Ice skating? But, it’s cold out. Why would you want to do something outside when it’s so nasty out there. The ice is perfect? Well, it’s a small lake. I guess I can try it. Hot cocoa after?
She watched the water for several moments, back hunched and eyes narrowed. A small breeze sent the surface into a disruption of light ripples, before stilling seconds later. The sun dipped behind the edge of a dispersing cloud, and she pounced. A flurry of motion as birds left their tree branches in a panic, and the water burst from the banks with a dramatic splash. Then, as if untouched, the water settled. Birds returned to their branches. A pond skater flitted calmly across the still surface.
Left pass, over the shoulder. Let me not be that much older. On the edge, the flip, the turn. Let me be the one who learns. Take a break, forget the rhyme, and call me back another time. I see you, and you see me, once upon a memory.
Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was just the competitive spirit. Was compettytive spirit a thing? No matter. In just a few moments, he’d prove them–and gravity–wrong.
She said see ya later boy. The connotations are so many – some punk kid with long greasy hair and baggy jeans. Although, I guess it could be a figure skater too. But that’s not the first thing you think. Drugs? Maybe. Quiet? For sure. Carrying around that stupid skateboard. Yep. Not what I want to be or want my kid to be.
she called herself a skater yet her turns required a push with one leg and a pivot with the other. straight lines were here thing. this way should could look seasoned—relaxed even. like she glid on fate. she called herself a skater but in one variation.
I’d love to skate down the streets and feel the breeze on my cheeks as I fly over the asphalt. I’m a skater and I enjoy the thrill of it. Come with me!
The man and woman slid gracefully across the ice surface, taking great care to flash their smile as wide as possible for the benefit of the judges. Couldn’t hurt.
He lifted her into the air and they spun. One, two, three, four, five circles. This is it. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for.
The pentagram was perfect. The demons had absolutely no trouble entering the arena and eating everybody in sight.
My pencil went across the white sheet of paper. The pencil was the skater and the paper was the ice that let the pencil slide gracefully along it. My pencil drew all kinds of twirls and lines, and in the end there was a picture. The most beautiful you would ever see.
There was a round of applause. The ice-skater had finished his round. Next up was July. She had ice-skated since she was old enough to do it. She was now 16, and had won quite a lot of tropheys.
He skated across the pavement in front of his mother’s house. He was stalling, he knew. But he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the rickety old door.
It had been years since he had last seen her, kicked out and put on the streets.
I always enjoyed watching the figure skaters whenever my sister and I went to the ice rink. I never liked skating myself when I was younger, and of course, now it wasn’t even feasible. I sat comfortably in my wheelchair as my sister twirled across the rink’s glistening surface, growing whiter and whiter with each graze of the blades strapped to her feet. Nearby, a male skater was approaching her, wide-eyed and curious.
Skater. That’s what they called him. He always seemed so nice, kinda spaced out sure but….sweet. They say, “the good die young”, but did it have to be him? I was barely starting to know him. I wish it wasn’t this hard.
This skater boy with his heart beneath the sleeve
surrendering his exterior to his love
his sweeter tastes force his desire
to let the wind take his breath
and his breath to take her in.
Gliding through life like a ballerina on speed, trying to avoid all the dark and staying upright. Grace, style, beauty, all resting on a knife edge. The constant struggle between staying vertical and falling flat on one’s face.
Like gliding along ice, my options were thin, and I was very, very tired. I was sitting there, alone with a knife in one hand, and the other was trembling too much. I bent over and felt the cold body. Ice, I thought, just like the thin ice on which I’m quivering.
nothing made him feel as free as flying across the pavement did. the wind rushed by him, people jumped out of his way, the world blurred, sped by. he was alone, on his own, one step away from a rough tumble, but nothing felt so good, so clean, so pure
whenever I think of skaters I think of this particular person I know who was in my chemistry class and how he hashtags every instagram picture with ‘janty’/… left passes only lol
Turnpike done. To be honest, I actually don’t have any sort of real skater knowledge. Holding on to this skateboard, I’ve pretty much just been yelling out skater terms and doing basic flips. But they don’t know that.
I want to become a good skater but I never worked hard to become one. I was too afraid of failing and hurting my ego so I never tried. But now regret to not to try learning skating is killing me. I think, I should have at least tried. The pain which I feel now due to not trying hard in my childhood and missing skating experience is much more than If I would have tried hard to learn skating but failing.
The Skeleton King was a skater dude. Every time he trashed his deck, he broke into a hundred pieces. Also, the crown on his head fell off. The kid behind him was impaled on his crown and a femur bone. It’s a tough life, being Skeleton King.
Water quivers at the impulses of the wind. Skaters glide out from pond debris. Passing through the fiery echo of the setting sun, they become silhouettes dancing with the elements.
The jeans wear you, mall rat. Not the other way around, you become the idea implanted in your head by the marketing just by slipping them on, the words stiched into the pockets remind you and those in the “know” what life style “choices” you ascribe to. And don’t get me started on the shoes and the gear. You’re a demographic, meant to shop, consume, date, and breed based on your personality type, family situation, education, and socioeconomic status. You think you’re unique, but this is a big wide world and doppelgängers abound to say nothing of the others who you overlap with in the crowd. individuality is an illusion orchestrated to keep the big gears turning. You’re a metric “skating” through life. They’ve got your number, Mr. Christian “Skater” of the doublebarrel red Midwest. And with a little more information they’ll even tell you what music you listen to and what your favorite junk food brands are, you little cream-filled Twinkie.
A skater like me would always find an excuse to go out there and do just that. Well, that’s what I wanted to believe about myself, if I was a skater. All my male friends were, yet the closest thing to that for me was hours of Tony Hawk’s Proving Ground on PS3. Or maybe it was PS2. Anyway, what’s it than a phase anyway? On to the next thing! I think this time it’ll be knitting, or guitar. Maybe both!
A skater skirt, they called it. To Kara it just looked like something a teenage goth kid would wear, a piece of clothing that had no place on a professional woman’s body. That, however, was the nature of undercover work.
The girl twisted and shimmied her hips, the wheels grinding up and over the root-warped sidewalk blocks. She ducked low to avoid the neighbor’s wisteria. Then–a sudden pause in the grating sound–she was airborne.
The cat either didn’t hear her (Missy, who was actually male, was very, very old) or he trusted her to miss.
The ice was thin. Too thin. The doe stepped cautiously across the glistening veil. The herd stood at the far side, looking back. She took another step. Her slender legs threatened to slip out from beneath her. Another. Veins spread out like cobwebs from where she placed her hooves.
I remember that I wanted to be one. I remember when I made my mom buy me a very expensive skateboard. She worked so hard at her job to get me what I wanted, However; I didn’t work so hard to become the best skater that I could.
long floppy haired beautiful boys with stupid tattoos and skinny cigarettes who smoke a lot of pot n hang out in the back of parking lots… don’t touch me but touch me everywhere
competition and a lack of girl skaters sucks too much
we need girl power in the skater world
a friend uses this as a nickname. i’ve always wondered if it is a sign of bigger problems aside from lazyness or just a sign of being smarter. i mean work smarter not harder, right? it’s crazy that I haven’t spoken to him in so long.
There he was again: the sk8r boi. Coming in at 11 a.m., Starbucks in hand, flip flops flipping and flopping a processional to his arrival. He’d stay for about 45 minutes before taking a lunch “hour” of at least 90 minutes before peace-ing out at 4:30 for a meeting across town. He was the boss’s son, of course–such a cliché. But somewhere between the surfing stories punctuated by drawn-out drahls of “brah” and the frat-esque tales of blonde bimbo conquest, there was a glimmer of value, a sparkling shine that backed up his very (seriously) expensive price tag that not even I, Brian, hipster king of all things bearded, old-timey and ironic, could say “no” to. Because this “brah,” this blond bimbo in his own right, was fucking h-o-t-t hot. And while I’d gladly bend him over the copier after hours in the most hackneyed way possible, I’ll be damned if I ever admit it.
What do Kids do these days? Have you seen that movie Kids? Is it still like that. I have no idea. Kids still skate I guess….do they still spread hiv at 15? Maybe. Is it close minded that I only think about the USA when I have these thoughts. I’m sure they are in other parts of the world.
Ice skating? But, it’s cold out. Why would you want to do something outside when it’s so nasty out there. The ice is perfect? Well, it’s a small lake. I guess I can try it. Hot cocoa after?
She watched the water for several moments, back hunched and eyes narrowed. A small breeze sent the surface into a disruption of light ripples, before stilling seconds later. The sun dipped behind the edge of a dispersing cloud, and she pounced. A flurry of motion as birds left their tree branches in a panic, and the water burst from the banks with a dramatic splash. Then, as if untouched, the water settled. Birds returned to their branches. A pond skater flitted calmly across the still surface.
Left pass, over the shoulder. Let me not be that much older. On the edge, the flip, the turn. Let me be the one who learns. Take a break, forget the rhyme, and call me back another time. I see you, and you see me, once upon a memory.
Maybe it was petty. Maybe it was just the competitive spirit. Was compettytive spirit a thing? No matter. In just a few moments, he’d prove them–and gravity–wrong.
She said see ya later boy. The connotations are so many – some punk kid with long greasy hair and baggy jeans. Although, I guess it could be a figure skater too. But that’s not the first thing you think. Drugs? Maybe. Quiet? For sure. Carrying around that stupid skateboard. Yep. Not what I want to be or want my kid to be.
” Ice- skating- are you sure that is even a sport?” Mum looked incredulous as little Tommy started putting on his shoes.
she called herself a skater yet her turns required a push with one leg and a pivot with the other. straight lines were here thing. this way should could look seasoned—relaxed even. like she glid on fate. she called herself a skater but in one variation.
I’d love to skate down the streets and feel the breeze on my cheeks as I fly over the asphalt. I’m a skater and I enjoy the thrill of it. Come with me!
“Yesterday I went for a walk and saw a skater at a skate park doing some really cool jumps and skids!”
I am a skater across ponds and a dancer through the snow. Cold breeze carries me through the ethereal and sad winter world.
The man and woman slid gracefully across the ice surface, taking great care to flash their smile as wide as possible for the benefit of the judges. Couldn’t hurt.
He lifted her into the air and they spun. One, two, three, four, five circles. This is it. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for.
The pentagram was perfect. The demons had absolutely no trouble entering the arena and eating everybody in sight.
My pencil went across the white sheet of paper. The pencil was the skater and the paper was the ice that let the pencil slide gracefully along it. My pencil drew all kinds of twirls and lines, and in the end there was a picture. The most beautiful you would ever see.
There was a round of applause. The ice-skater had finished his round. Next up was July. She had ice-skated since she was old enough to do it. She was now 16, and had won quite a lot of tropheys.
like a skater
flying through the sky
you skate through my veins
you make me fly high
.
like a skater
flying through the sky
you skate through my veins
you make me fly high
He skated across the pavement in front of his mother’s house. He was stalling, he knew. But he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the rickety old door.
It had been years since he had last seen her, kicked out and put on the streets.
I always enjoyed watching the figure skaters whenever my sister and I went to the ice rink. I never liked skating myself when I was younger, and of course, now it wasn’t even feasible. I sat comfortably in my wheelchair as my sister twirled across the rink’s glistening surface, growing whiter and whiter with each graze of the blades strapped to her feet. Nearby, a male skater was approaching her, wide-eyed and curious.
Skater. That’s what they called him. He always seemed so nice, kinda spaced out sure but….sweet. They say, “the good die young”, but did it have to be him? I was barely starting to know him. I wish it wasn’t this hard.
This skater boy with his heart beneath the sleeve
surrendering his exterior to his love
his sweeter tastes force his desire
to let the wind take his breath
and his breath to take her in.
Gliding through life like a ballerina on speed, trying to avoid all the dark and staying upright. Grace, style, beauty, all resting on a knife edge. The constant struggle between staying vertical and falling flat on one’s face.
Like gliding along ice, my options were thin, and I was very, very tired. I was sitting there, alone with a knife in one hand, and the other was trembling too much. I bent over and felt the cold body. Ice, I thought, just like the thin ice on which I’m quivering.
nothing made him feel as free as flying across the pavement did. the wind rushed by him, people jumped out of his way, the world blurred, sped by. he was alone, on his own, one step away from a rough tumble, but nothing felt so good, so clean, so pure
wow this was harder than i thought…
whenever I think of skaters I think of this particular person I know who was in my chemistry class and how he hashtags every instagram picture with ‘janty’/… left passes only lol
Turnpike done. To be honest, I actually don’t have any sort of real skater knowledge. Holding on to this skateboard, I’ve pretty much just been yelling out skater terms and doing basic flips. But they don’t know that.
I want to become a good skater but I never worked hard to become one. I was too afraid of failing and hurting my ego so I never tried. But now regret to not to try learning skating is killing me. I think, I should have at least tried. The pain which I feel now due to not trying hard in my childhood and missing skating experience is much more than If I would have tried hard to learn skating but failing.
The Skeleton King was a skater dude. Every time he trashed his deck, he broke into a hundred pieces. Also, the crown on his head fell off. The kid behind him was impaled on his crown and a femur bone. It’s a tough life, being Skeleton King.
Water quivers at the impulses of the wind. Skaters glide out from pond debris. Passing through the fiery echo of the setting sun, they become silhouettes dancing with the elements.
The jeans wear you, mall rat. Not the other way around, you become the idea implanted in your head by the marketing just by slipping them on, the words stiched into the pockets remind you and those in the “know” what life style “choices” you ascribe to. And don’t get me started on the shoes and the gear. You’re a demographic, meant to shop, consume, date, and breed based on your personality type, family situation, education, and socioeconomic status. You think you’re unique, but this is a big wide world and doppelgängers abound to say nothing of the others who you overlap with in the crowd. individuality is an illusion orchestrated to keep the big gears turning. You’re a metric “skating” through life. They’ve got your number, Mr. Christian “Skater” of the doublebarrel red Midwest. And with a little more information they’ll even tell you what music you listen to and what your favorite junk food brands are, you little cream-filled Twinkie.
A skater like me would always find an excuse to go out there and do just that. Well, that’s what I wanted to believe about myself, if I was a skater. All my male friends were, yet the closest thing to that for me was hours of Tony Hawk’s Proving Ground on PS3. Or maybe it was PS2. Anyway, what’s it than a phase anyway? On to the next thing! I think this time it’ll be knitting, or guitar. Maybe both!
A skater skirt, they called it. To Kara it just looked like something a teenage goth kid would wear, a piece of clothing that had no place on a professional woman’s body. That, however, was the nature of undercover work.
‘You’re skating on thin ice, now, aren’t you.’
What is it about his voice that makes everything sound completely terrifying? Probably the deadpan.
I try to keep calm, keep your head held high. I won’t let you shove me around again.
The girl twisted and shimmied her hips, the wheels grinding up and over the root-warped sidewalk blocks. She ducked low to avoid the neighbor’s wisteria. Then–a sudden pause in the grating sound–she was airborne.
The cat either didn’t hear her (Missy, who was actually male, was very, very old) or he trusted her to miss.
The ice was thin. Too thin. The doe stepped cautiously across the glistening veil. The herd stood at the far side, looking back. She took another step. Her slender legs threatened to slip out from beneath her. Another. Veins spread out like cobwebs from where she placed her hooves.
I remember that I wanted to be one. I remember when I made my mom buy me a very expensive skateboard. She worked so hard at her job to get me what I wanted, However; I didn’t work so hard to become the best skater that I could.
long floppy haired beautiful boys with stupid tattoos and skinny cigarettes who smoke a lot of pot n hang out in the back of parking lots… don’t touch me but touch me everywhere
competition and a lack of girl skaters sucks too much
we need girl power in the skater world
a friend uses this as a nickname. i’ve always wondered if it is a sign of bigger problems aside from lazyness or just a sign of being smarter. i mean work smarter not harder, right? it’s crazy that I haven’t spoken to him in so long.
There he was again: the sk8r boi. Coming in at 11 a.m., Starbucks in hand, flip flops flipping and flopping a processional to his arrival. He’d stay for about 45 minutes before taking a lunch “hour” of at least 90 minutes before peace-ing out at 4:30 for a meeting across town. He was the boss’s son, of course–such a cliché. But somewhere between the surfing stories punctuated by drawn-out drahls of “brah” and the frat-esque tales of blonde bimbo conquest, there was a glimmer of value, a sparkling shine that backed up his very (seriously) expensive price tag that not even I, Brian, hipster king of all things bearded, old-timey and ironic, could say “no” to. Because this “brah,” this blond bimbo in his own right, was fucking h-o-t-t hot. And while I’d gladly bend him over the copier after hours in the most hackneyed way possible, I’ll be damned if I ever admit it.
Defy Gravity
With Skill and Agility
And Terrible Shoes
What do Kids do these days? Have you seen that movie Kids? Is it still like that. I have no idea. Kids still skate I guess….do they still spread hiv at 15? Maybe. Is it close minded that I only think about the USA when I have these thoughts. I’m sure they are in other parts of the world.