"we're on a roller coaster, i'm nauseous but i don't wanna get off" by aleida m

VOICEMAIL POEMS

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Lagt till nine år sedan

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Insights Unlocked

1
How Anthropologie gets omnichannel right (and what to learn) 27:29

för 4 dagar sedan27:29

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27:29

Episode web page: https://tinyurl.com/2b3dz2z8 ----------------------- Rate Insights Unlocked and write a review If you appreciate Insights Unlocked , please give it a rating and a review. Visit Apple Podcasts, pull up the Insights Unlocked show page and scroll to the bottom of the screen. Below the trailers, you'll find Ratings and Reviews. Click on a star rating. Scroll down past the highlighted review and click on "Write a Review." You'll make my day. ----------------------- In this episode of Insights Unlocked , we explore the evolving landscape of omnichannel strategies with Kate MacCabe, founder of Flywheel Strategy. With nearly two decades of experience in digital strategy and product management, Kate shares her insights on bridging internal silos, leveraging customer insights, and designing omnichannel experiences that truly resonate. From the early days of DTC growth to today’s complex, multi-touchpoint customer journeys, Kate explains why omnichannel is no longer optional—it’s essential. She highlights a standout example from Anthropologie, demonstrating how brands can create a unified customer experience across digital and physical spaces. Whether you’re a marketing leader, UX strategist, or product manager, this episode is packed with actionable advice on aligning teams, integrating user feedback, and building a future-proof omnichannel strategy. Key Takeaways: ✅ Omnichannel vs. Multichannel: Many brands think they’re omnichannel, but they’re really just multichannel. Kate breaks down the difference and how to shift toward true integration. ✅ Anthropologie’s Success Story: Learn how this brand seamlessly blended physical and digital experiences to create a memorable, data-driven customer journey. ✅ User Feedback is the Secret Weapon: Discover how continuous user testing—before, during, and after a launch—helps brands fine-tune their strategies and avoid costly mistakes. ✅ Aligning Teams for Success: Cross-functional collaboration is critical. Kate shares tips on breaking down silos between marketing, product, and development teams. ✅ Emerging Tech & Omnichannel: Instead of chasing the latest tech trends, Kate advises businesses to define their strategic goals first—then leverage AI, AR, and other innovations to enhance the customer experience. Quotes from the Episode: 💬 "Omnichannel isn’t just about being everywhere; it’s about creating seamless bridges between every touchpoint a customer interacts with." – Kate MacCabe 💬 "Companies that truly listen to their users—through qualitative and quantitative insights—are the ones that thrive in today’s competitive landscape." – Kate MacCabe Resources & Links: 🔗 Learn more about Flywheel Strategy 🔗 Connect with Kate MacCabe on LinkedIn 🔗 Explore UserTesting for customer insights for marketers…

för 7 år sedan 2:09

MP3•Episod hem

we're crying in a costco parking lot fiending for that intimacy we once felt because every so often we lose it and then i get depressed when i think you deserve much better sometimes i think i deserve better too most of the time it feels like i am already holding all the good that's out there large and fragile in my arms i hold on for dear life the woman parked across from us is staring i wonder if she's ever felt like a failure on my knees on the stairs that lead up to your father's bedroom we've unearthed that intimacy and it takes us away as usual so easily in the dark of the oakland warehouse the delight of the freedom to touch taste tie no time to worry about whether my roommates will hear us laughing when the cheap ikea bed gives up and we keep fucking on the debris sometimes i'm so ashamed at the pleasure of the way you fill me in these moments on the stairs in my mouth in my hands i wonder if we could really feel things all that differently the car seats are reclined as far as they can go we're here again face to face with each other trying hard not to look away because we're not ready to be face to face with the end honey let's take the sobbing upstairs and it becomes a perfectly choreographed waltz with your head gently falling onto my heavy chest while hands wrap hands when we make contact the weight is lifted and you fall asleep as quick as always i hate that i can't help but stare your at-peace tender face moving in perfect synchronicity with the rhythm of my unsteady breath as it ruffles your hair i fall asleep with lips and tears in your hair i wonder if anything lasts for ever --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

77 episoder

#Books #Poetry #Poems #Spoken #Writing #VOICEMAIL POEMS #Arts #Word

VOICEMAIL POEMS

"we're on a roller coaster, i'm nauseous but i don't wanna get off" by aleida m

VOICEMAIL POEMS

11 subscribers

published för 7 år sedan

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MP3•Episod hem

77 episoder

#Books #Poetry #Poems #Spoken #Writing #VOICEMAIL POEMS #Arts #Word

Alla avsnitt

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"I Rage about You, You Old Ghost" by Hannah Rubin 1:09

för 20 weeks sedan1:09

1:09

Make me dim-witted. One of those days where I can’t bare it—the hum of madness. My belly wreaking havoc up and down my spine, intestines in a knot. Garlic! Disgusting! or maybe you called it gross & I called it get me out of here. A different morning: I’m spinning sex between my fingers. Cavorting with an old pillow case hoping you’ll come along and lift my top. As a kid I would peel the skin off of grapes with my two front teeth and gently push the innards into my cheek with my tongue keeping it safe before coming down on it with a hard chew. Pulpy swallow & the great disappointment: here was a truly valuable soft thing that I had worked hard for & didn’t know what to do with. ————————————– Hannah Rubin called us from Los Angeles, CA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"You Won't Ever Again be in Love in a Foreign Country" by Ky Pacheco 1:46

för 20 weeks sedan1:46

1:46

It's a bus stop in South America And crossing five lanes of traffic At ten in the morning. It's quiet, More than we were expecting. The taxi is late for arrival and I am thankful for every second. It's not knowing the language And our tensions so high, A tennis court in my chest. Love was being rewritten in my head You were becoming the epitome of sacrifice. You asked me what I would answer if you pledged me to marry you. I said I’d wait a few years And that was the correct response. It’s a man in a bulletproof vest asking you the intention of your visit, To give her hope. We cross out of the city. There are dogs on rooftops, We are sharing headphones And the glass begins to fog in the humid jungle evening. Whatever home there is left I find it as I lay my head on your shoulder. There is a song humming subtly over the foreign soap opera on the TV. It’s not quite your taste But it is my favorite. You will be able to sleep on the plane And I won't ever again for the next two years. ————————————– Ky Pacheco called us from Flagstaff, AZ. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"This is What You Are" by TC Tolbert 2:56

för 20 weeks sedan2:56

2:56

This is what you are missing Melissa – dust turned to waves in the desert – okra coming up two months too late – a forward-breaking gate opening into someone else’s field – I walk by a window and I don’t understand how little I see you – but so clearly the wasp backing out of a hole inside a long-dead tree – when we were children we lived with our grandparents and I remember without sadness mostly the sound of tires screaming into the street – the porch light welcomes whatever intercepts it – I praise insistence – I kiss my love because our best friend died when we were 5 years old – a brain tumor – and then again at 7, 11, 17…43 – bodies killing themselves by growing beyond their own capacity – I’m building a bed for our visitors – it’s infuriating how little I understand about re-joining wood already broken piece by piece – anticipate everything I hear God saying to no one – I’m still listening when you stop, for a moment, breathing in your sleep – I’m recognizable now as a part of the man who made me – every man is a suspect – inside my own mouth I’m annoyed by who I cannot seem to be – do you miss this Melissa – every part of our body is ash aching to be reminded it is ash – unlike fire reaching through the face of every forest in order to be incited by wind or offered some relief – I’ve learned to flinch by standing absolutely still – it isn’t death exactly living without you – the purpose of a rope is to borrow someone else’s strength – that’s why I’m calling you – when I pray I hear nothing so clearly as our new voice singe-scoured and full of disbelief – ————————————– TC Tolbert called us from Tucson, AZ. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"This is Poetry Time" by Dan J. Kirk 1:33

för 20 weeks sedan1:33

1:33

There are few mornings like this – When the tumble day slows and the sweltering July heat subsides; when memories of last night’s fire show resonate with a still-first sense of wonder. The footfall of Fatherhood feels fine underneath; I am comfortable here, at peace with a stirring that has often lingered in the quiet process of thinking. My daughter turns her eyes aware, Expecting the dance of color in the thick night sky, and utters with perfect sincerity the answer her mother and I had first provided to her own plea for more “firewoooorrrks!” “Later, next year,” she repeats. She seems to understand – just as she is profoundly unaware that stirring in her mommy’s womb just now, the slightest mobility towards life of her first sibling yet to be born. The sky creeps thoughtfully, grateful it seems that the booms have subsided, for now – until “Later, next year.” The clouds pass lightly as we look upward to dream of a better place. This unsummer in its brilliant disguise – cool, elusive, uncharted. The tongues amongst the people do not complain of lasting heat nor of humidity. Instead, the cool, soft morning greets them, allowing children to play. ————————————– Dan J. Kirk called us from Pittsburgh, PA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"The Kids Are So Back" by Morgan Tessier 1:45

för 20 weeks sedan1:45

1:45

barking up the right trees stuck on the double branch don’t climb if you can’t get down if you can’t get down better learn to jump the kids are so back vlog squad with baby teeth sucking back cinnamon getting pantsed by their dads tamogotchi death hits all seven stages and everyone knows that the moon is made of cheese that green eggs go great on a ham sandwich that cyber bullying is cooler when everyone is doing it slip-&-slide into stardust along greenwood grass burning the summer at both ends there’s glass in the pool marco polo cut short feet cut deep red & blue sunburns on chlorine skin remember when sunscreen used to work the first time fallen hotdog soldier slipped between truck slats hunger driven dance-moves filled with cruel intentions no amount of ketchup can cure a broken heart but a viral video is a bandaid solution for missing lunch category is horse category is narwhal category is charades is easy when every answer is the right answer guess flamingo guess spider guess where your hamster went I promise you’ll be happy with the results The kids are so back but seriously don’t climb a tree if you don’t know how to get down or if your mom can’t find the ladder but by some act of god if you find yourself up there just close your eyes try and remember how to jump ————————————– Morgan Tessier called us from Toronto, Ontario. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"The Coldening" by Kelly Gray 2:35

för 20 weeks sedan2:35

2:35

The leaving was such that each apple in the orchard glassed over into ghost-form on a single night. Centers rotted, dropped out, only translucent orbs at the end of wooded knots remained. A buck arrives, noses them to the ground. His only want: to hear the shatter. First my grandmother, then my brother. A permanent Autumn settles across my face. Brinks become a fabric to dress in. I practice sewing parts of my body shut: the mouth, an ear, the space between my fingers. At the edge of the orchard I find an owl. Bring my hands around the middle of the algid body, between my palms it moves as dead things move. Still, I’m gentle as I walk the owl out of the orchard to the place of bramble and stumps. Lay the bird out like a boat, like a baby in the arms, like a dirge. Slow gold light slips, the night freeze blackens fruit trees. I continue to visit the owl. The spiders come. The flies, too. For a moment one of the owl’s eyes opens. I look through the eye into the back of his death, parts of flight and story leak out. The collapse of the left lung: green. The collapse of the right lung: sky. I’ve only ever had one good dream in 46 years of bad dreams and it was of sleeping in a moon field with my daughter while friends placed inocybe between my teeth. The eye of the owl closes. The buck says it’s peaceful here, to be with you like this. I don’t say anything because I don’t speak anymore. Within a streak of light, wasps fly out of the ground as leaves fall in the orchard. I become a ghost apple at the nose of a buck. ————————————– Kelly Gray called us from Camp Meeker, CA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Street Plums" by Ashira Morris 1:29

för 20 weeks sedan1:29

1:29

I’m waiting for the tram, picking plums but really what I’m doing is looking, longingly higher up where most of the fruit is sitting ripe. A man approaches — bald but for a crown of white hair, lightweight vest, faded tattoos of an old sailor, two breasty mermaids with red lips. Do you want me to pull down the branch, he asks and I say yes please thank you and he does and suddenly I’m ensconced in the leaves, enveloped by the tree. I pick the plums one at a time, each a little ball of orange red fruit. That’s all for now, I say, and he starts to let go— then reconsiders. He pulls the branch back down takes matters into his own hands. His wide fingers grab fistfuls of fruit and drop them in my bag. Just as many fall to the ground and there are errant leaves and twigs, all component parts of the tree are now there, in my bag, in pieces. What a joy, to seize something entirety in pursuit of the one sweet part, the part that could be crushed by a closing palm. What a delight, to move with abandon, to ignore precision, to choose clear cutting over particular picking. Could my own hands claim what’s in front of them so confidently? Could they take so completely? I run into the street to catch the tram, whose yellow doors are already swinging open. ————————————– Ashira Morris called us from Sofia, Bulgaria. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Smoke Elder" by Allegra Wilson 1:32

för 20 weeks sedan1:32

1:32

In front of the laundromat a cigarette grows out of stub and ash, smoke seeps from lungs back into sticky-dry tobacco, red hot cherry backs away from filter, reshapes as fire, jets back into bic lighter, gas condenses into fluid. Came back unsmoked to haunt our past selves down. Almost a room in the outskirts, we write each other out. Eyes like wildness, your torso tree trunk, we careless pass a bottle of warm stolen vodka. Sing songs of chipmunks, chase each other up plum trees, over roofs of cars, fluff each others tails before we scamper through the oaken night to bury acorns. Came back to teach us how to make our bodies out of muddy leaves, shape our faces from a pliant clay. Crop vineyard hair, cattail braids, let snakes grow as they may. Pluck river stone out of the water, become ourselves a river. Chisel cloven feet for gravel dancing. Came back to sing again I think, together. Seek each other out by scent, taste clove smoke. Dig up the acorns, and with our fingers dirt-caked set them shiny in our mouths as teeth and gilding for our crowns. ————————————– Allegra Wilson called us from Santa Rosa, CA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Revenge Fantasy" by Stephanie Valente 0:59

för 20 weeks sedan0:59

0:59

Begins with texts to my best friend. Do you want to hear my revenge fantasy? Let’s get iced coffee and be brats. Learned helplessness is a crime. Success is an art. I’m working on my MFA. That’s deeply stupid. I’m reviewing my life choices in this Greek restaurant. Not everyone needs to be a Very Interesting Person. Who needs a human man? Shadow Daddies exist. I’m having revenge fantasies. The taste of blood. That’s deeply brilliant. I would destroy him. For you. I’m in love with everything. I prefer to move in silence. ————————————– Stephanie Valente called us from Brooklyn, NY. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"POV - I sent you 317 reels on Instagram" by Kate Carey 2:05

för 20 weeks sedan2:05

2:05

I am not mentally okay. I thought of you, or more specifically, I thought this would be something you'd enjoy. This is some news you need to hear. Here is some free therapy that I heard. This made me cry. Watch this cute animal & forget how the world is falling apart. I'm not mentally okay but I cannot say that to you so instead I hide the things I cannot speak between the lines of these memes sent for your entertainment. A noncommittal event invitation. My ADHD brain is experiencing mania and I'm consuming consuming media like CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCH potato chips. I am mentally unwell. I am bedrotting and need attention. I miss you but I don't know how to start a conversation anymore. I want us to be closer but I'm terrified of being vulnerable first. I'm a crow sending shiny things to your inbox with no expectation you'll even see them I am my mother's daughter - I leave her 317 Instagram reel messages to me unread because I feel too guilty and too avoidant to open them. There is a chasm of things I have not yet figured out how to say. I only know how to write them in my journal. I don't know which of these things would be useful to voice. I am mentally unwell. I saw this video of two unlikely animal friends resting on each other & I want us to have the same intimacy. ————————————– Kate Carey called us from Philadelphia, PA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Poem" by Tom Snarsky 1:47

för 20 weeks sedan1:47

1:47

I felt like masturbating I felt like crying It was the twenty-first century Already A quarter over There had been artistic movements & wars My debts had been repackaged Countless times The enemy of my enemy Followed me On Twitter, now called Ex-Marines shot themselves in the head in their aunts’ basements We lost touch almost as a whole Category We listened to music for evaluative purposes Had to turn off Shostakovich a recording of quartet #10 that churned too fast like history A choir with one boy who couldn’t sing But tried to follow, quietly Teachers like cigarettes fired or quit My memory got so bad I said the same thing a hundred times Into the wax cylinder Like the moon changing in the same ways Like the water falling back to earth The killdozer guy said it was like people couldn’t see The 50-ton machine he was working on for a year and a half Even though it sat there openly In a shed, folks coming and going “somehow their vision was clouded” It was the twenty-first century Eschatology Minus clarity All the new angels issued Their wings & narcan Doing their trainings from home ————————————– Tom Snarsky called us from Berryville, VA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Naturalization Test" by Aishvarya Arora 2:00

för 20 weeks sedan2:00

2:00

Aishvarya Arora called us from Queens, NY. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Mojave" by Candace Cavanaugh 3:00

för 20 weeks sedan3:00

3:00

He gave up looking for a town, gas station, or house off a road or driveway The desert unfolded further than his eyes could see. In the stillness, the ground spread in glare, broken only by shrubs now and then. A swell of dunes lay below a jut of mountain range bulking up from beneath the surface. They were told it could take hours to traverse this section. That they should have a full tank, a functioning radiator, and plenty of liquids. No warning was offered about the middle hours of the day. Notions of night, coolness, and breeze were charred in the afternoon glare. They were not told their mouths would stop moving, their minds would stop seeking the right words, that their hearts would contract, twist, and burrow away from the blistering air, the closeness of the car, of each other. The road snaked a path past shoulders of rock. A ground squirrel foraged, darted between weeds and creosote bushes. He kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the cut of the road. Driving on even though he could sense her wanting to stop. He knew she’d climb from the car, step away, wait. She’d identify creatures, absorb them, witness their edgy movement into and out of the earth. Not yet. It was a prayer. Not yet. Once they got through this part they’d be okay, his mind promised. Just get through the jaws of the afternoon. They weren’t alone on the road. Not the way they were alone beside each other. The sporadic sight of another car or a truck jarred small blooms of hope inside him. They could do this. It could be done. They weren’t forsaken. Look - that couple is perfect, aren’t they? She’s laughing, his smile is huge. Windows down, faces open to the day. He steered through the chemistry of metal, fuel, and the razored wills of fragile-skinned humans. They pressed through the brittle air, the stunned expanse of earth, the endless heave of sluggish planet. He heard the tires beneath them, the hum of their dull frenzy. He wished now that they hadn’t been in such a rush to leave. That they had waited a few days, weeks, even hours. Waited for the heat to disintegrate into twilight. They could have eased through the morning, napped in the building temperature, made off at dusk. They could have taken turns at the wheel, slept in shifts, found refuge under the star-punctured night. They could have stayed oblivious to the teeth of mid-day, missed the blast of mute terrain, slipped past the bully of stark beauty. They may have evaded the simmer of their silence, the taunting of their minds, the stunning of their chary hearts. ————————————– Candace Cavanaugh called us from Desert Edge, CA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Lorde's Supercut is Film Theory" by Ankoor Patel 1:08

för 20 weeks sedan1:08

1:08

To hate yourself and have sex makes you a movie director on a street corner, seeing everything in slow motion, scouting for bodies. When it’s too dark to see we clock out to edit more. After work, every night becomes dance. Re-cuts of thighs and light shows. A supercut is a cheap haircut, not filmmaking technique. But I know montage because I put movement over belonging, dwell only in breath, each a one-time use. Montages aren’t romantic. They are light shot through crashing tunnel, excess draped in scarcity. No, there aren’t many rhythms to curl up inside. But why luxuriate in memory? Rewind us. I am radiation. I’m giving off so much light. I can’t stop working. I can’t sleep. I’m out in nightclubs, searching. Burning for it. Someone that knows how not to hate me. Someone that can teach me how. ————————————– Ankoor Patel called us from San Francisco, CA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

VOICEMAIL POEMS

1
"Lagoon" by Asha Berkes 1:33

för 20 weeks sedan1:33

1:33

The cut on my ankle bleeds into the shape of an exclamation point You speak and it comes out ornate swirling, as if from an an ancient book I’m trying to follow those letters which are, inevitably, words, through the tall yellow grasses at the edge of the lagoon where your charm bracelet lays splayed in the sand and my nose disappears into the blue Let me tell you about swimming: The bleeding stops The world ends long enough for you to miss it The cold snaps, like a spell from the end of a wand melting fear into a body the weightlessness unhowling me In the water your words circle me floating in amongst the moon jellies On my back I watch my breasts like two pale ducks bob in the gentle waves I watch them fly away Your words bend into the exclamation point Make a portal of me A sentence of me A loudness of me I paddle back to shore a pearl growing under my tongue I settle into the meat between land and sea and decide to stay there ————————————– Asha Berkes called us from Tacoma, WA. voicemailpoems.org/submit/ facebook.com/voicemailpoems twitter.com/voicemailpoems instagram.com/voicemailpoems…

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Liknande VOICEMAIL POEMS

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VOICEMAIL POEMS « » "we're on a roller coaster, i'm nauseous but i don't wanna get off" by aleida m

"we're on a roller coaster, i'm nauseous but i don't wanna get off" by aleida m

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Liknande VOICEMAIL POEMS

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VOICEMAIL POEMS « »
"we're on a roller coaster, i'm nauseous but i don't wanna get off" by aleida m