daughter.”
She was just an ordinary girl with a normal life and a stereotypical suburban family.
While I was a sore thumb, sticking out in places I shouldn’t be noticed in.
normal is what they all want you to be. if you set yourself apart, then what is good? what is true? for them everything must fall into one line, must fall under one name, else all is lost. they don’t want to wonder what sets them apart, for there is nothing. they abide by the laws of others, and they hate nothing more than to see a free man. they are slaves to normal, and they wish you shared their master.
Normalcy is in the windowsill,
two cats and a novella later,
chai stains in the wood and
a blanket with a wolf pack
howling to a yellow moon.
Normalcy is one load of laundry,
one reflection in every window
after dusk, and one month between
each existential crises,
because life is slipping away faster
and death seems to be approaching
slower, not even worth a greeting –
until he’s in the room hulking
as a reminder from someone’s casket.
Perhaps ‘normalcy’ is simply
the distraction between each
lifetime and the scales
which weigh its value.
fellow mortals
how normal differs from each one of each
the degree to which we are accustomed to consider something as normal
something familiar
something which we feel secure knowing about
It’s was as normal as homemade apple pie, depending on how you treated said item. Which assumes the fabric of space and time are not warped, by perversions or inversions, and the general definition for logical use, in this case consumption or throwing it away, was observed by all who chanced upon it.
That would be an example of normal.
Perfect as a Target commercial or stream lined like an Apple product.
But this America, where the definitions range, even if the strange is banal or at worst horrific and sometimes the definitions of banal and horrific to have a way of meeting when history reveals the faces of evil. Still at least their not chopping off all the heads of animals some teenage boy has defiled before hanging him, because you know what’s normal for the Old Testment, right?
It’s a trip. This new normal. Every moment where the laws of physics don’t implode or reverse themselves. Each moment that your still alive to still appreciate these facts that is.
I only wish what normal is like but I am sure I am not it. As a matter of fact, I think that there really is not such thing as normal becuase where would be be if normal existed. I enjoy me in all my beautiful splendor.
Normal? Is your life always normal? Isn’t that boring? No new adventures, no experiences, no craziness! I would definitely not want that kind of “normal” life
hi guys
some that is not extra ordinary or too different from other things. another word for normal can also be common or something that’s fine.
This one’s easy. It’s peculiar that a word with which I have so much trouble should
What is normal? Who wants to be normal? Normal was made to keep us from going places others are not comfortable with. Don’t be normal.
c’est trop normal. ce que je veux, c’est une vie bizarre, et très amusante.
callate guey. no manches
i think its great to be normal but sometimes it is unusual these days. It seems it is hard to find people who are simply just normal. I also use this word quite often to describe a person.
white, opaque, filled with marbles, and packing peanuts. not me.
i always thought that i was normal. it wasn’t until the day at the party that i wasn’t. that there was something terribly wrong with me that would ensure that i could never ever be normal. i was never normal. i was always their machine.
It’s a normal thing now, the crack of lightening between my fingertips. It jumps quickly and comfortably, burning the piece of paper I hold in my hand. I will not pay a fine.
Builds up
wave-like –
silent grit &
brine
Sometimes
the taste just
kisses my lips,
while others, I
purse & pucker
at the hit
of it
We go from
normal to
stormiest
of seas
in a breath &
the undertow
strips me down
to my bones
brittle & tired
of holding on
to such anger.
What’s normal for me is not normal for you. I find milk and cereal normal for breakfast and you…you prefer eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. I go quietly about my day thinking and writing and you…you prefer to watch TV and talk with your siblings.
Can’t we just go back to the way things were, and everything returns to normal?
No. We can’t. Because we weren’t normal in the first place.
We had dreams that didn’t fit right in boxes, hopes that had to be tied down by strings and ropes or else they would drift away. We sang songs where the words trailed off into non-sequiturs, and the prayers we made weren’t to any gods, but to ourselves.
We can’t go back to the way things were because if we tried, it’d be forced and hackneyed. This is who we are now.
We ARE normal.
Blond curled locks and ripped blouse she stared in the mirror. “Good enough” “okay” “tempting” she screamed in her mind that she was not these things she was more so much more but sarah walked by, “you like being normal?”
nothing is, every thing is. its beating on curiosity it’s pushing hard on the boundries it’s pulsating its mean and yet it’s like soft hot intamacy
like ice and like sunday morning and like hating some one that I once loved, non of it was out of the picture out of mind or thought I had degraded these disgraces to a normal way of things.
The woman in the butterfly scarf shifts impatiently from foot to foot as the checkout girl punches buttons and meets her gaze long enough to inquire about her well being. “How are you doing today, Ma’am?” “Oh better than normal,” she says placing a stack of tuna six cans high on the conveyor belt. I watch she scurries out with the bag boy, scanning the cart one last time, placing one hand gently on the 18-count extra large egg carton that rests just on top and to the side of everything else. I wish silently for her that her “normal” days would hold just a little more joy, a little more wonder, so that the better than normal ones would be the rule and not just the exception.
I thisted for a moment just a moment I could break from the aching mold that had conformed me in his pressence it was fearful and invigorating. His hand they knew things, the things that I wanted to know that his lips would tell me
I kissed her in the harsh way that he had hated and I knew what I was doing was wrong but it felt right and that couldn’t be noraml . to want to make him jelios and still want to make her moan. It fusterated me
everything has changed. i miss normal, but i’m embracing today. it’s all i can do.
wHAT IS AVERAGE…those perceived to be like most. However normal is different things to different people. Different areas of the world make it very clear. Normal..??
Be Normal, hastily scrawled across a yellowing sticky note. It was stuck on the underside of the decrepit book. A decrepit book that she still loved. Just like she still loved the man who put hastily scrawled, yellowing sticky notes, on her decrepit books.
Normal. That’s all everything ever was. The day was normal. The food was normal. The clothes were normal. Everything. If I had known it would be this boring, I wouldn’t have left home.
this time let’s us think that life is normal…. although
life is hard; and time is so fast; our knowledge is just with technologies… so why we see that’s normal but in reality we see it’s not normal hhh @___@