There were stripes on his pajamas. He wished his momma didn’t buy him stripes. He didn’t like them so much. He preferred stars or dots, but stripes were so boring! His bedroom was wallpapered in stripes, his blanket was stripes. He may only be a child, just five years old, but he was old enough to know that he hated stripes!
sugar and stripes and everything nice. that was her. she had lipstick bright enough to signal traffic and a voice like clear tape. her looks were eclectic and came from the depths of many-a-venice beach estate sale. she said her favorite fruit was papaya because the seeds were pretty.
Stripes are really organized its like a pattern but organized i think its justsaying you can be creative and organised but i hate how it limits things like it has to be a limited amount of colours wow i want as many colours as i want wow
Stripes and bars. Were the only words that hung on Mike’s head just minute before the nose was place around his head. “I did it all for freedom!” He shouted to the crowd.
Taupe stripes blended softly into the bed linen. It reminded me of the way caramel is swirled into grocery store vanilla ice cream. I could not remember if the morning was warm or contained an autumn chill, all I could see were stripes permeating through the sheets.
I am trying to get them on my nails but fuck it is so hard. Always a mess and chaos. Frustrating and I feel like kid doing manicure for the first time ever. Also prison. I am sorry for all you guys feeling alone and all unhappy in it
When I think of stripes, I think of a zebra. Or maybe a woman walking down the streets of New York City, who has a zebra-striped print jacket on, and she’s walking with confidence to her new job that she so proudly got into.
Patterned slashes dappled down his cloak. A handsome, as all foretold. You could spot him out of a crowd, as easily as you could tell apart a farmer’s hat from a crown. His grizzled cheek sought out the meek and laid a spell upon them as if covering a mattress with a blanket. In the heart of the city of Toronto, his striped ego was all he ever needed to do his business with these people.
I think of the flag…its red and white stripes blowing in the breeze against a beautiful blue sky. Bending toward the sky and earth as the wind whips the flag.. they bend but never break.
When I was a child, a friend of mine always wore a striped shirt, and we would joke that the stripes were money. As time has gone on, I have found that I do not wear striped shirts at all. I guess I am trying to appear virtuous or something?
I loved that boy, and I think he loved me too. but, he disappeared by high school.
Zebras have stripes for a purpose, i m not sure what it is. zebra crossing got the name because of the stripes like its in zebras. Its all well and good, but i m not sure why prison uniforms had zebra stripes before.
The stripes fluctuated as the flag waved lazily in the breeze. Still red and white. Still patriotic. Still on the move. The wind died down and the blue field of stars came to the forefront of the draped flag.
The bullets whizzed by like flies at a BBQ, and then they just stopped, leaving her confused about why she had been spared. The bodies on the sidewalk looked more like prop dolls, their limbs contorted in impossible angles. She fell to her knees, glaring at the postcard-like skyline view of the Eiffel Tower just a few blocks away.
The girl he saw earlier with that disheveled look complete with the thrown-together yet put-together outfit smoking a light on a parking lot of a 7-11 is what’s been bothering him all night and he wondered if she likes The White Stripes too because of the look she gave him when she saw the shirt he was wearing.
Stripes. Zebras. Zebra crossings. Tigers. Zebras.
It all comes down to zebras. The pattern might be scintillating for some, a dull for a few.
But do zebras like this pattern? Does something which make them look unique, make one zebra unrecognizable from the other too? Does being extraordinary or unique always help?
He reloaded. It was a matter of time, a glint of the scope, a rustle of the leaves, and someone would die, and the killers forces would advance. He thought he saw movement in the brush at 1015m, he line up the shot, pulled the trigger, and earned his stripes.
His breath was shortening, but his legs were still sprinting. His shoes had came off of his feet, but he was still running on the cold ground; rocks tore his skin apart, blood leaked out of his pale skin and yet he was still running. From something, for something.
He was running for the lights above him, for the images and flashes of the past he would see when he would run and tilt his head upwards. He was running until the lamps on the sidewalk would turn to stripes that constantly moved, illuminating the dark sky.
He would run until the lights moved so fast that he could see the flashes of memories in the sky. The stripes of light would disappear by then, replaced by a familiar face with a glow that he longed for; the face would smile, laugh, and bat its eyelashes flirtatiously, as if inviting him to run more. The white clothing, the long hair, the singsong voice that would echo in his mind when the memories came back. He wished the memory could last forever, but his breath would run out and before he realized it, the face would turn slowly into a glow.
And the glow would come from the stripes, and the stripes would slow down, and the legs would finally let the pain absorb through its skin.
And then he would stop.
Out of breath, clutching his knees. Looking at the ground as he coughed furiously, hitting his chest as he tried to breath in the cold air to his lungs. Pain had started to be absorbed by his body, like a sponge absorbing water; he would start to feel the burn in his insides, the eerie pain coming from his torn skin on his feet, the dry throat aching for liquid. He felt like dying when he finally came to that part of the night, he would feel like closing his eyes and never opening them up again.
And as he lied down on the hard ground, he would look at the starless sky and the feeling of warmth would envelope him as laughter would echo again in his head. Then, without knowing, he would let out a grin or a smile – depending on how strong the memory is – and his breath would steady itself as his chest move up and down.
And by the end of it all, all he could hear would be his own breath and not the laughter that would echo in his mind.
stripes are bright! like a technicolor zebra i like the light feel of electricity it runs and runs through my skin and jumps like ZAP from freckle to freckle. but we aren’t talking spots here, we’re talking stripes and i can be just as lisa frank as the next little girl.
Staunch as an automaton, with all
The intelligence of someone truly living,
You stood among the ranks,
Serving as you best could,
For reasons only you could justify at the time,
Searching for your path among the thousands
That would or had lay down their lives
In the only way we’ve yet to accept
As a valid means of standing in support
Of an icon that we blindly hold in glory,
Discounting opposition,
Whilst shunning those who might
Stand firm against the very vices
We would address and shun if held
Or displayed by others.
Was it merely survival mechanism
That let you wrap your thoughtful mind
Within the boundaries of your heart,
Such that neither functioned,
Such that you might act upon the word
Of one who lived to fight another day,
Using hands other than their own,
Directing bodies in the games of chess
Played with living pawns
Who might survive the journey,
Cross the board,
And themselves become
A coveted king?
There is a squall belting down the mountain. Sheets of rain and hail are forming grey and purple stripes across the sky. I have lost sight of Auntie May’s cottage and the smoke bellowing from the chimney. Archie suddenly appears like a drowned rat, hurtling towards me in his orange wellies. I expect my son to be grisly, cowed by the savage storm, but he seems enchanted. He is shouting something about coming face to face with a six foot roo and urging me to follow him back up the mountain.
Stripes mark us. They set us apart from the others. They show our rank. We didn’t use to be this way. Then, we were… marked.
Now everyone can see you. Everyone can see everything about you, since the words of your life are burnt onto your skin in thin, long stripes.
I still feel them.
Her life, as she expected it to be, had been categorically derailed. She was not an international diplomat, or a spy, or a high end dominatrix as she thought she would be when she was leaving high school with a cheery disposition and a taste for danger. Checkout six at Woolworths in West End had provided little of the thrill she had hoped for in life, although she did look up briefly one day to find she was handling David Beckham’s vegetables. He had chosen perfectly lovely carrots. In various colours. That had been the highlight so far. And now that she had found Lenny, she held high hopes that he would at least provide some excitement in the bedroom. He was no Beckham, that was for certain and she was pretty sure he had pimples on his back, but he was a red blooded male wasn’t he? With tattoos and bulging pants. Dear God, she prayed, please let him know how to go press my buttons in all the right places. I just couldn’t bear another disappointment.
Stripes mark us. They set us apart from the others. They show our rank. We didn’t use to be this way. Then, we were… marked.
Now everyone can see you. Everyone can see everything about you, since the words of your life are burnt onto your skin in thin, long stripes.
zebras have stripes
I like stripes in my cloth they make me look skinnier
but i prefer to strip you down
I don’t think that i will write about stripes again in my life
I’m running out of ideas about stripes.
Ok this thing started over, i feel like cheating about the things I know about stripes, stripes are cool and make you look sophisticated.
I wonder if zebras like to have stripes all over their body.
I was walking to school one day when the strangest thing occurred. I saw a TIGER right in my direction of travel, about thirty yards away. We locked eyes for what seemed like eternity…
Watch that thar tiger, said the oddly ahab-like Indian hunter, if you turn your back on it you’ll face its true stripes, he warned menacingly. I don’t know why, but I was hunting tigers with a spear.
I recently became obsessed with shirts with stripes. I am way behind the trend in the rockabilly world, and who knows what regular people are wearing. I just put on my last striped shirt that I bought at Target actually. I got coconut oil on it so it has gone from a shirt I wear out to a shirt I wear to bed and feel badly about.
Stripes. Hmm, that boy was wearing stripes. He looked like Cheshire Cat. Ha! I like it! Oh wait, I’m not supposed to smile. If I smile they’ll think I’m crazy and send me back to the room of insane people. I can’t let them know I’m insane. But the boy with the stripes. If he could help me, well, if he would just talk to me I think we could help one another. I want him to talk to me but I soon let my chance fly. The boy with stripes found his way to me first.
We are told to wear the red, white, and blue, even if it has to be spray painted onto our skin. They demand that we tattoo our arms and legs with the stars and stripes, even though no comets will pass along our assaulted epidermis, no spinning planets or glowing outside universe. And when we remove our hats to honor the latest pop star mutilating whatever anthem it is we’re meant to respect, we tilt our heads toward the sky, where the fireworks blot out the moonlight, and we are left in a cold, ashen darkness.
i love lamp
There were stripes on his pajamas. He wished his momma didn’t buy him stripes. He didn’t like them so much. He preferred stars or dots, but stripes were so boring! His bedroom was wallpapered in stripes, his blanket was stripes. He may only be a child, just five years old, but he was old enough to know that he hated stripes!
sugar and stripes and everything nice. that was her. she had lipstick bright enough to signal traffic and a voice like clear tape. her looks were eclectic and came from the depths of many-a-venice beach estate sale. she said her favorite fruit was papaya because the seeds were pretty.
Stripes are really organized its like a pattern but organized i think its justsaying you can be creative and organised but i hate how it limits things like it has to be a limited amount of colours wow i want as many colours as i want wow
Stripes and bars. Were the only words that hung on Mike’s head just minute before the nose was place around his head. “I did it all for freedom!” He shouted to the crowd.
Taupe stripes blended softly into the bed linen. It reminded me of the way caramel is swirled into grocery store vanilla ice cream. I could not remember if the morning was warm or contained an autumn chill, all I could see were stripes permeating through the sheets.
I am trying to get them on my nails but fuck it is so hard. Always a mess and chaos. Frustrating and I feel like kid doing manicure for the first time ever. Also prison. I am sorry for all you guys feeling alone and all unhappy in it
When I think of stripes, I think of a zebra. Or maybe a woman walking down the streets of New York City, who has a zebra-striped print jacket on, and she’s walking with confidence to her new job that she so proudly got into.
Patterned slashes dappled down his cloak. A handsome, as all foretold. You could spot him out of a crowd, as easily as you could tell apart a farmer’s hat from a crown. His grizzled cheek sought out the meek and laid a spell upon them as if covering a mattress with a blanket. In the heart of the city of Toronto, his striped ego was all he ever needed to do his business with these people.
I think of the flag…its red and white stripes blowing in the breeze against a beautiful blue sky. Bending toward the sky and earth as the wind whips the flag.. they bend but never break.
When I was a child, a friend of mine always wore a striped shirt, and we would joke that the stripes were money. As time has gone on, I have found that I do not wear striped shirts at all. I guess I am trying to appear virtuous or something?
I loved that boy, and I think he loved me too. but, he disappeared by high school.
Zebras have stripes for a purpose, i m not sure what it is. zebra crossing got the name because of the stripes like its in zebras. Its all well and good, but i m not sure why prison uniforms had zebra stripes before.
The stripes fluctuated as the flag waved lazily in the breeze. Still red and white. Still patriotic. Still on the move. The wind died down and the blue field of stars came to the forefront of the draped flag.
The bullets whizzed by like flies at a BBQ, and then they just stopped, leaving her confused about why she had been spared. The bodies on the sidewalk looked more like prop dolls, their limbs contorted in impossible angles. She fell to her knees, glaring at the postcard-like skyline view of the Eiffel Tower just a few blocks away.
The girl he saw earlier with that disheveled look complete with the thrown-together yet put-together outfit smoking a light on a parking lot of a 7-11 is what’s been bothering him all night and he wondered if she likes The White Stripes too because of the look she gave him when she saw the shirt he was wearing.
Stripes. Zebras. Zebra crossings. Tigers. Zebras.
It all comes down to zebras. The pattern might be scintillating for some, a dull for a few.
But do zebras like this pattern? Does something which make them look unique, make one zebra unrecognizable from the other too? Does being extraordinary or unique always help?
Remind me of zebras and broken memories. They’re strips of black and white stripes resting upon our frantic souls, tearing at our tittered bones.
He reloaded. It was a matter of time, a glint of the scope, a rustle of the leaves, and someone would die, and the killers forces would advance. He thought he saw movement in the brush at 1015m, he line up the shot, pulled the trigger, and earned his stripes.
I always wanted to use whitening strips. I think they work pretty good. Because everyone has beautyfull white Theet and yea in dont
zebra
He was running.
His breath was shortening, but his legs were still sprinting. His shoes had came off of his feet, but he was still running on the cold ground; rocks tore his skin apart, blood leaked out of his pale skin and yet he was still running. From something, for something.
He was running for the lights above him, for the images and flashes of the past he would see when he would run and tilt his head upwards. He was running until the lamps on the sidewalk would turn to stripes that constantly moved, illuminating the dark sky.
He would run until the lights moved so fast that he could see the flashes of memories in the sky. The stripes of light would disappear by then, replaced by a familiar face with a glow that he longed for; the face would smile, laugh, and bat its eyelashes flirtatiously, as if inviting him to run more. The white clothing, the long hair, the singsong voice that would echo in his mind when the memories came back. He wished the memory could last forever, but his breath would run out and before he realized it, the face would turn slowly into a glow.
And the glow would come from the stripes, and the stripes would slow down, and the legs would finally let the pain absorb through its skin.
And then he would stop.
Out of breath, clutching his knees. Looking at the ground as he coughed furiously, hitting his chest as he tried to breath in the cold air to his lungs. Pain had started to be absorbed by his body, like a sponge absorbing water; he would start to feel the burn in his insides, the eerie pain coming from his torn skin on his feet, the dry throat aching for liquid. He felt like dying when he finally came to that part of the night, he would feel like closing his eyes and never opening them up again.
And as he lied down on the hard ground, he would look at the starless sky and the feeling of warmth would envelope him as laughter would echo again in his head. Then, without knowing, he would let out a grin or a smile – depending on how strong the memory is – and his breath would steady itself as his chest move up and down.
And by the end of it all, all he could hear would be his own breath and not the laughter that would echo in his mind.
stripes are bright! like a technicolor zebra i like the light feel of electricity it runs and runs through my skin and jumps like ZAP from freckle to freckle. but we aren’t talking spots here, we’re talking stripes and i can be just as lisa frank as the next little girl.
Staunch as an automaton, with all
The intelligence of someone truly living,
You stood among the ranks,
Serving as you best could,
For reasons only you could justify at the time,
Searching for your path among the thousands
That would or had lay down their lives
In the only way we’ve yet to accept
As a valid means of standing in support
Of an icon that we blindly hold in glory,
Discounting opposition,
Whilst shunning those who might
Stand firm against the very vices
We would address and shun if held
Or displayed by others.
Was it merely survival mechanism
That let you wrap your thoughtful mind
Within the boundaries of your heart,
Such that neither functioned,
Such that you might act upon the word
Of one who lived to fight another day,
Using hands other than their own,
Directing bodies in the games of chess
Played with living pawns
Who might survive the journey,
Cross the board,
And themselves become
A coveted king?
Tigers have black stripes which can camaflouge them. Stripes are awesome and cool. They can be on your jumper and bike and I love them
There is a squall belting down the mountain. Sheets of rain and hail are forming grey and purple stripes across the sky. I have lost sight of Auntie May’s cottage and the smoke bellowing from the chimney. Archie suddenly appears like a drowned rat, hurtling towards me in his orange wellies. I expect my son to be grisly, cowed by the savage storm, but he seems enchanted. He is shouting something about coming face to face with a six foot roo and urging me to follow him back up the mountain.
Stripes mark us. They set us apart from the others. They show our rank. We didn’t use to be this way. Then, we were… marked.
Now everyone can see you. Everyone can see everything about you, since the words of your life are burnt onto your skin in thin, long stripes.
I still feel them.
DERAILED
Her life, as she expected it to be, had been categorically derailed. She was not an international diplomat, or a spy, or a high end dominatrix as she thought she would be when she was leaving high school with a cheery disposition and a taste for danger. Checkout six at Woolworths in West End had provided little of the thrill she had hoped for in life, although she did look up briefly one day to find she was handling David Beckham’s vegetables. He had chosen perfectly lovely carrots. In various colours. That had been the highlight so far. And now that she had found Lenny, she held high hopes that he would at least provide some excitement in the bedroom. He was no Beckham, that was for certain and she was pretty sure he had pimples on his back, but he was a red blooded male wasn’t he? With tattoos and bulging pants. Dear God, she prayed, please let him know how to go press my buttons in all the right places. I just couldn’t bear another disappointment.
Stripes mark us. They set us apart from the others. They show our rank. We didn’t use to be this way. Then, we were… marked.
Now everyone can see you. Everyone can see everything about you, since the words of your life are burnt onto your skin in thin, long stripes.
zebras have stripes
I like stripes in my cloth they make me look skinnier
but i prefer to strip you down
I don’t think that i will write about stripes again in my life
I’m running out of ideas about stripes.
Ok this thing started over, i feel like cheating about the things I know about stripes, stripes are cool and make you look sophisticated.
I wonder if zebras like to have stripes all over their body.
I was walking to school one day when the strangest thing occurred. I saw a TIGER right in my direction of travel, about thirty yards away. We locked eyes for what seemed like eternity…
there dig a does
1stripes = Stay Through Real Input Perimeter enough space
Watch that thar tiger, said the oddly ahab-like Indian hunter, if you turn your back on it you’ll face its true stripes, he warned menacingly. I don’t know why, but I was hunting tigers with a spear.
I recently became obsessed with shirts with stripes. I am way behind the trend in the rockabilly world, and who knows what regular people are wearing. I just put on my last striped shirt that I bought at Target actually. I got coconut oil on it so it has gone from a shirt I wear out to a shirt I wear to bed and feel badly about.
Stripes. Hmm, that boy was wearing stripes. He looked like Cheshire Cat. Ha! I like it! Oh wait, I’m not supposed to smile. If I smile they’ll think I’m crazy and send me back to the room of insane people. I can’t let them know I’m insane. But the boy with the stripes. If he could help me, well, if he would just talk to me I think we could help one another. I want him to talk to me but I soon let my chance fly. The boy with stripes found his way to me first.
lines on flags and walls and floors and more.lots more like fish awesome.
lines on flags and walls and floors and more.
We are told to wear the red, white, and blue, even if it has to be spray painted onto our skin. They demand that we tattoo our arms and legs with the stars and stripes, even though no comets will pass along our assaulted epidermis, no spinning planets or glowing outside universe. And when we remove our hats to honor the latest pop star mutilating whatever anthem it is we’re meant to respect, we tilt our heads toward the sky, where the fireworks blot out the moonlight, and we are left in a cold, ashen darkness.