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Dre G Feb 2015
it's only that i want to
permeate particles like marie
curie did. lay your lungs out
on a slab and i will show you
intricacies in fissures. i don't know if i
want you inside me but i definitely
want you inside-out. the aches come
on worst in the morning and at
night, hold me in those moments like marie
curie would. demonstrate an interest
in the unseen and i will bring you
spectrometry. demonstrate an interest.

voices happen all day and i am
fixated. that friendly fire barely
shows herself at all anymore, only
in your absence, like an ill-conditioned
cat. i don't know if you noticed but
my boots are booking miles. my daemons
feed on a seed in my back, so do not
wag that tail. do not turn those beads
of fleshy water, there are magnets that
your cornea can't block. i'm past my
half life and you've passed your lethal dose,
so don't let me decay into an isotope
with half my strength. i'm leaving

traces on the walls you can scrape off
like brown ice. don't let me decay into
a softer neon. hold me tight like marie
curie died.
judy smith Aug 2016
It’s New York Fashion Week, and there is a frenzy backstage as models are worked into their dresses and mob the assembled engineers for instructions of how to operate the technology that magically transforms a subtle gesture into a glowing garment suggestive of the bioluminescence of jellyfish. I know there’s not enough time for them to do their work. Almost instinctively, I find the designer and bargain for 20 more minutes.

While I wonder to myself how I got here, backstage at a runway show, I also know I am witnessing what may be the harbinger of how a fourth industrial revolution is set to change fashion, resulting in a new materiality of computation that will transform a certain slice of fashion designers into the “developers” of a whole new category of clothing. By driving new partnerships in tools, materials and technologies, this revolution has the potential to dramatically reshape how we produce fashion at a scale not seen since the invention of the jacquard loom.

The jacquard loom, as it happens, inspired the earliest computers. Ever since, textile development and technology have been on an interwoven path — sometimes more loosely knit, but becoming increasingly tighter in the last five years. Around that time, my colleagues and I embarked on a project in our labs to look at “fashion tech,” which at the time was a fringe term. These were pioneers daring to — sometimes literally — weave together technology and clothing to drive new ways of thinking about the “shape” of computation. But as we looked around the fashion industry, it became clear that designers lacked the tools to harness the potential of new technologies.

For a start, all facets of technology needed to be more malleable. Batteries, processors and sensors, in particular, had to evolve from being bulky and rigid to being softer, flexible and stretchable. Thus, I began to champion “Puck [rigid], Patch [flexible], Apparel [integrated],” an internal mantra to describe what I felt would be the material transformations of sensing and computation.

As our technologies have steadily become smaller, faster and more energy efficient — a progression known in the tech industry as Moore’s Law — we’ve gone on to launch a computer the size of a postage stamp and worked with a fashion tech designer to demonstrate its capabilities. In this case we were able to show dresses that were generated not just from sketches and traditional materials, but forward-looking tools (body scans and Computer Assisted Design renderings) and materials (in this case, 3-D printed nylon). At the same time, we integrated a variety of sensors (proximity, brain-wave activity, heart-rate, etc.) that allowed the garments themselves to sense and communicate in ways that showed how fashion — inspired in part by biology — might become the interface between people and the world around them.

Eventually, a meeting between Intel and the CFDA lent support to the idea that if technology could fit more seamlessly into designs, then it would be more valuable to fashion designers. The realisation helped birth the Intel Curie module, which has since made its way down the catwalk, embedded into a slew of designs that could help wearers adapt, interpret and respond to the world around them, for example, by “sensing” adrenaline or allowing subtle gestures to illuminate a garment.

As the relationship between fashion and technology continues to evolve, we will need to reimagine research and development, supply chains, business models and more. But perhaps more than anything, as fashion and technology merge, we must embrace a new strand of collaborative transdisciplinary design expertise and integrate software, sensors, processors and synthetic and biological materials into a designer’s tool kit.

Technology will inform the warp and weft of the fabric of fashion’s future. This will trigger discussions not just about fashion as an increasingly literal interface between people, our biology and the world around us, but also about the implications that data will generate for access, health, privacy and self-expression as we look ahead. We are indeed on the precipice of a fourth industrial revolution.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Harsha Aug 2018
Atomic energy is a good thing contemplated the good scientist
But only for us good people to forget
Lincoln's, Hemingway's and Madame Curie's silent voices echoes from the sidewalk
Where people idly passes by; lost in tall low fat Frappuccino’s
Looking and hoping then ultimately wishing for a visit from Benjamin Franklin
Unwittingly employed by all the dead presidents
These days’ people know the price of everything
But the value of nothing
Makes me gallivant; my own memory warehouse
As I pose this question towards my own psyche;
What is the worst thing I have ever done?
In the name of personal achievement career elevation and prosperity
All everyone ever wants to be is successful rich and richer
Oppenheimer colleague put our modern society in to perfect perspective
Post detonation of the Trinity project - after the first nuclear test
When he gracefully quoted
"Now we are all son of *******"
post-detonation quote of Kenneth Bainbridge, the director of the Trinity project: “Now we are all sons of *******.” It is often put in contrast with J. Robert Oppenheimer’s more grandiose, more cryptic, “Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.”
In the meantime in the Állos kósmos or Ultramundi, Wonthelimar after hearing the speeches and paragraphs of the speakers saw from paradise how Calypso Lepidoptera appeared, approaching in great magnitudes on the dry land on the banks of the blue and golden stones of Skalá. In torrents of rushing from the water-sky with wind-water, by geomorphological hydraulics of the collapse of the irresistible capacity to harass each other in the ears of Seleuco's dialogues, after they piled up in the sneaking curds of him on the island of his speech. Right there it settled from the koelum or sky of the Lepidoptera from the Orofí or ceiling, on the natural arches of aeolian erosion and its devastating plumage, appearing in the subaerial splendor of Chauvet and its gloomy darkness, changing the morphology of the bank of Skalá turned into enchanted turquoise light also with Calypso nuances. From here Wonthelimar obscures the circumflex arc or circumflexes, which pierced and eroded the surface, piling up the ex-generals of Alexander the Great, to skewer them on the stump that was languidly seen supporting them, after the tides of Lepidoptera that avalanche in destined per capita towards the destined underworld of Wonthelimar.

Wonthelimar was separated from everyone by the moat that was separated from the gods of the surface, but now where the supporters of Seleucus were predestined by imbibing themselves in the bilocated kingdom of Chauvet and its darkness, where they were put into agreements of suitability and clarity of words discursive for the eagerness to persuade his major general. But they all fell into the middle of a dark Ultraworld, judging themselves to be dying in stockpiles of biosystems where no one helped them and gave them some indication or diagnosis of being separated from the canopy that drained them from spectral affairs, speaking as vivid visions of benefits and sovereignties that escaped from themselves without contemplation or quietism of the human race, which procreates xenophobia to kings without throne or nation. Under the Attic, calendar were the months here were only eighth, Anthesterion, received them with the name directly of the main festival celebrated in this month, Anthesteria. In goods of name contests in the semester of Pyanepsia, Thargelia, and Skira where they were relatively significant, in some of the greatest celebrations in the life of a Polis, which is not recognized in the name of the month. Some sparkled in the sound of the Great Dionysia celebrated in Elaphebolion (ninth month), and the Panathenaia in which they are only indirectly recognized in Hekatombaion (month one), named after the hecatomb, of the sacrifice of "one hundred oxen" celebrated at night. End of the Panathenaia. This is where the suspicious fondness of both families of Seleucus and Alexander the Great differed in the accent that marks the written line of the infra Polis, where the leaders of Haides or Hades are lost, for the purposes of Aïdes, as not indivisible, but with the presence of Wonthelimar, who is invisible but epically static on his balustrade in all the rings that chorally wore them for each patronage of the diádocos generals, even so he had betrayed the Hellenic legacy, by a Hellenic-Orthodox one in the disappearance of Alexander the Great in Babylon without knowing that it had been rescued by Wonthelimar, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes ibix, or Aros de íbiz, as nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, quantum nano-ring that augured to sensitize the dermis of its carpal phalanges, from the eighth, Anthesterion to Elaphebolion (ninth month), minus the one hundred and twenty days of gestation in a month of the attic of imníbiz, that it was of wise advice to receive him in the new engend rivers of Wonthelimar in the depths and bundles of marrow with gestation forms of an Ibex goat, with their embedded bases of stalagmites, filing the meaning of each life that was lodged in the depths of the caves and its opacity. The Eygues of Valdaine was the Acheron, but with half the deceased who sat in rows and unleashed their laurels that possessed poor aids tormented by mandrake root hands.

The underworld was a swamp that covered the heels of the diádocos in the immense blackness of the cavern that wounded them one and the other with its Kopis, by more than a hundred blows and slashes that covered them with mud and moans in their buried half bodies. That they had been intruded from linear entrances to the underworld of Wonthelimar. In the thick musts of the quagmire where objects with ornaments of fear and cavalier materiality lay, such mangrove deserts satiated with gloomy fibromyalgia and amnesia, refiguring in the wandering bones, that sinned in lights and destinies that were adopted in the sub-world with incorporeal needs., more than the exhaustion that tore the skeletal muscle of each one behind the meager compromise openings, in the strong ligaments of the host Wonthelimar that took them at forced steps towards paradises where there will never be consciousness from a Theseus typology, but from a sub taxonomy - Verthian mythological, for purposes and among others that unleash it by propelling self-infernos that are not those born by a Macedonian force or Satrap into puny kings turned into a servile, mute and decayed.

It is necessary, that solitude of all the entrances from the abyss into which they fell, was titanic and of ultraphobic acquiescent inspiration, and in the acid gestures of search of Persephone or Aerse that in random gestures fled from their persecutors, like females who ended fleeing from themselves falling into the back room where the end of souls is never exceeded or Psyché re emigrating from the punishments of a satire or a static that resulted in a ghostly wandering, or in tendentious spinners that tribulated in belated bundles of repentance. From primitive times, subjugations have been longed for in kings who would never think of leaving their cracks and washing their hands behind the backs of others who stood by, leaving the courage to lose themselves in the perversity of a body deposited in the Tartars, having to give them their prehistoric debts and meadows of carpeted debts and caged rooms.

The generals commanded by Seleucus walked barefoot along with the stump that wounded them in seams for their plantar areas, and in extreme distress, they did not dare to ask mercy from the cave host who transported them through the deep pit of perpetuity, where the frigid bullet of angina of Wothelimar, filled them with memories that protected their survival. In unworthy caprice and watery *****,… it ran frivolously down their legs, even after each impulse to recover the flashes of estimating being scared of oneself, after finding dead fruits subsisted halfway, feeling voices from the origin of the abyss that I quoted them.

Etréstles says: "Mashiach allow me to enter this grave, I do not know if I should go to rescue them, because I know what will happen..., I only ask that if I enter with courage, help me to find the same light of the exit, with the same memory of not to waste arrests, and not to lose myself in my entrustment by those who I know will not return”

Behind some Sabine poplars, it is seen how the elytra of the Lepidoptera were opened for those who crossed from the darkness without the appearance of their fruitful eyes that tickled praises of surrender, and not of ibid in the ibid that surrounded them, as if they were violated that heal at the moment when their faces departed from the miracle of privacy, and from the solitude decreed of non-existent company, companionship calming any dogmatic symptoms and hypoxia that the glimpse of the Eygues and the Acheron left them, further behind in which Saint John the Apostle and Vernarth, Reader and Petrobus to bring Etréstles back.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Vernarth go for your brother,… he wants to protect the souls of Seleucus and his comrades, go soon because there is little left to fill them with darkness which will even besiege in their reasoning and anti homelands that will not be from the din of the campanile, out of tune with joy that runs on the graces of the gift that frees you from the worst virus by not being anti-viral… ”.

Vernarth replies: “Etréstles is the slogan of Erebus, perhaps of Bumodos…, I have to stop him for his profession, since the comrades of Seleuco will not return, the effigies of Wonthelimar have made them of his children in Ultramundi, and what is Solstice of the underworld, it is only a small Sun that fits in the buttonhole of the orthogonal slot that confines it”.

At that time Raeder paraded where he before they reached the omega of the gully pit, running swiftly over the eyelets of Wonthelimar, leaving both completely naked, to tear them away from the contrived spell and bring Etrestles back all the way together and running., but both stripped of lightness and acceleration escaped from the centripetal bodies. After the tortured walls of the pit, they no longer supported themselves in their Skotos or Erebo of Wothelimar in such a primordial deity of this theogonic and fantastic event in the bilocated cavern of Chauvet in Skalá. Here all the densities and units of physical genres, from above and below surrounded them in the thick sulfur atmosphere, Ananké in such a goddess of inevitability ran after all who tried to reverse the situation of the diádocos, for the purpose of consenting their paragraphs Hellenics and to save their lives, but the mother of the Moiras went behind Etréstles and Vernarth along with Rader and Petrobus who were basking in the glow of Persephone that imbued them as they stagnated drinking mead with the Canephores who followed him. From this cryptic moment or from the bombastic insignia of Crete, Kanti's trotting from his Cretan figure was felt united with the Lepidoptera Calypso, redeeming Demeter from her crying on the edge of some Bern olive trees, emptier now that the last gradients of the agonic and venous voices in the hilarious of some diádocos that were completely absorbed by the benevolent illusion of Wonthelimar, snowy in the harrowing tenuity of his gestures and of the great Iberian that took them towards the heights of the hillocks and towards the Ultramundi that It turned them into proles of the mountainous areas, and into super aquatic monsters with thousands of loose eyes in the arches of the generals bleating, which transposed ****** subjugations of primal deities, and philastics of phantasmagorical genres of Hellas that is plucked from the peritoneum of their stomachs, and that guttural eradicated them from the blue adrenaline of Apollo.

This odyssey dispelled the orthogonal lines of the poetic affliction of those who could see the sunset and the Spyché ***** that antagonized Ananké's numinous efforts to extubate them, and perhaps exile them to the Theban plains to graze Achaeans of the first degree alongside Shamash. Lamenting of young afternoons and of the abysmal with beautiful hair of the generous of effects, swampy and of feverish Hadesian or Hade's rounds that crippled their districts, they emanated from some Marie Curie junk and vapors radiating this Parapsychological Quantum to them from their own holy final body., for a virtuous and rout of the Ultramundis of Wonthelimar.
Wonthelimar Ultramundi
cecelia Oct 2015
In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to memorize all of the different
lab equipment.
They never tell you to memorize the constellation
of freckles spattered across the bridge of your
lab partner's nose, but you do it
anyways.

You learn about Marie Curie and radioactive decay, but you
find you are more interested in the way his smile starts small
and grows to light a fire in your cheeks.
You blame it on the Bunsen burner.

You study polyatomic ions and how they act as a single unit, and it
reminds you of how he winks at you right before quizzes
and you find you can't focus on anything at all.
You blame it on the lack of breakfast.

You test over periodic trends and ionization energy, but all
you can think of at night is the way he taps his fingers
and maybe it's why you can't sleep at night.
You blame it on a restless mind.

In high-school chemistry classrooms across the
country, you are forced to be careful when handling
Erlenmeyer flasks.
They never tell other students to be careful when handling
your heart.
They never tell you how much easier it is to clean up the mess
from a shattered beaker than it is to clean up the mess
from your shattered heart.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
hey! i don't mind the dodo! i don't have some neuroticism encompassing vitriol to continue: but sure as ****, you do. what happens when the white ladies die off? **** a monkey?! i accept my fate, like you accept your being bound to heavenly graces of continuum inexhausted with death being a lost concept of compensation... it only takes 2 generations to revise the piglet race... so... where's the competing element of nervosity? really? really?! existential blackmail?! is this how low it has to be grounded in? look at me, do i look like i actually give, a ****?! maybe you do, but this existential blackmail in the anglophone world of puritanical darwinism is not for more... i already find it hard raising jerking off in this world, let alone a pair of tadpoles... honest to god, it's already hard raising a pristine jerking off, let alone a pair of children.

i'm still trying to figure out this existential anglophone
blackmail... it's been bothering me for
ages... i simply can't fathom it...
i really can't stop seeing it as an existential blackmail...
that i somehow need to reproduce...
   that i'm somehow needed, my genes are speaking
to the darwinistic affection
of keeping "form"... can i just say that i don't
get it?! can i just cite that
darwinism has a negative impetus strategy for
invoking existentialism?
    can i just say that darwinism belongs on
the isles, and existentialism
belongs on the continent, and that the two never
are allowed to mingle?
no? so why do i feel blackmailed
into "needing" to reproduce?
besides the point, i never intended,
i was one of the one child state policy of china,
we were always the weirdos -
but the english have half a wits' worth
of understanding of existentialism,
they kept **** *******
darwinism, sorry, but they did...
an ex-girlfriend's father once asked
me: what are the famous poles?
i forgot to reply...
copernicus, marie curie,
          chopin?
   no, doesn't ring a bell in your
paddy sodden brain? **** me,
i'm always late when it comes to
insulting someone, it usually takes me
years upon years to reply an insult...
which makes everything a really bad joke.
but i hate how english existentialism
took off,
   just as bad as my late reaction to
an insult's worth of joke...
     existentialism & darwinism do not exactly
mingle...
        come on, you have to be kidding me...
when it comes to english existentialism
(covert darwinism): i am being blackmailed...
i am literally being blackmailed into
some form of apartheid...
some sort of quasi: apartheid...
no, i'm not equipping myself
with misnomer tactics -
         i'm being blackmailed to: "continue"
my "species"...
  last time i checked,
i couldn't give two ***** of concern
for *queen sheeba's
prophecy
of the world being populated by
the copper skinned peoples...
i.e. cuprum populus...
                 somehow darwinism,
existentialism and populism and the general
of competition, have created a toxic affair
of: a complete lack of competing energisation;
sure! the jews will win their "prize"
of recanting their jewel prize of ten diadem
rules...
     among the choccies and the copper skins;
don't you think the jews look a bit
odd, a bit out of place, given that they're
so white, in the middle east?
         oh right, no i remember:
stating the obvious huh? is now considered
a hate speech;
so the fact that the jews returned to the middle
east: kinda bleached, is not, "a bit" weird?
can i have those magic mushrooms now?
Mosaic Feb 2013
Collaboration
Bundles and fibers
Soul and science
Defiance

Da’ Vinci took my hands, Galileo my logic
Aristotle and Plato my mind
Gandhi and Theresa my heart
Others the ability to dream
The King Jr. compassion

Jews the capability to forgive
The oppressed the willingness to live
Darwin took my curiosity
Who handed it down to Einstein and Marie Curie

Others take some, many take none
But all the power of ambition
To strive to become
Human
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.of course i dream i fame, who doesn't dream of either fame or fortune... but... i'm sane enough to want to achieve that sort of stature, postmortem... what? with all the celebrity culture big brother *******? who the hell seeks fame while still alive? oh... well... there are the countless examples...

and why would i take an ancestry test
of my D.N.A. make-up?

i remember the first conversation
i had with the father of my
first girlfriend...

how many famous Poles (Polaks...
do i look like something akin
to an anorexic waving a *******
flag?) there were...

i forgot Copernicus...
i forgot Marie Curie...
i forgot Chopin...

**** i forgot my own name
when i saw my first girlfriend's
sister walk down the stairs...

why would i do D.N.A. testing?
i just looked at what we eat...
and i mean we, truly,
it's called haggis in Scotland,
it's called black pudding
in England,
and it's also called
czarna kiszka (black intestines)
in Poland...
the Vikings founded Kiev
after all...
i like Nordic music, take a guess...
take a while...

my maternal surname is
Batuk... which is a Bohemian
variant of the Polak Batóg...
so a mix of Czech and...
  Viking? the Goths...

if i had the time, and also the time
reference to reply to my first girlfriend's
father... while i was rudely
interrupted by the nymph that was
her sister... it's still a dream to me...
or what's called an arranged marriage
in India...

well... i would reply...
and how many Nobel literature
laureates... came from... England?
deathly silence...
you're right...
you're importing all this ******
post empire post colonial
perspectives and you have...
0 Nobel laureates in
the category of literature...

none!
zero! nil! oh!
yeah...
       oh... really?
                                   yes!
zilch... so zip-it-up, shrimpy.

i take certain words to heart...
sharpens my memory,
i'm not offended...
i just remember better...
you sometimes require certain
rubrics that are exclusive
and do not include
the rubrics of formal education...
this memory?

oh...
      2003.
Keerthi Kishor Mar 2018
Maya Angelou
Frida Kahlo
Helen Keller
Amelia Earhart
Madame Curie
Mother Teresa
Marilyn Monroe
Meryl Streep

Me.
You?
"Ready to make a difference? Go Girl power."
Anima Torch Jul 2016
Osterreich hat den Vontrapps
La Belgiquea leurs chocolats
Bûlgariya e nechuvano
Hrvatska je mjesto gdje žabe kreštanje
Kibris bir agaçtir
České čepování piva je z Czechaslovakia
Denmark er ikke Delaware
Eesti kividega
Suomi on lähellä Norjassa ja Ruotsissa
La France a Paris
Deuschland spreache Deusche
I Elláda échei kókkino - skepastí spítia
Magyarország éhes
Tá Éire ar thalamh de fearg
Italia odia quando si ordinal a pizza
Latvija izklausās tualete
Lietuva yra skystas
Lëtzebuerg *** nieft dee Belsch
Malta ghandha hafna ta ' maltu
Nederland wordt geschreeuwd toen Adam een doelpunt
Polska am Marie Curie
Portugal: Valentina: Hey que ê de on de eu sou !
România suná ca locul romanilor
Slovaškia pravi, "zdravo"
Slovenija je an prostem
Equipo de fútbol de España Es la favorite de Karly
Sverige har Minecraft
United Kingdom is leaving
Keep google translate handy while reading this.
Marsha Singh Mar 2013
A last incinerating kiss, then
the exponential loss of  bliss–
take my heart and divide by
you; leave me with poems and
warm anecdotes that I'll store
away like Marie Curie's notes:
still hot, still toxic, still true.
reflectionzero Apr 2014
Glasses thick
Brilliant mind
But not my pick
To bump and grind

Legs akimbo
Astute *****
But better a window
Than a door

Grade A student
Pass your tests
Keep tongue fluent
Off my *******

Red mark checked
Thesis compiled
You'll never wreck
Me *******

Quantum ****
Solve any issue
Keep your ****
In a tissue

Quick sharp thinker
Professor adored
But I can't finger
Your SAT scores

Six degrees
Pencil *****
Modern Curie
acne genus

-r0
Please take me seriously. Really.
Robert C Howard Jun 2019
"Synergy is the creation of a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts." - Organizational Behaviour (2008)


Hope takes breath when kindred tempers
     cast off qualms and hubris
to unite in harmonic synergy -
     pledging always more and never less
than each could dream alone.

Lewis and Clark together
    eclipsed the gifts of either man.
Marie and Pierre Curie were
    married to science and life
as they were to one another.

As dynamic as two conjoined streams,
     driving toward the distant sea,
minds in concord free the channel clogs
    that masquerade reality.

But what of us, cast adrift
     in this inscrutable world?
It all comes down to
     who we are together
and how we fasten life to truth.

© 2019 by Robert Charles Howard
Asunder Dec 2014
My blood boils over
Your four leaf clover
Is running out of luck
Don't push it, I'm at the brink
I hear it, the way you think

That the words you say
Will stay between my ears
And not evaporate  
Like the promises they never were
Too late, too late

My reasoning compromised
My senses desensitized
My humanity digitized
Into steps of despair,
hate and fury, lay bare

I hear the words come out
But I don't listen
My tongue has no master
Sly as a *****,
They tumble out faster

Roll over our bonds
Like lava over rivers
Like alcohol through livers
This is our cirrhosis
Our relationship's psychosis

Hardened like stone
Over castles of glass
And as the words stop
I realise they're crass
Alas, an impasse!

I have lost your trust
To an unjust jury
Like the Radium that murdered
the Lady Curie  
All love fissioned  
Because of my fury
Viola Oct 2015
Fake Ladies

fake hair, fake *******, fake *****, fake nails, fake smile, fake lashes.

It's tragic how we sell ourselves to be plastic.

We deny the beauty inside with instagram filter magic.

We change ourselves to fit the image that that sells.

We buy into the idea that our bodies and skin define us.

We let society redesign us as it believes we should be.

With all that is fake, our reality is only our facade.

No longer do we strive to be true to ourselves and I find it odd.

Where we had amelia airheart
Madam curie, and jone of arc.

We now have a bottle blond with a beauty mark.

She said *** sells, and nothing else, every woman there after was less herself.

Taught that her worth was under her skirt,
But still longing to be understood and always getting hurt.

Ladies, you are not the way you paint your face, do your hair, or the clothes you wear.

What makes you who you are, is your way of thought, your ability to empathize. Your refusal to compromise your value. Your honor can not be bought.

If you ever gaze upon the mirror and wish to see something different look in yourself and find, that the true you can not be seen, for the human eyes are blind to the soul, so be heard, listen, love, laugh, and help others to be whole.

Where make up, makes up for what we lack, I say we take it off and take it all back.

It is easy to be fake, it is hard to be real. This varnish that masks emptiness washes off to reveal, the real you inside, the you you hide, for the fear of being isolated, you mask your pain. You're tarnished in shame.

The next time you draw a winged line on your eyes, i wish you would refrain, instead draw a conclusion, try to explain a thought, realize this fake surely is not.
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2019
Me and Madame Curie
    My Indian students to see
           Gifted, quite considerably
                        I tutor thus gratefully
  
               Best wishes to you from me.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
today i realised i will never truly
and fully integrate into english
society, thanks to the irish,
i have to hear of the racism on
the building site, i was there once
too, brave racist slogans in toilet
cubicles, first the polish,
then the romanians, brave souls'
anger on the toilet seat, strange
kinship to the current retardation
of american culture, back to
the time of blank panthers,
when i hear of the racism against my
father my blood boils and my
stomach swells with fire...
like that one boy from liverpool
who asked if the poles had any
famous people... copernicus,
chopin, marie curie, john paul ii,
mickiewicz, tatarkiewicz, kolakowski...
but i guess the dyslexia obstructed
finding that out...
basically a manager of a site
was told to take down the cranes when
the roof wasn't finished,
and the mobile crane wasn't adequate
for the job... it's this irish thing...
the irish are supreme concrete layers,
but they're in the stone age with the motto:
well, the concrete skeleton of a building is
up... people can live there...
this fierce post-colonialism of former
colonies playing the bullies on other nations...
two nations are currently writing history,
the re-emergence of poland and israel,
the unlikely twins of historical matters...
so the crane debate:
it would be easier to spread the 1 tonne bags
of soil with the bag dangling rather than
using spades and wheelbarrows...
but not... leaving 11 one tonne bags on the
ground level, 4 labourers will apparently
shift that volume to the ninth level,
and then throw it over a 6ft2 wall onto the roof...
after one hour of this impossible task
they'll just say **** it, and leave it...
it's like the irish have no ***** after the i.r.a.
failures of killing people, they want to
victimise someone else because: trump moment:
they're just drunk *******!
mozart feared his father, the prodigy who
never made it back to the heart...
i don't fear my father, i'm in solidarity with him,
i'm halfway between integration and
keeping my ***** dry...
after what i've experienced i don't think i really
want to, marvel at a bonny lass or an english
rose or a welsh turnip...
the irish spoiled it for me, the subtler form
of racism and all that passive aggressive ****
is getting to me...
might as well follow suit with the olives of
the middle-east, drink nine pints of guinness
and blow up a pub in dublin;
i'm still adamant on the point about how
the english can't philosophise...
but the thing is... they're superior at history,
actually excelling in history is an english thing,
hence the populist usage of darwinism,
it's a historical debate, not a theological one,
the basic concerns of using darwinism
is to exact the range of historically relevant events
for a dinner party... smocking and pipe
and all that highbrow crap...
as i said, the english can't philosophise
but they can definitely boast of having a piquant
palette for history: england is a nation of shopkeepers
(voltaire) - yeah, and historians (mathias conrad)...
because when i look at it, on joy by tatarkiewicz
was slightly tedious to read...
but bertrand russell's history of western philosophy
was a joy to read: in summer on a balcony.
Kimberly Serena Jun 2016
If you love something too much it will literally **** you.  Steve Irwin, Amy Winehouse, Houdini, Marie Curie, Romeo and Juliet....all those people in Jurassic Park.
Paul Butters Dec 2017
Long after I’ve gone –
As if that wasn’t bad enough –
Billions of years from now
The Earth will be engulfed by the sun
Which by then will be a red giant.
If not swallowed, then badly scorched.
Hopefully “We” will escape before then
With all our “Goods”.

But Trillions of years later
There surely will be no escape
When The Universe falls apart completely.
For it will thin into almost Nothing:
Frozen emptiness.
All our history, art, literature
Forgotten.
Death of Deaths.

No more Shakespeare, Beethoven, Einstein, Curie.
No Britain, America, World.
No Human Race.
Is there any hope of salvation?
Nothing in the Material World it seems.
Only, perhaps, a “Spiritual Solution”.

Paul Butters

© PB 29\12\2017.
Sorry for being gloomy.
Jamison Bell Apr 2016
You
I can't tell you which star is which.
Only because I don't know.
I can tell you how it feels. To touch one.
It's soft and warm. Think early spring.
That tingling feeling. Couple that with the good kind of nervous.
Never will my heart beat so fast whilst I remain perfectly at ease.
I don't care what we talk about. Just so long as we keep talking.
The mythology behind the blood orchids or Marie Curie.
If I fall asleep, I'll just pick up where we left off in my dreams.
I don't know where that river goes.
I know I can relate to it.
In so as it passes you by in this moment in time, as do I.
Though our time seems of length. Tis only a breath.
I am not yours and you are not mine.
Just as the moon doesn't belong to the wolf.
Nor does the wolf belong to the moon.
In knowing this. I will trade a thousand breaths to one.
If only that one could be spent with you.
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Two I apple they split not to sit ***-light lit
              Ms.Viviette by-set
              Her heart age-set
              A whole sip mug-wet

She is working on her salvation the whole-love
ready -set
The mission right body flow 2 beat-heat
the heart fit
Smiles a bit a mysterious ((AppleJack))
Wholeheartedly--------*
Comeback playing the Violin teacher's pet
The apple a day he was not amused
Didn't light my heart fuse

That weak heart 1/2 the right spot,
the heart love cure another shot
My whole life he deserted me red-tangy tea
That Madame Curie how she pleads
My heart stopped the Island he was falling
out of my coconut hands

How I smothered his love hands
On the Bali Hut, I felt smashed by his lips
of Applesauce scrumptious pork roast on
the internet hearts was the post
Hearts of the earthquake trembler

Biting the Apple
but what is____?
Inside the heart Sobriquet
The flower floret evergreen apple
Made her heart  selling her soul out
The intenseness of drinking
Cabernet Sauvignon In France
Mediterranian tropics
Louis Vuitton
Heart tripping sandals
In Italy, he read her heart waist handles
poem sonnet but his heart was
stronger and more of a fret

The heart of soul came with his challenge
The whole in his head like bullhorns
My hill-halfway their body
was torn my heart was spinning
my whole right side felt like a baby born
Nonstop crying she felt so high like a
banana split no timeshare
Not to share my heart
New York token of love fair

Not the whole heart of truth
Glory the half of the stick don't you
hate eating chocolate crunch muscles
Of the  barmen from  way out in Mars
All my heart stickers the best times
of my star was gone
Hearts Gym he wouldn't give one flicker
  The half timeout what a showdown
2- hearts almost shut down

Tasting his stick so woodsy
The trees were talking topsy-turvy
Please take some heart I'm curvier
My dreams have no demeanor
Putting 1/2 of an eyeliner I am not finished in
Angelic nymphs on my ceiling
   The bathroom hearts were dripping
My lips got separate like they
ran away walking I was curved
Last heart to play Atlantic City
We saw them again (Rodeway) fresh
**** wasn't so pretty the parade day
What an odd pair of card pitiful
Their bizarre smiles
21/2 heart shaped pills I'm home at last
My whole watermelon those black pits
she so lazy
always on her computer what a putz
He is the heartless man
of the felon, not the fancy hotel
of the Ritz Carlton
Having a girly blast

I phone lanes they won't last
Louis Lane Superhighway
Men met Evil Stan
The armory like the
American Band Stand
Singing hearts got a low hand
Burning fires surgery heart
The whole road hearts
were dripping coffee relapsing
But inseparable screws out,
Rocky road ice cream hugging
I see someone falling asleep
Hearts on the job line
You will get fired out ruled
There will be no time to be mine

Yummy body measurable
Love Doves*

Equally 2 planes,
meeting together
distance
Equal lush resistance
½ creature ******
Her better half is ****** pleasure
his be heart plate
Two loves hear pancakes syrup lightly
Seduced heart’s fit tightly
The other side needs, balance 2 guided

We're two loves, heart divided?
Gothic kiss darkens the doves
Two half’s of hearts, infinite flame
Red heart cheating, hot rod game
Uncertainty Guilty reassurance

Love handholds, heart allegiance
This is  all about people that have hearts so whoever doesn't you can go to another station  the love the pain something so heartless or be a heart and start over fresh we love the fresh smell of grass and champagne is waiting so please stay let us have fun our own way
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
i'm just about to make a chicken madras-vindaloo, i.e. i really need to take-a-****-really-quick-curry-and-follow-up-with-a-mango-lassi.­

let's face it, you need a "flat earth" schematic
to get from (a) to (b) -
            a 3D earth doesn't really help,
you need a 2D earth ("flat") to coordinate
a vector (you) from point (a) to point (b)...
there's not point highbrowing the fact
when the applicability is an avalanche of
pointless: told you sos (soes).
        
          the earth is "flat" so you can avoid
believing the g.p.s.
  it's not really a sorry, more an: oops.

so, up in space, how's that copernican working
out for you?
     can you tell me where i might find east,
or west, north / south?
  me neither, tried finding the directions
to a proper maxim, couldn't find any...
but i didn't bypass the blind watchmaker
(as ever, atheists love the imagery of
biblical standards, never actually attaining
the analogue desire) -

        something happened -
nietzsche clarified the german echo-chamber -
poor nietzsche thought he was a
polaczek* (polachek) - diminutive of
pollack -
                    but the echo chamber closed with
heidegger -
     rarely a german being honest,
and in being honest: introspective...
thank you, much appreciated.

   hell, if we're so aerodynamic i thought
of a counter-compass...

      i call them pockets of quantum expression,
these days all history is focused upon
the quantum representation -
      universally replicable,
otherwise particularly "particular"...
             there is no originality in
the universality of affairs,
as there is particularity in a "particular"...
hence the new compass:

                             when
                                 |
                    why - "is" - how
                                 |
                            where

the reason why the (0, 0) coordinate is
an "is", is because: nothing ever lasts..
    the negation is a doubled up framing
of the fact that, if a third negation ever
existed, it could not, since a third tier of
negation, could only be a confirmation...

this is my compass from now on...
             yes, my ex-g.f.'s father asked me:
name me a famous pole...
                  marie curie, copernicus?
****, arrived too late...
  once more:
    memory, the only type of cinematic
endeavour than can beat
                    CGI, any day, of the week;
believe me when i tell you
that they really want to erode your faculty
to remember, by teaching you
pythagoras theorem...
        you're not getting educated,
       you're having your memory eroded.

p.s.
   there are too many pockets of exemplified
is - to (counter) contemplate (much easier to deny,
less of a thrill to doubt though) an isn't -
        with what is a doubt / ambiguity of an "is",
"concerned" with an outright denial of
was "isn't"...
                   how do we find this reality
so agreeable in both being fathomable
and unfathomable?
                          i'm starting to
deem the perpetuated placebo effect of
   perpetuation of awe with a cloud of suspicion;
for the advances of man,
     to advance beyond being awe stricken is
most demanding,
then again: one cannot erase the former child
that brought this body into manhood.
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2019
if you give part of your love
only a part still remains

but if you give all your love
it returns in sweet refrains

you can love more than one person
in each way she gives and gains

dancing in the darkness
singing in the rain
You’ve known the morale of Earth to be shattered
In present times it is simply tattered
But sleep not
Taking no example from wars fought
Comes the forbidden country with its Asian H-Bomb
Not King Kong
Headed by the mastermind of Kim’s ding ****

Promising more fire and fury
In the face of people dying in Syria cruelly
Waiting for Marie Curie’s discovery of radiation therapy
In vain amidst the conflicts of the politics and terrorism influenced crowd
300,000, 500,000 deceased
You don’t need the weatherman to tell you which way blows the cloud
As war blows out the populated masses
You know the breaking news is just about to grow oh so loud

I know a drunken political brawl is going to break out
As each belligerent ostentatiously displays their tiny fists and clout
Since H-bomb fads are usually unclarified
We need a report to be verified
For substance in a conspiracy to be amplified
I have mine and I know I have not lied

But we’re out of this
Floating on our crowded cloud
Moving where the newsman predicts where the wind will blow
Sifting through all lands even the ones troubled by disaster and war sound
After you foolish anti-Semitics and xenophobes have suffered for your racist lies
I will know when the Supreme One dies
Or when my fairness is darkened by ashen skies
Still suffering from your opposition to the movement of Civil Rights
You better finally unite
And not fall to his rallies made of dynamite and a false nationalist’s delight

CNN’s got nothing on me
Or on Kennedy
So now they need a story
Of a close-up of battle fury
To burn BBC
In foolish jealousy
Let’s see who’ll get first claim on my conspiracy theory

While everything down on the rocky and urban terrain
Gets vanquished and torn
After long when there is no question of who will remain
Thanks to the lovely UN
I’ll be forlorn
Playing my guitar and saxophone
To ease me and everyone aboard playing harps within the musical Trinity
Shifting my sights to Germany
For homeless refugees washed on the sea shores of hopeful destiny
As they look forward to a life full of opportunity
And I’ll finally know that our chalked out journey
Shall be peaceful and trouble free

Finally I come back to my intended caveat
Trump if your crowd doesn’t change
Then neither will you get over the possible economic speed bump
But you’ve already sent Wall Street in a frenzy over your antics
And your loyal critics will be jittery and pensive
Over your reckless statements reeking of belligerence
When you should be on the defensive

But you want show your democratic prowess
But remember the World Trade Towers
And you’ll know that the Dictator only means us harm
He doesn’t believe in logical calm
So you should use the diplomatic arm
To protect the swarm

If you go down
Our cover will get blown
And the only one left laughing
Will be that stereotyped mad clown
In the apocalyptic now
With no one to wear the thorn crown
Of forgiveness
And Catholic renown

But go on with your game
You’re only one to manage to put the electoral college to shame
But it’s not only your politics
It’s the crowd too
The bunch of asinine fanatics
Who will tear apart their beloved country
Before the H-bomb’s entry which heralds doom

One needs a ****** devil or an angel
For an entry
Into your country
You’ve made everyone wary
But till now most of us have survived
Without racism and xenophobia getting revived

I beg you to please bring fraternity
To bring peace on this clueless cloud for eternity
For us to finally get down safely
To bring about the plenary
A prediction of how the rogue nation will act. Trump is making a ******* mess of things.
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2019
he is from Mumbai
so I share my little story

tutoring and also learning
quite hidden, little glory

extraordinary students
writing and conversation

reignites my India yearning
nation of fascination

my cousin lives in Bangalore
his wife is from Taiwan

not all who wander are lost
I pray the road goes ever on

my last three neighborhoods
all heavily Indian

these in the southern U.S.
immigrant story begins again

I tell my Thai wife
as our boys play by the sea

I haven’t been to India yet
but India has come to me.
Anton Angelino Jun 2023
Empire State Building, floor 102.
That’s where I’ll be waiting for you.
You guys are like family, I love you in a way.
I’ll be your friend and solace, strong roof over your heads.
Pull up to your wedding, be your best man, wipe your tears when it’s over.
But don’t jump off, babe, soon we’re all going to be happy.
In Empire State, someday we’ll all be free.
I wanna fall in love at least once before I die, even if it brings me down.
So don’t jump off, babe, soon we’ll all stop being lonely.
Empire State, someday we’ll all be free.

I can see the words trapped in your eyes when you look at me.
Someday you won’t have to fear it.
We’ll hold hands doing laps around Central Park in summer.
We’ll french kiss on the subway like some blazed down gunners.
Don’t be afraid of the dark when you feel it.
Someday you won’t ever have to fear it.

I’ll go to New York City, I’ll be grateful to stand where they stood.
I was in heaven when they were dying, I swear I emphasized with them when nobody could.
It’s sad when I think what my brothers and sisters have suffered while I sat on Jesus’s lap.
It’s not my ******* fault that Jesus made me gay as ****.
I’m looking in the wrong places, forever out of luck.
But someday I won’t have to wander.
Someday I will open my blinds and invite the light in.
I’ll be at the beachside, old and happily married.
In a townhouse painted green which has a garden of hydrangeas, nourish me.
I’m a hemlock baby, fruit of toxicity but I’m still beautiful.
Step on me all you want, but I’ll still do lots of good.
The empathy within me is as strong as a stone wall standing tall and lingering on.
There’s radioactivity, discovered by Madame Curie and I’m carrying it along.
But I have faith still
that God loves me
I wish to love another in the same way, Lord let me.
I will give you
roof and solace
Someday you’re gonna need it before you get to give it.

I can see the scars on your soul when you expose it to me.
Someday you won’t have to loathe them.
We’ll dance with locked hands jiving to music of liberation.
Remember what they took from us, be proud of what he had.
Don’t hate yourself and don’t think you’re broken.
You’re just beautiful in a world that’s not yet awoken.

A songbird once sang to me that someday we’d all be free.
The pain that you endured, it will be your strength, it will lead you forward, it will hold your hand.
A songbird once sang to me that someday we’d all be happy.
I’ll come to your wedding, be your best man, cry with joy as you’re standing at the altar.
Empire State, we’ll throw baby showers, grow vegetables together, perform in gay bars on street corners.
In Empire State, we’ll kiss on the subway, be invisible, marry each other on floor 102.
I wanna fall in love at least once before I die, I just wanna fall in love.
It’ll be okay,
we’ll all be free someday,
Empire State, don’t you jump off.
Poem #15 off “Divine Providence”

The final poem off the collection and my final poem for now. It’s about being hopeful and resilient, remembering what the world has taken from you and being determined to get it back. To have a life worth living. I’m gone until I catch a glimpse of it. My main inspiration for this poem was Season 11 of American Horror Story and the song “Radioactivity” by Kraftwerk.
Sam Steele Apr 2021
Take a word and mix the letters and the result can be absurd
But an anagram is a word mixed-up that makes another word

Or if you blend a couple words it can be quite satisfying
If the spin-off words are helpful and the result is clarifying

A ‘Sycophant’ ‘acts phony’, which is something ‘The eyes’ ‘They see’
While the ‘Snooze alarms’ too early says wake up ‘Alas no more Z’s’

‘A decimal point’? - ‘I’m a dot in place’ and there are other spots
Would you believe ‘The morse code’ reorders to ‘Here comes dots’

Be cautious when you marry, not of your wife who has no flaw
Don’t forget the ‘Woman ******’ who will be your ‘Mother-in-law’

That one was rather damming the next one’s better I’ll admit
When I become a ‘Father-in-law’ I will be a ‘Near halfwit’

Who would have thought ‘Astronomer’ readjusts to say ‘Moon Starer’
But Knox the ‘Presbyterian’ would have thought he’s ‘Best in Prayer’

The huddled masses may revere New York’s ‘Statue of Liberty’
And shuffled letters also state she was ‘Built to stay free’

Oh ‘I bet the wound's lethal’ the junior policeman will have said
Of course, replied the coroner it was ‘Two bullets in the head’

December comes I ‘Search, Set, Trim’ for the perfect ‘Christmas Tree’,
Kids hiding in a ‘***** room’ which is like a ‘Dormitory’

In ‘The countryside’ ‘No city dust here’ if I’m ‘Silent’ I can ‘Listen’
And ponder my ‘Indomitableness’ or is it my ‘Endless ambition’?

‘I am not active’ in ‘Vacation time’ I will rest and heave a sigh
With joy I watch a ‘Butterfly’, and see it gently ‘Flutter by’

A minor risk? A ‘Slot Machine’, the result is ‘Cash lost in me’
A lethal risk? Revealed too late, ‘Radium came’ for ‘Madam Curie’

The last “surprising anagram” in this poem that I hope was fun
If ever asked what’s ‘Eleven plus two’ reply it’s ‘Twelve plus one’
John Bartholomew Jul 2021
That grumbling roar of a voice not so pure
Always moaning on the phone whilst listening at the door
The world upsets him on almost every level
For that is not his voice but one who asides with a devil
We all gossip that he never ever stops
But somebody else is crossing his Tee's and feeding his daily rot
He maybe nice but from years of endless nagging
A silent mistress behind the scene feeding his needless slagging
As she was once a nurse but really no Marie Curie
For she feeds him her woes and her strife now vented in his fury.

JJB
Qualyxian Quest Nov 2020
Coworker: What do you think is important in a leader?

She: I think it is humility.

Me: Which we need, especially now.

She: Yes. Especially now.
Qualyxian Quest Nov 2020
Me: A poem came to me in a dream.
And others started to come almost involuntarily. I couldn't stop it.

She: That's unusual.

Me (thinking not saying): But I don't really understand.
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2020
She said, you like the arts
I said, Yes I do

She was a math teacher
I tried to be true

We spoke of Prince and Springsteen
My love life gone quite blue

I sense she was aware of more
But what? I never knew.
Le plus haut attentat que puisse faire un homme,
C'est de lier la France ou de garrotter Rome
C'est, quel que soit le lieu, le pays, la cité,
D'ôter l'âme à chacun, à tous la liberté.

Dans la curie auguste entrer avec l'épée,
Assassiner la loi dans son temple frappée,
Mettre aux fers tout un peuple, est un crime odieux
Que Dieu, calme et rêveur, ne quitte pas des yeux.

Dès que ce grand forfait est commis, point de grâce
La Peine au fond des cieux, lente, mais jamais lasse,
Se met en marche, et vient ; son regard est serein.
Elle tient sous son bras son fouet aux clous d'airain.

Jersey, novembre 1852.

— The End —