traffic box

Bangtan: *Loses Jimin in a crowd* Shit where the hell is jimin

Jungkook: wait I got this!

Jungkook: *Shouts* JIMIN HYUNG I LOVE YOU

Bangtan: Why isn’t he coming?

Yoongi: *Cough*

Jimin: /Running through traffic with a tissue box and a bottle of asprin/ YOONGI BABY IM HERE FOR YOU

flickr

Box Girders by Sheikh Shahriar Ahmed
Via Flickr:
Flyover - the synonym of DEVELOPMENT in Bangladesh. To solve any sort of problems, government initiate projects to construct flyovers ( Which are actually elevated roads, grade separated roads etc.) . No construction yards. These are stored in the existing road surface, and we suffer from traffic jams of unheard intensity.

you thought i was done but you were wrong here’s even more south-east queensland gothic:

  • wet n wild water world closes down for the winter. as you drive past you see a shadowy figure standing atop one of the towers. it gazes across at whitewater world. you experience the vague notion of hunger.
  • the abc classic fm announcer whispers, panicked, before the station cuts to the distant roar of the entropy of the universe and the echoes of the big bang
  • you sit in the cool of the south bank IMAX cinema. a hand rests on your left thigh. then another. a third follows. synchronised, they caress you softly.
  • yellow lid for recycling. green lid for green waste. red lid for general waste. white lid for the viscera of your enemies. chartreuse lid for teeth. glitter lid for regrettable fashion choices.
  • fallen jacarandas litter the streets, ground into the path by foot traffic. fallen bougainvilleas litter the fields, forgotten, picked clean. when will the bloodshed end?
  • as you walk along the street the paintings on the traffic control boxes become both more disturbing and more obscure portents of doom. the final one you see is a perfectly rendered copy of the 1979 film ‘Thirst’ surrounded by circling magpies with the word ‘regret’ scrawled across in red letters.
  • a crowd of protesters march from queen’s park. you cannot discern what they are chanting, and their signs move too fast for you to read. endlessly they pass. people wait to cross the road. people die waiting to cross the road. still they march.
  • the government starts enforcing healthy options at your school tuckshop this year. salad. wholemeal sandwiches. ennui. whole fruit. juice. low-fat yoghurt. the sensation that disappointment is to come. vegetarian risotto.
  • thousands are still trapped inside when the entirety of the IKEA store flatpacks itself for its annual migration back to Sweden.
  • a table full of SALT campaigners loudly hawks their merchandise and pamphlets along a busy footpath. a woman and her girlfriend clap loudly at them. they startle, hissing as they withdraw into the shadows, defeated.
  • children are herded into a dark van. from a curtain in a corner, a giraffe emerges to teach them about drugs. three weeks later another child has overthrown the giraffe as leader of the newly formed cartel. it is a coup de tete none shall forget.
  • as you walk through GOMA, one of the paintings begins to sob as you pass it by ‘please don’t leave,’ it begs, ‘it’s so dark here. so cold.’ the plaque beside it simply reads ‘That’s What They All Say.’
  • a thief stands in the middle of an open field. twenty police officers, three police dogs, and a helicopter surround him. none of them will approach for fear of provoking the plovers that have accepted him as one of their own.
Anyone wanna give a quick critique of a poem?

Even just say whether it makes sense and sounds okay if nothing else. Is it coherent, too cliche, worded weird, etc. It’s for an art contest in my town that I decided to incorporate a poem into one of my design entries. I just want a second opinion before I turn it in tomorrow. Pleeeease? You can just reply to this post or even just send an anon. Whichever you’d feel better doing.

Also, the reason the first two stanzas have a slightly different style (kinda) is because this design is to cover a metal traffic box they’re going to be on different side of the box than the last two.. I want both sections to be connected, but able to stand as individuals should a passerby only see one side while walking.

Poem:

Human are we.
A fact often masked,
by harsh words and tough acts,
when differences clash. 

But when we disagree
that idea may feel far.
We are all different, yes.
Still, human is what we are.

And, like butterflies,
we are all fighting the wind
just to exist.
Why fight ourselves, too?

Human are we.
Both me and you.

Caravan park - Michael Clifford [fluff]

Requested - no

A/N: I had this idea while stuck in traffic woo

Word Count - 847

*aged 7*

Long-leaf caravan park was your happy place, the place you waited all year to get to and the first place you thought of when you needed a happy memory. If you’re honest it’s not like it’s anything particularly fancy, it’s just a caravan park, there’s a games center with a swimming pool, rock climbing and skate park, a kids club, a bar, a disco, everything in a regular holiday destination, for some reason you just love it. You’ve been going every year since you were pretty much born and you spend most of your time at the kids club, so much so that you’ve become a regular, they let you pick the activities and help with the scheduling, it’s like heaven for you.

One year, however, something is different; the kids group was usually like a school system, the kids that go are 4-13 and it’s pretty much accustomed that they have graduated from the babies groups - no one would dare just join a community like this, but then there was Michael. You knew nothing more than his name but already you’re skeptical of him, all he does is sit and draw or play his handheld game.

“[Y/N] come here,” one of the kids group employees, Carla, called you over. “Do you maybe want to go talk to him?” 

She pointed at Michael.

“He looks lonely and I thought you’d be best for the job,” she added.

“But he looks weird,” you murmured.

“Don’t think like that, he just doesn’t have any friends yet,” she nudged you forward to go over to him.

You sat down next to him but his eyes didn’t even move from the screen.

“Hi,” you said and he glanced up with an almost inaudible squeak and nod. “What are you playing?”

He didn’t reply but you looked over his shoulder to see him holding a gameboy colour.

“It’s rude not to talk to people,” you told him but he didn’t even waver so you gave up and walked away.

“What happened there?” Cara questioned when you arrived back.

“He’s mean”

*aged 14*

You didn’t talk to Michael again, though he came every year that followed, but when you got to 14 you were told that you weren’t coming back because your family would hopefully be selling the caravan soon. Naturally you were devastated but still you decided to make the most of this last year. You took part in all the activities you could, even the ones you were scared of, and you made sure to say all your final goodbyes before you left.

On the day you left most people were leaving and n top of that there seem ed to have been some kind of accident so you were stuck in traffic, boxed in with cars surrounding you, only inches between the different lanes.

Your dad rolled down the window and screamed out, “How long is the wait?”

“Traffic guards say 45 minutes,” a random civilian replied.

“Look’s like we’re here for a while,” your mum sighed.

You turned your head to look out the window only to find any form of view was blocked by the car immediately adjacent to yours, and in that car was the 14 year old Michael with his head down and eyes locked on a nintendo DS, he’d upgraded. Suddenly you heard him groan through the two doors and slam his DS into the seat next to him, it’d run out of battery. His head lulled against the windows and he caught your eye. Bravely, you rolled your window down and he did the same, though seemed scared.

“Lost without your little games?” you asked.

“No, I just like games ok?” he told you defensively.

“Alright, I just wanted to be friendly since we’re both stuck in traffic for the next while,” you turned away.

“Sorry, I just want to get home, I hate this place, my mum and dad make me come every year,” he moaned.

“You’e lucky, I love it here, and I never get to come back,” you glanced over to check your parents weren’t listening.

“Can we trade families,” he chuckled.

Over the course of a laborious 45 minutes you created a strange friendship with Michael but had to bid your goodbyes before you could exchange contact information, you were certain you’d never see him again.

*aged 19*

Now, you’ve graduated high school and you’re looking for a job, when you see that Long-leaf is hiring recruits for the kids club, you check over the information 10 times just to check everything over, it turns out they’re looking for very little qualifications so you apply immediately to someone with the email address ‘mgc1995′ 

You pull up at the familiar drive way to the caravanpark a month later after acing your online interview and being hired pretty much instantly. You almost can’t contain your excitement to be back.

You walk into the kids club ready to begin, only to see a boy with bright blue and white hair turn to you, Michael.

“I thought you hated it here”

—————————–

A/N: That wasn’t all too good, I’m sorry

add me on snapchat - brodie5sauce

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