One over the other, one under the next. One step at a time, little by little and row by row, exponentially growing and growing. They tell me it’s easy if I take my time. I’m preparing my loom. I’m busying my fingers. I’m nervous. I’m going to fuck this up and have to start all over again. I’m bad at this. I need a new hobby that won’t hurt.
The bedroom was dominated by a massive king size divan. Plump jewel-coloured cushions were scattered over its acres of fine Egyptian cotton sheets and woven through the fibres were shots of gold.
Probably real gold, she thought to herself as she sat herself down on the very edge of the bed in as business-like a fashion as she could muster.
The lies were so intricately woven into her memories that she couldn’t remember which was which any more.
Had there ever even been any such thing as sage-girl? Or was that one of the things she just made up?
No, wait, sage-girl must have been real…
Because even an expert liar couldn’t fabricate such a complicated and beautiful creature.
It is a wonderful web that I see in front of me. It is called the web of life, and it is woven out of all of the experiences that I have had, am having, and will ever have. It shines, it shimmers, it is indescribable! This is life!
woven into the tapestry of life are bits you want to remember and bits you don’t : remember that they’re all valuable to who you are , and what you write.
woven into me are all the people I loved and who loved me or didn’t, woven into me are all the places I have lived and all the jobs I worked there and all the things I did for fun, every morning waking that found me where I was and pondered that and every time I stared out of a window in the night while others slept and felt myself stretching from the beginning to the end of time: You will not find another cloth such as this
Lies, and hate, and hurt, and pain, woven into the very fabric of Alec’s being. Magnus had hurt him, and he couldn’t do anything about it, but try to forget the sparkly warlock.
I make to try an put a spark woven into my writings, but is hard, my friend. These words is too hard and restrictive to how you say in english, axparess ones salf. Yes? Is hard, is very, very hard thing to maik on page.
What a tangled web we have woven. Life can be so complicated if we let it, but why should we let it? Life should be an adventure, at least that’s what I used to think when I was a kid. And so it should be, just because we are older doesn’t mean we have to act like robots and be what the system just expects.
Life is an inextricably woven material. Each day is yet another story to yarn. Every second is yet another thread. Each glance, a passing stare, a subtle touch is another button, another person yet to be woven right into your life.
The details of life are so intricately woven. Everyone’s different ideals, experiences, virtues and values overlap each other in a sometimes messy image of strings.
it was woven from the strings of little balls of yarn and created the entire earth, the earth itself, trembling under the pressure of its own weight, its desire to burst forth and live.
The woven metal upon which I’m perched digs into my skin, far below the streets are bustling and brimful with life. Neon signs shine down upon the sidewalks and street fronts, burning like stars come to earth. Life continues below me, raging and beautiful, far from the whirring of ventilation and the buzzing of lights.
Her hair was woven into a unrecognisable bun, sitting high up on her head, like a bird perched up on a branch. Its intricate gloss of each strand was neatly kept, not a single one out of place.
pretty colors, too. you hope it doesn’t get infected. it would be worth it, though, because it looks so good mixed in with the red of your blood. maybe you’ll forget one day but right now it’s beautiful.
Ushio had ended up getting his personal lube. He tried to concentrate on the almost intricate, woven patterns of scars along Yusei’s flesh as he slicked up the necessary fingers to properly check the young man’s body for anything illegal. He watched as Yusei’s ribs slowly expanded and contracted as he breathed. Ushio was surprised that Yusei hadn’t said a word yet.
Every scene in our lives is woven with true emotions, no matter how you say that you were only pretending. For example, in a certain scenario where we tend to deny how we really feel, we still exhibit real emotions because we can actually express how guilty we are even though we don’t intend to show it.
When I was little and I would get scared I remember that the only thing that would calm me down were Deans arms clamping tightly around me and engulfing me in safety. I remember how nothing would clam me down like the sight of my brothers face, like the sound of his voice. For when I was little, Dean was my superhero. He could make all the pain go away and slay all the monsters. He was my everything. Still is. I suppose he always will be.
I never thought until now, how everything that happened to me, what i liked and what i did not, seems now to have happened for my good, seems like an intricately woven pattern that is worth all the trouble, for its beauty
I feel like my Father is still out there. Weaving my destiny into that of the Winchesters. I do not think that this is the fate that my Father had originally intended for me, but that this is now the one he wants for me. I can not even begin to fathom why, never would wish to either. All I know is that if it is Gods will, if it is my Fathers doing, then it is alright, then I should not be afraid. That I should have faith. Witch I do, but I no longer think that it is him who I have faith in. I am beginning to think that I have more faith in a damaged soul, and an abomination, than my own Father, and there is the source of my fear.
woven between my arms, hair brushing over my shoulders as I clasp her close to my chest. Our bodies sway in unison, in symphony, and sync. She moans like a…whale? OH YOU KILLED THE MOOD. crude fucker.
by http://the-rubber-necker.blogspot.com/ on 03.24.2011
Woven in along with the spaghetti there seemed to be some sort of pastry. What kind of caterers are these? No wonder they offered to do it for free, about as much use as a chocolate fire, never mind the fireguard. I never even liked Spaghetti
by http://the-rubber-necker.blogspot.com/ on 03.24.2011
Her fingers were woen inbetween mine as her heart is woven to mine also, she looks off into the distance as we walk down the road towards the inevitable, a single tear drops from her cheek and hits the ground with a deafening silence
by http://the-rubber-necker.blogspot.com/ on 03.24.2011
Woven. Like woven threw the fabric of time. Like Doctor who! Oh my god do I miss that show. Oh doctor please come back to me. You wit I have missed.
“Oh, what a tangled web we’ve woven,” said the brown recluse spider.
“No, no no!” said the Sister Mantis interrupted, waving her yardstick. “it’s, ‘what a tangled web we weave!’ Now start over and recite the poem back to the class.”
The other students skittered and squeaked. “None of that,” Sister Mantis glared, “We are going to be good, attentive little aphids and give Brownie the respect he deserves.”
Everyone settled down and Brownie began again,
“Oh, wat a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to fib.”
The delicately woven web shone intricately with thousands of beads of crystallized water. It was beautiful; each bead caught the reflection of the rising sun in the early dawn. A smile splashed across my face as I took in the brilliant orange hues through the maze of webbing and water droplets.
it was woven from the same yarn i had given her for her birthday. it was all i could afford, i was after all only eight years old and had no job other than the paper route when my neighbor who usually did it went on vacation. i had given her a birthday gift and she was so selfless she couldn’t even keep that for herself, she had to give it back.
I thought we were woven together by something greater than rekindling and serendipity. It turns out we are, but it happens to be malice, regret, broken promises, and the inability to just let go even though we both desperately wish we could.
The words are woven into the scenery, like we are woven into the background of the universe. Existence, connection, it all comes down to the source. Weave in and out of realms, we exist like threads in the fabric of life.
we fell asleep angry.
i know, i know
don’t go to bed mad.
well we did.
but when we woke up
our fingers were woven together.
and i think that pretty much sums up
love.
Her life was woven together with nothing but lies..
He has woven a spell around my heart. I am trapped in his embrace for all eternity.
One over the other, one under the next. One step at a time, little by little and row by row, exponentially growing and growing. They tell me it’s easy if I take my time. I’m preparing my loom. I’m busying my fingers. I’m nervous. I’m going to fuck this up and have to start all over again. I’m bad at this. I need a new hobby that won’t hurt.
The bedroom was dominated by a massive king size divan. Plump jewel-coloured cushions were scattered over its acres of fine Egyptian cotton sheets and woven through the fibres were shots of gold.
Probably real gold, she thought to herself as she sat herself down on the very edge of the bed in as business-like a fashion as she could muster.
The patchwork of fields seem woven together, sewn neatly at the seams, as she looks down from the retro-square window of the plane.
The lies were so intricately woven into her memories that she couldn’t remember which was which any more.
Had there ever even been any such thing as sage-girl? Or was that one of the things she just made up?
No, wait, sage-girl must have been real…
Because even an expert liar couldn’t fabricate such a complicated and beautiful creature.
the woven wool looked so much more beautiful then it had a single strands, it scraf maybe not be everything she had hoped but it was beautiful
Her hat, purple and lime green, sitting atop her mop of golden curly locks, reflecting the sun’s sparkles onto the yellow car
It is a wonderful web that I see in front of me. It is called the web of life, and it is woven out of all of the experiences that I have had, am having, and will ever have. It shines, it shimmers, it is indescribable! This is life!
woven into the tapestry of life are bits you want to remember and bits you don’t : remember that they’re all valuable to who you are , and what you write.
woven into me are all the people I loved and who loved me or didn’t, woven into me are all the places I have lived and all the jobs I worked there and all the things I did for fun, every morning waking that found me where I was and pondered that and every time I stared out of a window in the night while others slept and felt myself stretching from the beginning to the end of time: You will not find another cloth such as this
Lies, and hate, and hurt, and pain, woven into the very fabric of Alec’s being. Magnus had hurt him, and he couldn’t do anything about it, but try to forget the sparkly warlock.
I make to try an put a spark woven into my writings, but is hard, my friend. These words is too hard and restrictive to how you say in english, axparess ones salf. Yes? Is hard, is very, very hard thing to maik on page.
What a tangled web we have woven. Life can be so complicated if we let it, but why should we let it? Life should be an adventure, at least that’s what I used to think when I was a kid. And so it should be, just because we are older doesn’t mean we have to act like robots and be what the system just expects.
Life is an inextricably woven material. Each day is yet another story to yarn. Every second is yet another thread. Each glance, a passing stare, a subtle touch is another button, another person yet to be woven right into your life.
The details of life are so intricately woven. Everyone’s different ideals, experiences, virtues and values overlap each other in a sometimes messy image of strings.
Gewebt…
unsere Leben sind in einander verwoben
wurden zusammen gewebt
untrennbar verbunden
Gewebt…
Es kann nicht reißen
Es kann nicht kaputt gehen
es ist zusammen gewebt
it was woven from the strings of little balls of yarn and created the entire earth, the earth itself, trembling under the pressure of its own weight, its desire to burst forth and live.
This web of lies I’ve woven has taken my life away.
I’m still alive but I’m far from living.
The walking dead. I merely exist.
The woven metal upon which I’m perched digs into my skin, far below the streets are bustling and brimful with life. Neon signs shine down upon the sidewalks and street fronts, burning like stars come to earth. Life continues below me, raging and beautiful, far from the whirring of ventilation and the buzzing of lights.
Deep pink between my arms. Light tan between my legs. You push into the knots of my limbs. Then still and quiet we rest a while.
Her hair was woven into a unrecognisable bun, sitting high up on her head, like a bird perched up on a branch. Its intricate gloss of each strand was neatly kept, not a single one out of place.
she had long since woven herself into society. it was impossible to detect what she was going to do next, and that made the authorities nervous.
pretty colors, too. you hope it doesn’t get infected. it would be worth it, though, because it looks so good mixed in with the red of your blood. maybe you’ll forget one day but right now it’s beautiful.
I am alone
it’s been so long
hard to decide
what’s right, what’s wrong
had a nice friend
helped me move along
these are my words
thus, woven into a song
Ushio had ended up getting his personal lube. He tried to concentrate on the almost intricate, woven patterns of scars along Yusei’s flesh as he slicked up the necessary fingers to properly check the young man’s body for anything illegal. He watched as Yusei’s ribs slowly expanded and contracted as he breathed. Ushio was surprised that Yusei hadn’t said a word yet.
Every scene in our lives is woven with true emotions, no matter how you say that you were only pretending. For example, in a certain scenario where we tend to deny how we really feel, we still exhibit real emotions because we can actually express how guilty we are even though we don’t intend to show it.
When I was little and I would get scared I remember that the only thing that would calm me down were Deans arms clamping tightly around me and engulfing me in safety. I remember how nothing would clam me down like the sight of my brothers face, like the sound of his voice. For when I was little, Dean was my superhero. He could make all the pain go away and slay all the monsters. He was my everything. Still is. I suppose he always will be.
I never thought until now, how everything that happened to me, what i liked and what i did not, seems now to have happened for my good, seems like an intricately woven pattern that is worth all the trouble, for its beauty
I feel like my Father is still out there. Weaving my destiny into that of the Winchesters. I do not think that this is the fate that my Father had originally intended for me, but that this is now the one he wants for me. I can not even begin to fathom why, never would wish to either. All I know is that if it is Gods will, if it is my Fathers doing, then it is alright, then I should not be afraid. That I should have faith. Witch I do, but I no longer think that it is him who I have faith in. I am beginning to think that I have more faith in a damaged soul, and an abomination, than my own Father, and there is the source of my fear.
woven between my arms, hair brushing over my shoulders as I clasp her close to my chest. Our bodies sway in unison, in symphony, and sync. She moans like a…whale? OH YOU KILLED THE MOOD. crude fucker.
Woven in along with the spaghetti there seemed to be some sort of pastry. What kind of caterers are these? No wonder they offered to do it for free, about as much use as a chocolate fire, never mind the fireguard. I never even liked Spaghetti
Her fingers were woen inbetween mine as her heart is woven to mine also, she looks off into the distance as we walk down the road towards the inevitable, a single tear drops from her cheek and hits the ground with a deafening silence
Woven. Like woven threw the fabric of time. Like Doctor who! Oh my god do I miss that show. Oh doctor please come back to me. You wit I have missed.
“Oh, what a tangled web we’ve woven,” said the brown recluse spider.
“No, no no!” said the Sister Mantis interrupted, waving her yardstick. “it’s, ‘what a tangled web we weave!’ Now start over and recite the poem back to the class.”
The other students skittered and squeaked. “None of that,” Sister Mantis glared, “We are going to be good, attentive little aphids and give Brownie the respect he deserves.”
Everyone settled down and Brownie began again,
“Oh, wat a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to fib.”
Sister Mantis then bit his head off.
The delicately woven web shone intricately with thousands of beads of crystallized water. It was beautiful; each bead caught the reflection of the rising sun in the early dawn. A smile splashed across my face as I took in the brilliant orange hues through the maze of webbing and water droplets.
it was woven from the same yarn i had given her for her birthday. it was all i could afford, i was after all only eight years old and had no job other than the paper route when my neighbor who usually did it went on vacation. i had given her a birthday gift and she was so selfless she couldn’t even keep that for herself, she had to give it back.
I thought we were woven together by something greater than rekindling and serendipity. It turns out we are, but it happens to be malice, regret, broken promises, and the inability to just let go even though we both desperately wish we could.
The words are woven into the scenery, like we are woven into the background of the universe. Existence, connection, it all comes down to the source. Weave in and out of realms, we exist like threads in the fabric of life.
we fell asleep angry.
i know, i know
don’t go to bed mad.
well we did.
but when we woke up
our fingers were woven together.
and i think that pretty much sums up
love.