"modular" poems
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing,
My eyes are square moon bases, nonagonal PVC behind them
Accounting for a dialing rhythm of split modular beeps,
Air-packed and dew drop sized, but only held by felt feelings.
They pipe in.
The Opener Screamers
Open a pal, a pulsing pill of pep talks and peptides,
And scream my way into tomorrow, a sleepy cheetah with anxious acid reflux.
My right brain does a sit up.
My left brain twists, and secanol comes flowing.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Sitting in that tiny room
you call your
office
sweating in sweat
heater blaring
chills of regret.
Inflammatory response
tightened up
tripped out
grimace has become
your middle name.
To steal from Bob Dylan
"there must be some way
out of here"
No wonder
plunging head long
headaching
heart breaking
into red brick walls
second story shaky
jail cells flaking
one too many souls
borrowing one soul too many.
We don't really
get it our way.
Bursting out of all that gray
making your way.
The streets will be
calling your name
to be the light angel again
drifting into dark
consciousness to light
the way.
Descending
back into
that
twisted tiny room
you call your office
in a modular tomb
and the only window
is
sleep.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
In soft afternoon sunlight, flopped on my small yellow couch, I look over to the shadowed side of the room.
My apartment is pretty sparse, but in pride of place upon some modular furniture there is a white marble mantle clock that used to belong to my grandparents.
It is imperfect: part of the pedimented top is gone; it only works sometimes when I wind it up.
But it is beautiful, particularly its face of ornate numbers surrounded by a bronze filigreed bezel.
I majorly coveted the clock when I would go visit my grandparents as a girl.
After once being shown how to open the glass cover over the face—such a satisfying click when it opened—I was unable to resist doing so each time I saw the clock, lightly touching and pushing its hour and minute hands, probably contributing to its current damaged state.
Looking at it now takes me back to my grandparents’ home and those moments when I would wander around the house and yard while the adults conversed in the kitchen, the hush of the house a little nerve-wracking.
Where were my grandparents when they bought this clock?
What did they think would happen for the rest of their lives?
I research the clock’s provenance online, looking for the maker and model, and imagine my grandfather selecting this particular clock with care, wanting something to fit the house, the family.
I open a YouTube video of a horologist—who knew?—and he greets me amid a pleasant patter of ticking from the collection of clocks behind him.
I look again at my clock.
Find the meaning in the marble.
Those ornate numbers, that shape of classical architecture—they quietly reproach me.
Am I going about my hours with the dignity that these shapes suggest?
In the face of the clock I see the face of my grandfather, and while the clock does not strike, I hear the voice of my grandfather intoning slowly and deliberately—maybe trying to sound a bit wiser than he was—but wise all the same.
I am still attracted to all things shiny, but hopefully am more restrained now.
I stop the video, and the room is quiet again.
My smartphone is the only accurate timepiece in my apartment, and it of course does not tick.
It has its own sort of shine, a friendly colorful brightness from the dotting of apps on the home screen, but to save the battery I have set it to go black after a few minutes.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
**Partners turned enemies turned frenemies turned long lost soul mates who never were meant to be-
You never know what you got until it finally walks out the door. And thank god for that ******* door-
If I hadn’t of walked the tightrope so clumsily maybe my peanut butter fingers would have, should have, could have grabbed a little bit better omit the fumbling…but I just kept stumbling-
I honestly thought I was going to die here in this trailer, this **** double wide modular hell of mine,
We stick ourselves in mud sometimes, Mud so thick it creates specific life lines. You can actually see your personal timeline-
That timeline has been looking like the color of **** Well **** me sideways ain’t life a ******* *****
****** ***** low down piece of **** skunt. Skinned knees ***** breeze I felt this old home giving me a breathless squeeze-
It squeezed me so hard I hit reality, reached up and snatched actuality with a left hook of formality equalling life’s gain of destined brutality-
I moved mountains harder than I’ve ever ****** any man. It was one swift move of ballsy rhetoric but I had to sell my soul for a compromise and a date just to get my hands on the blue prints for the master plan-
You see everyone is someone else’s ****** I’m on a chain, a noose, a shock collar and this filthy serenade is for the shot caller-
Someday I’ll cut those chains but most likely by the time I’m equipped I’ll have lost those better days-
You learn to live on less by biding time, by sweeping by, just keeping your heart above water and your head leaking dry. I remember my partner turned enemy, turned frenemy, that long lost soul mate who just was never meant to be….**
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
The line between technology and fashion is blurring. Brands and designers are now using electronics to make cutting-edge wearables and experiences, while companies like Amazon are trying to break into a space that hasn't until now been very welcoming of outsiders. Intel is another tech company that's set its sights on the fashion world, with various smart garments and accessories, including dresses, glasses and bracelets. In an interview at SXSW, Intel Vice President of Wearables Sandra Lopez said her team's mission is to be an enabler first and foremost rather than trying to become a fashion brand unto itself.
Lopez pointed to last year's New York Fashion Week, when Intel teamed up with 13 designers to livestream a runway show in virtual reality -- a medium that's being embraced by many fashion houses. Another example, she said, is Tag Heuer's Connected Modular 45 smartwatch, which Intel helped build with Google and the Swiss watchmaker. "Our strategy is focused on collaboration and empowering leaders in the fashion industry to push the boundaries of fashion with technology," Lopez said. "We are constantly working to make our technology smaller, faster, more energy efficient and more capable than ever before to help our partners succeed."
One of the challenges for brands is figuring out how to make the most out of technology, she said, especially in terms of the data they're collecting through connected garments, other types of wearables and at their retail stores. "There is a real opportunity to help the fashion industry harness the power of data," Lopez said. "How can you analyze what consumers are doing in store, online and through every interaction you have in real time to maximize sales and open up new revenue streams?" That's something designers like Rebecca Minkoff are already trying to do with in-store features like smart mirrors, self-checkout and RFID tags that let the brand know more about customers' buying habits.
"Personalization and customization is only beginning to be tapped into," Lopez said about the potential of both industries working together on wearable products. "Technology has the ability to transform industries, and fashion is no different."Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
A dirt devil dips into
the valley, crashes and breaks itself
on red canyon walls
Mina Loy spins her words dizzy,
round and round
but they only get lost in the ground
while today I scrape by
How many may I say,
to your ten, Sir?
Your pockets are empty but
you are rich in noise.
Words fall heavy out of man's lips
My own words carried away
by a wind
still spinning against that heavy rock
that even Nancy could not crush
nor Gertrude
you cannot put them in a box
but you tried
the square rock chittering at Woolf
as she crossed the lawn of Oxford.
She found a way into their library
after all
we only have handfuls of
all the thousands of words
buried under rubble
the rocks
the canyons
the words
of men.
but gradually
they escape
as only the wind can.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
a fatuous ****** was
a mystery
while political recovery went
to Landon
with a host of boomers
that threw in their towels
and modular things
like miniskirts
that accentuated their legs
with gratitude of marks
whether paper may trigger darkness
while without clement
in stranger areas of lament
that cry for their cement
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Rome wasn't built in a day,
comparatively to the age of earth,
a single day is just a trillionth of a grain of sand.
Making me about 0.00000007435 grains of sand in the hourglass.
I am not your Athena and my studio apartment is not the Parthenon.
I consider myself a Modernist, modular.
No columns, pillars, domes, ornaments.
Just fire and cheap nicotine.
My bones and flesh will never be immaculate, my body is concrete and corrugated steel.
Based on classical mathematics I will never be perfect, yet I am still a perfectionist.
That is the infinite burden I bare.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC