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Àŧùl Dec 2016
Preventing contamination,
A constant challenge in cell culture.
Contamination not only affects,
The culture in question and,
Costs time and money,
But also endangers the reproducibility of results.

No cell culture problem,
Is as universal as that of culture loss
Due to contamination.

Generally, contamination may be separated,
Into categories of microbial,
And eukaryotic contamination.

Examples of microbial contamination include:
Bacteria (including Mycoplasma),
Fungi and yeast;
Eukaryotic contamination includes:
Cross-contamination with other cell lines.

Bacteria, yeast and fungi,
The three more common types of contamination,
But luckily these forms are often detectable,
Under the microscope and,
By visual cues,
Like colour or turbidity changes in the medium.

Mycoplasma is a small genus of bacteria,
That lack a cell wall and for this reason,
They remain unaffected by common antibiotics.
They are also difficult to detect,
With standard microscopes,
Due to their size, about 0.1 μm in diameter,
And the fact that they often attach to host cells.


To prevent contamination,
Use 70% ethanol for disinfecting,
Equipment & surfaces,
Related to cell culture.
Sterile filter the media first,
Before bringing to the lab.

Fetal Bovine Serum,
A potential source of contamination,
Contains mycoplasma.
Filter it at 0.1 μm, or,
Gamma irradiate it.
Aseptic technique,
Necessary.

The laboratory workers be the last,
But not the least source of contamination.
Teach them the ideal laboratory practices,
To ensure asepticity in a laboratory.
Source: American Laboratory

For revising an important topic from Animal Cell Culture.

HP Poem #1299
©Atul Kaushal
Cause you're toxic       Defiled
shedding the old you exposing a new person you have turned into
You're not around me... now
But when you are
I'm falling like I'm drowning
This friendships crowning

Evolved into another person that I just don't need.
Cause you're all full of passive aggressive rage that's melted my sight.
What's hidden and hissing waiting to devoure me.
Brainwashed to all the lies that you've been telling me.
Seducing me, loving me with self loathing injections, posioning.
Leading me to believe. Lies.

In the trenches abandion. Dark. Quite. So I stop being afraid. Nothing flogging me.
Reality: The unforgiving madness. Like a light in the darkness. My Heart.
I see that I can be worthy. I just gotta figure out how to get back my selfesteem again.
No one wants to lick my wounds of unchanging torture.

Cause I have been walking around in a salted skin.
Never healing, never dealing, with all the injuries that I've taken.
Don't want to soak up the death were you've laid me to rest. Cause it's changing me.
You are not me. I will never be you. You wanted me invisible, you still do, when all you can be is you.
Lets call it what it is: Resentment.
You will never be me! Sorry imitation. It's what's in the heart.
Look at me. Strong again.
Prying off the scabs of pain   Disinfecting
Nine years and this is the end.
Copyright 2013 © J. Barraza
Vamika Sinha Aug 2016
the smell of a hospital
disinfecting hands and
identities
placed on the counter.
a passport-size ambition
a fingerprint of luck.
you have arrived.
you are here.

you came in
a bus full of languages
funnelled into the room
'welcome to - '
lost and found
in translation.
you cannot understand
you will try
to understand.

your newness.
new you.
you are new.
you do not understand
you are here.
the sport of cricket
is no longer a clean game
bribes and corruption
have dowsed it in shame

***** money has walked
onto the cricket pitch
and it does so give
the sporting pundits a severe stitch

ball tampering by the players
and umpires being paid off
these disrespectful actions
causing cricket lovers to fulsomely scoff

the game of cricket has been
so badly sullied over the past few years
and it does so make the fans
feel less incline to cheer

cricket has a grubby tarnish
upon it these days
the ICC should be disinfecting
the game's wicked ways

devotees of cricket are not
a happy lot
they are waiting for the wicket
to be cleansed of all the ***** rot
Lawrence Hall Dec 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         They are Disinfecting Venice

          I have been trying to find out; no one will tell me the truth;
          they are disinfecting Venice. Do you know why?

                                    -Death in Venice

We live on islands in the virus-time
Shored in by disease and uncertainty
Waves of uncertainty, rumor, and fear
The deaths of friends bumping against us at night

Delivery trucks are our vaporetti
Ferrying our supplies across the Styx
That separates our then away from now
With imaginings outsourced from Lethe.com

They are burning stimulus checks in the streets
To disinfect us against reality
A poem is itself.
staying the night
up high
in rainclouds
& I feel safe now
when I look down
the wide world
is so small.

we are all
tiny specimen
divinely dissected
subdivided into
lively sections
by wants by fires
by greed by needs
& secret desires;

one nation
under god’s feet
tired slaves perspire
unnecessarily
for possession
& obsess over  
what they each acquire.

it is you, it is I,
and we are
frighteningly alike.

my attention’s quite untidy
all the time
my mind gets redirected
it walks like hell
& talks like heaven.

I am not well
I never have been.

but this hex is a blessing,
it’s too **** precious.

we are spilling
into the ocean
over the edges.
The Land is dead and
has been, days now.
I find it kinda pleasant &  
I wonder if
they’ll ever
get around to
disinfecting the nest
of decaying flesh,
before it infests the rest,
y’know, the ones that got left.

rot is a pox
spread by proxy
& is not bonded
by neither
lock nor key; that’s like,
‘**** what you got
**** what you be
**** what you thought
what you think
what you see.’

*******,
**** me,
**** everyone,
**** everything.

it’s lovely, it’s lovely.

I even think it’s kinda funny,
I laugh at nothing.
Oh, the irony
Voodoo Wizdumb
Brett Jun 2021
It is a quarter past June, and
          already it seems like a record setting summer.
Sprinklers and the scent of chlorine filled pools,
          as I walk in my street-worn shoes to my sanctuary.

The lifeless blacktop park where
          my will and the heat-embracing pavement meet.
A well-manicured backyard tree hangs its verdant leaves
          just over its owner’s fence.
Like a lifeline for life reaching out to me.

I stick and I move,
          as the sweat cleans the dirt and despair from my face.
Like a sunshine superman, I drink UV rays into my bones.
          Alone I feel whole.
The disinfecting flames of summer
          have begun to melt the cold rot encasing my soul.
Embrace the light from the sun, because one day we will plead with darkness to feel it on our face once more.
H Aug 2014
I feel sorry that some people think

They
Weren't
Born
Whole.

So they go out searching,
Waiting,
Abating,
For somebody to complete their soul.

At a young age I was blessed to be broken
Got to put the pieces back together myself.
No man, no prince, no shining bright knight.
Just me and my sutures
Disinfecting alcohol on the shelf.

I don't need a healer
So no human need bother
I fixed what was broken
Saved you your wine-and-dine dollar

Spend it on a damsel
Who's been tricked into thinking she's distressed
Because I'm having none of that **** here
I'm the latest model of me and it's simply the best.

See medically speaking,
Scars won't ever leave
But they can always be replaced
By smaller ones chosen at your knives' reprieve

So I've built myself a brand new me
As whole and together
As possibly could be.

Patched up nicely with sutures
Tied ever so tight
Keloids like embedded trophies
Many a victorious fight.

And while one might go searching
Like a pollinating human bee.
I know my self worth.

I'll never depend on thee.
Be your own ******* hero.
ashley Mar 2014
Sometimes you don’t know it’s the last time until it’s too late.

oftentimes it comes so suddenly,
a goodbye that you thought was only for the night
until you wake up to find that from here on out the only thing kissing your forehead before bed is your pillow.

other times you know it’s coming,
like the last time you’ll see that person laugh before an angel comes
and wipes away every sparkle from their eyes
with the same disinfecting spray used on that hospital bed.

but sometimes, the saddest way, is when you realize that last time has already come and
gone
you realize that a person you once knew, has already left their impact on your life
and has exited without a sound to stage left
after their last scene.

it’s true that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone,
but it’s also true that sometimes you can’t prepare;
like an unexpected hurricane,
and the only thing you have time to grab are some anesthetics for your heart
before evacuating.

every moment of every experience has value,
but sometimes you can’t see them
like the constellations that hide behind a cloudy night;
but they’re still there, they just choose not to reveal themselves.

the trick is, learning how to appreciate them.
luci sunbird Oct 2011
Disinfecting myself from the rays
These blotches I feel
Squeezing the liquid
Straining my arm
Lubing up the branches
Covering proximal to distal

Not quite transverse
Ten minutes
Dispense and rinse

Evil flowing down the drain
Plundering materials of blood lust
Soft spoken memoirs
Papers shredded
Covering the ground

Pictures explaining what words cannot
Hole in the corner
Blocking a figure from view

This figure portrayed in the very nightmares
I awake from with hasty revolts of sadness and angst
The very presence unnerving
Bob B Feb 2017
When fringe groups go mainstream,          
We're in a lot of trouble.
If extremism turns you on,
Sorry to burst your bubble.

A virus in the Wh…Breit House uses
Every opportunity
To threaten our democracy
By weakening our immunity.

Opposition to the virus
Is told--is ordered--to hush.
If you have been directly exposed,
Your brain will turn to mush.

Once you are infected the damage
Is usually irreparable.
(A fool and foolish ideas are
Without a doubt inseparable.)

The Bannon virus is dangerous
Because it's so insidious.
That's why healthy individuals
Find it so invidious.

Disinfecting the Breit House will
Require a lot of gumption.
People will say it's impossible,
But that's a mere presumption.

Remain healthy and well-informed.
There's no time to relax.
Woe to the country if the virus
Isn't stopped in its tracks.

- by Bob B (2-2-17)
Erase          

How could I have missed it for so long  
Living an Ozzie and Harriet scripted life
Unable to see the reality
Long missing forgetting ignoring overlooking

How can someone erase memories
Make just a bunch of washed out snapshots
Alcohol is good at disinfecting things
It can clean a surface or erase memories

She left me those snaps shots
No usable video
How many things were wiped clean? Sanitized
Sterilized to black and white no color

I don't know, so much has been overwritten

Stumbling in the dark with a small candle
Only now seeing touched up photos
Why have these past memories been blotched

Were those formative years sanitized?
Only to be revealed at the end
Still bitter about the ending ones

Copyright 2017
Richard L Ratliff
i wish i stayed inside my mother, never to come out:

i. i have never cried over spilt milk but have shed tears for the broken teacup, mug, glass, whatever receptacle was forsaken of its usefulness out of my carelessness.

ii. i'd be lying if i said i could walk on eggshells. i used to walk on tiptoe, in fact, until my mom flagged it as a mark of low self-confidence, along with the way my eyes wandered when i spoke with someone, the subtle hunching of my spine, the supposedly feminine instinctual crossing of my legs. i thought it quirkiness: heels and eyes to the skies, always eager for new, new people, new things, new stories. something uniquely mine. how many of these little badges we once wore with pride have become our downfalls, our faults?

iii. multiple times a year, my gut blisters and tears itself apart. the first image that comes to mind is the fizzy alka-seltzer tablets my grandparents used to consume daily, wreaking their minute devastation upon a tepid glass of water. the scar tissue forming over the unseen ulcers are reason enough for my body to score the natural seam once again. it’s a fire i have inherited from my father, who in turn inherited it from his mother. has my own flesh become so infatuated with pain that it has forgotten what it means to heal?

iv. i am starved of light. there is a switch within me, that when on, illuminates the night sky to oblivion, olber’s paradox impossibly fulfilled. because when the sky goes dim, when the temple curtain is torn in half, i will burn so that you may see, so that you may live. like amniotic fluid, i will envelop you, encase you, sustain you: my breaths shall be yours, my blood shall be yours, my words shall be spoken from your lips, so you will never know that starvation like i did. constellations be ******, i will always be here for you whether you like it or not. there is a switch within me, and it is at once exhilarating and terrifying that you can flip it with a single word. why do i let you have that power over me?

v. i often wonder why this body, why this time. i have loved you so long i am not sure who i am exalting anymore, whose clay feet i am choosing to be oblivious to. you are my first musing in the early morning and final contemplation at night. i always forgot than we only ever reached almost heaven. the subtle understanding that what i can give you will always be too little, too much, too late, haunts me.

vi. i could never do earbuds, the sound waves ever-close to my cochlea, rattling the fluid inside its whelk-like cavity. no, i always needed distance: over-ear aux audio jack headphones distance. and when i couldn't afford distance, i made it, making do by cupping the speaker of my phone by my ears. like a smoker setting their cigarette alight, i knew to relish this small ritual of procrastination and retribution, quietly wishing for someone to share this feeling of lungs and heart dilating and contracting with me. music is my vice and my medicine, and it hurts me that others will never know the sublimity of the way a song makes me feel.

vii. i was once told by an almost-lover that walking barefoot in hotel rooms in disgusting. as a self-proclaimed germaphobe who (rather shamefully) does this, how could i have overlooked the reality? it only occurs to me now what ****, *****, sweat, ***** has seeped into the nondescript dark carpets, trace particles clinging to my heels. but i am no stranger to disgusting things, am i? no amount of handwashing, disinfecting, abstaining, good eating, or prayer could atone for my sins, could make me feel cleanly again. you are filthy, an animal among men: for what is hedonism but survival in the crude wild? i believe in a god who will pass judgement where and when it's due. was it so wrong of me to want to make a temporary home feel permanent? to forget about the dirt and grime that has settled upon this body over the years and yearn for the innocence i've so mercilessly slaughtered?

viii. once, a woman who was jogging tripped and fell on the sloped pavement in front of our old home. many passersby came to her aid immediately, offering hands and emergency phone calls. i couldn't have been more than eight, but i saw from the office room window and knew what i had to do. i grabbed a singular tube of neosporin and a handful of band-aids, running out the side door without letting my parents know. as i came closer, i saw blood peeking behind thin tattered veils of torn skin, like the sun through woven drapery. the sight was dizzying, and empathy pain shot up my arms and legs, mirroring the crumpled woman on the ground before me. i gingerly proffered the neosporin and much-too-small bandages, hands shaking. she managed a laugh, causing the small crowd that had accumulated to laugh as well, and said she'd be okay. my parents later chastised me for approaching the stranger but commended my "heroism", also stifling laughter. i've learned now that the thought is not the only thing that matters, and while i miss that sense of resourcefulness and utility, i pity the children that are taught otherwise.

ix. the soul of a stranger i hold dear knows not its limits. the sand continues slipping through my fingers, the people run their daily races. i am estranged from being, and it prickles at the nape of my neck like embarrassment upon answering the question wrong.

x. what you see as my weakness is not my weakness. wearing my heart on my sleeve may not be my strength but it is not a ******* weakness. i will give second chances, third chances, fourth chances, hell…i will give people all the time they need to grow because i know that, one way or another, they will. real people are not book characters. there will never be a tidy box to neatly file them away like one of the peter pan collar blouses in your closet, no definitive label either of us can ever bestow upon them. i love. i get hurt. platonic, romantic, it is all the same for me. but i will return to places i’m unwanted, the forlorn puppy, mangled and bruised, i will try time and time again to work on people and help them. this is my obligation, my prerogative. for every one of your hands retracted, i will extend mine in fellowship and camaraderie, taking keepsakes of thorns or roses. i will try because people like you will not.

xi. there are so many things that i want to scream with all my soul, but i fear being written off as mediocre, crazy, or worse yet, incoherent. i fear that people will not understand my messy prose and ramblings, that i will not be seen for who i am. you are nothing. you exist on a contingency, a technicality. you think you earned your way in? you are pathetic. there is no amount of catch-up you could play that would indemnify your pitiful existence. the stars were your playground until it all came crashing down....now, there is nothing left out there for you. i'm sorry to those whose boundaries i violated, whose weary faces i smothered with what i mistook to be affection. the world did not deserve to be burdened by me.

xii: can you not be happy that i can breathe now? do you have to bleed me dry of what precious remaining energy i hoard for myself? let me be selfish, let me be vain, let me indulge the machiavellian predilections i repress. how nice, how lovely must it be to have someone to be there to give you instant attention, constant gratification, always a shoulder to lean on but never one to cherish.

xiii. it's okay, no really, it is! i understand! you don't have to acknowledge me. i know sometimes i get a little caught up in the irony, the asyndeton, the metaphors and similes and aphorisms i wear religiously, seborrheic and unnecessary. know that i am nothing without my -isms and -izations and holier-art-thou judgement. i don't think my friends understand that i feel less than human in their presence, because since childhood, i knew if nothing else, i was endowed with mediocrity as my birthright. i implore those i love to leave, stop reaching out if conversing with me ever becomes a chore. i ask in earnest because the last thing i want to be is a burden, an outstanding box to tick on a checklist...i ask but i fear their response.

xiv. ergo decedo. therefore, leave, or so the fallacy goes. i have no mind for rhetoric or satire. i had the nicest plans, but dear god does not want it that way. this is goodbye.
inspired by doc luben's 14 lines from love letters or suicide notes.
another note,
another stunning shyness;
you made it glow
like the sparkles under the water,
I’m fully interested in every word
that you would speak,
embrace your poetic mind
devour it ferociously,
my blood is beating inside my veins,
yearning to burst out of my body,
to hunt the sweet honey
that gently covers your golden pores,
if I Were Tinkerbell,
I would definitely pray every single night
for being the one and only Holy Siren,
That will insanely chase your soul
to inflate your hunger
with all the temptation’s tricks
for the sake of swallowing all your sins perfectly ;
disinfecting and archiving them
into our fairytale files,
Darling,
I love you to the point
that I used to crave being thirsty for you.
Where Shelter May 2020
the anonymous who keep us fed,
allowing us to stay in shelter, hide in bed,
while they masked and gloved,
go about keeping us safe and living

with no glory, the invisible,
the shelf stockers,
the wipe-downers,
of our collective spaces,
disinfecting when we
are home in our heads, while
their families worry~wait

we are the indebted,
so our collective can prosper,
no one calls them heroes,
but we would be at greatest, fatalist risk,
if not for the burdens they accept,
for they deliver
us.

so I when I ask nowadays, where is shelter,
the answer is, it is on the way, it is in their hands,
being delivered!
in NYC we are able to survive only because of this army
Ameer Pather Apr 2020
I am toxic.
I have allowed myself to dress in toxic.
I have learnt to accept toxic.
I unknowingly embraced toxic.
I disguised my toxic.
Yet, I expected people to love me.
My unattended wounds have sprouted toxicity and today,
Well today I pull my bandages off and they ooze toxic.
I'm cleaning it all out, allowing them to bleed on my unstained floor.
I am healing.
I am disinfecting that which I have allowed to become toxic.
Discarding the toxic.
Watching it flow, slowly returning back the power it has had over me.
I am in control.
I will become toxic free.
And when I demand love, I'll demand it with a whole lot of love for me!
050720

People started drinking coffee and staring at Me
From studio apartment windows,
Under pretty white gazebos,
In the open carport,
Busy offices with disinfecting stuff,
Some even paused Netflix on their TV screens.

Some hated Me –
For while I smell sweet,
Only some flowers grow
In the springtime.
And there were some whose thorns
**** the other just to survive.

I watched while hands are being driven to the sky
As if they're waiting for Me,
As if they're prepared enough.
Some collects in pretty puddles on the pavement
So that toddlers in rubber boots
Can jump in and splash their parents –
And they're on it,
I bet the game has started.

Love is sincere –
I make lovers miss one another,
I lull crying teenagers
To sleep in their warm beds
And some keep dancing
Tapping the floor with each move
And they believed I was hypnotized
To delay my visit and their season.
People don't simply watch
And listen with gentle acceptance,
I saw various faces changing masks every day –
Trying to fit what seems an "endless time."

Some were afraid of Me –
As one talks about Me,
Some run away.
So they don't even hear my expertise.
That I wash pretty chalk paintings off
Of driveways in suburbs
And without a second thought,
I can make them clean.

One tells the other,
As if I seep through their ceiling tiles
Turning cozy little homes
Into chaotic whirlwinds
Of anxiety and destruction --
Maybe, that's how their perspectives are.

I love the kids, so playful of their kind --
So I get them out of the pool
While sprinting inside,
Cold, wet, and uncomfortable.
Then I wash the leaves into
their gutters.

I touch the earth with my presence
To feel some semblance of warmth,
And I don't leave the thunder at your home,
I don't break the things that I love,
Unless they let me break their hearts
For what breaks mine.

I am the Rain,
But most of the time, I'm more than that.
Megan Sherman Sep 2017
A lover drifted in a dream
Over Gods sweet and sinuous rills
And paddling down that purest stream
Chanced sight of dancing daffodils
He stood and sighed and said how pleasant
To see the world turn iridescent

His eyes enchanted by the hues
That sparkled under truthful sun
Revealing with disinfecting rays
Things through which cosmic fire runs
Givers of the life the earth and flame
As lovers of life we are the same

All souls were they enchanted by
The dance of flowers which rebel
To drink up lightning from the sky
A bloom to vanquish concrete hell
Inspires song when eyes revolve
Upon that sweet gestating salve
Victor Havel Apr 2020
A virus that kills
Can die under soap
A species that kills
Can die under a virus
Ants and beetles could care less about whose corpse is under the plastic wrap

We will get through this because we do care even if through protective lenses and filmy disinfecting smiles
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
somehow drunk on language: a jazz impromptu...
nothing is ever to be orchestrated
or read from a script...
    
               and drinking besides...
               a manifesto on the sly?
               i hardly think: or rather:
               i hardly want to...
               compose one...

but i am sure to find some freedom... it's not
that much... it will do: working from the confines
of a dickensian paragraph is all the rage:
of all - but not these days, to be exact...

crumbs from the table of "muse"...
   it's a low-hanging fruit...
   something of the sort of worth than can only
   be worth: merely passing the time...
    by the mortal "adventure" circuit of events...
   this is me: not being present when
   beer, or flour... or ketchup...
   or mayonnaise... or the method of frying
   using oil... or poaching an egg...
   or the litany of respective spices
   being used in a curry...
  something grand... the moderns and their:
darwinistic slyly sliding into every narrative:
ideologues of darwinism...
who are they?
the history of man...
a back and forth:
starting with / from today...
   all the way back to... primodial times...
hunters: we were...
gatherers: we were...
foragers: oh for ****'s sake: WE WOZ!

i'm tired of the monkey veil...
               at least under the iron curtain...
something of freedom trickled through
the sieve, the cracks...
      where to? given this silicon curtain:
freedom on... zee fekkin mond?
apparently very little "history" happened:
or has had to happen...

there's only now: the 20th century...
   and then... nibbles of the 19th century's zenith
of... thomas ddison and george westinghouse,
alexander bell...
       but prior to all that...
the 19th century inventors and pioneers...
the 20th century pop culture...
all those ignorant ***** prior to the grand: "US"...

when darwinism: which is an ideology...
goes beyond biology... and... like leftism...
like communism... spreads its tentackles
into all things unattached with it...
i can hardly see a consolidation argument:
an omnipresent "needle work thread-through"...
am i in denial or do i simply think that
darwinism has robbed history of time...
as a linear motivation for moving forward:
by a poppy seed's volume per year...
on one's knees: up to climb mt. megiddo?

i am pretty sure darwinism...
        doesn't have the capacity to dictate
a branch of history that stresses its presence
via etymology -
how... the word cool: is currently out
of vogue... and in decline...
               back to the reality of:
having a cold beer...
           which is cool... because a room temp.
beer is... choice:
bad-manners... crass... puke-juice...
and some others i'm tired to conjure...

  but this jumping from: primodial man:
to the current, modern man...
and leaving no traces for the middle-men...
a philip augustus of france: the capetian...
      
     pompeii: circa 70ad...
                 sometimes the gods would visit...
hermes trismegistus...
       because it was: so...
                   then again:
the darwinistic historogical reflections are
a bit like saying: we've been hoarding...
there's no brain without a fever to store all
the past claims of vanity...
but a complete whitewash...
a blank slate... to work with barely nothing...
and to dress it up to...
the language and fashionable attire...

    it's like jumping from the big bang:
a lot of banging happens in a vacuum...
              oh yeah... you can hear a needle drop
in a vacuum of space...
what a name: genesis: big bang...
big hole bang black: is the way forward...
let's breed us a middle-ground of
the copper / cinnamon royalty...
                     i start from the north...
you start from the south...
we're bound to create a new equation
for where the equator should be...
on the 23.5°N line...
that story: all out of africa...
                    who brought the albinos?!
but do you come across a copper cinnamon
people quickly?
   it's mongrel of... black words on white paper...
there's even a name for it... tropical:
and cancerous...
    because you were never to witness...
what happens...
when there's a first investment in mixed-race
coupling...
   come the second generation and the bleaching
is continued:
               there pops up a curiosity:
like afghani blue eyes...
              
perfectly matched-up insomniac journalism
and darwinistic historiology...
   oh: everything that came prior...
insignificant...
  but i am sure i wasn't there... when...
flour first came into "being" and when eggs
were first harvested for the mass production
of cakes... and when there came about
a domestication of a mountain goat...
or how the cow decided: two stomachs best...
and a... digestion process that...
well: it's pretty much an imitation
of that of a fly... which is why: let man conjure
up elves, orcs... and let the gods mind
conjuring up: elephants and... sloths...
and... the man who invested in trans-genderism:
consciously ingested a tapeworm embryo...
to feel: what a "foetus" would feel like...
what is the tapeworm... if not the placenta
without a mouth?
                      
    islam and hair... though...
               is hair all, that?
                   what about: the manic pixie haircut...
tomboyish... slanting almost shredded
in look...
                  what about:
a fly in a champagne flute...
    or... there's a hair in my soup!
       i know that some people react to hair...
in soups... with... a... 'get it away from me!
poltergeist! poltergeist!'
          hair... long hair... does it have
to be about hair?
   i don't seem to be lacking in this grace...
                               but a perfect skin...
   oh sure... said the bearded-lady...
or the french: au naturel propagators...
   but why is fair such a must: must... fancy?
was there this 6th century affair for bad
teeth as there might have been for...
greasy wigs?
            
                        now wouldn't wearing
a hat like a hebrew might wear a kippah...
notably in those 1950s movies...
    and prior... to have to be always attired
with some headgear...
                and... the trousers whereby...
they reached up... to the mid-torso...
     and would never be... worn like today...
under the bellybutton...
  
   hair... hair in my soup = there's a fly in my
champagne flute...
   i'd probably gag less at the fly...
     spawn of the disinfecting maggot brains
that would sooner feed on dead-flesh
than...

   maggot bullets for every zombie apocalypse...
a maggot bazooka...
maggots grown as g.m. crops...
fused with... piranha d.n.a. branches so that...
they could bite exponentially: quicker...
like jigsaws for jaws: or
                   super-slurper-vacuum openings...

this menacing: over-arching... shadow of time...
if there's no past worth to remember:
or its picked-and-mixed like penny sheets
or like extracts from the goodbook
for the apologists...
                                        but talk about...
the time it takes to boil a litre of water...
and the time it takes to... produce a bottle of wine...
jumping down from a tree:
huddling in a cave...
coming from the ***-side of Versailles...
then moving into... a communist concrete
chicken-shack...

                 and now:
journalistic-insomnia...
                                and... the forgotten fire
with exception to the candle:
               U.V. and poltergeists of neon...
always to be given... reiterations of reality...
while also... attempting to digest...
a thinning ice of fiction: narrations per se...
      
      i call for the federation of niqabs
and foreskins...
              at least a ******* is that sort veil:
that veils the least...
there are those ***** hairs
i call a beard...
and come: the story of the moon...
and there's artificial lightning:
i can actually compete with mel gibson's
"gibbon"...

            otherwise for me: the niqab of the soul...
or: why is he so: "ouch-tistic" rummaging
with his schizoid eyes:
averting the look of what's become:
the mini-skirt: perpetuated *****...
if only i had lived to have lived:
an aborted foetus...

    thank god for bulgarian prostitutes!
than god for bulgarian prostitutes!
a whole lot of them that just want
to ****!
the double-twist of: there's a ******
tux for every uncircumcised male: waiting...
liberal socialist democracy has:
zilch on the matter...

i'm still more bothered about how
darwinism made its plug-hole manoeuvre...
an apple a day: keeps the doctor away...
a poem a day: keeps the psychiatrist at bay...
for such advances in medicine and science:
that these branches still allow
sadists armed with pharmacological weapons:
calling the brain a... chemical soup...
i am not that much half-... Brian ist tod...
but i'm also hardly the
cucumber schumacher...
                 when skiing: just because:
and the snow forcaste is like what?
a burning tire exercise?!

                    if i was truly angry: i wouldn't be writing...
to invest in a boxing duvet wrapped up
in clingfilm... not my thing...
i like to see anger... evaporate at my fingertips:
rather than clenched into a fist
for a knuckle arithmetic...

how can i become: silly / angry about
english girls groomed and gang-***** by pakistani
men...
   remember: i'm the abortion that didn't
happen that somehow wrote this:
i wouldn't be touched: or ****** or...
                    all because: this one time...
at band-camp... there was a girlfriend and i
should have known better...
and for all i know: roulette and blackjack...
and if not mine...
then his... and that's 5 children squeezed
out from her ****: when i would have
advised for a caesarean section because:
a toddler's head would not be anything:
quiet close to... my ***** envy of...
a 12" **** of a roach...
and a kim kardashian ***...
which would be necessary...
                   to... wade through all that
gelatin bubbling and trembling!

my ideas concerning homosexual ***:
thank you, the kiss was great
is the gaybar...
but... i am confined to...
enjoy taking a ****...
esp. diarrhea consistency type:
i sometimes catch myself with an onomatopoeia
of a groan...
    something is always supposed
to come out... rather than in...

i'm still not angry... if i weren't an abortion...
then i'm expected to be...
eyes-darting autistic...
hardly able to read into
a physiognomy...
   i must be: unable to: interpret a smile...
i am drying up on finding new music...
so i must be outside the compensation
parameters of an "in-crowd"...

                i have to... most probably...
start working a genesis with a niqab...
or i have to make donning sunglasses
mandatory for men...
like... oh god: don't invite stiching
the eyes shut and the cenobite Butterbite...
what's a butterbite?
a butterbite mistakes oral *** performed
on a ******* for an oyster...
sooner: rather than later...
the **** becomes the oyster...
the oyster becomes a tulip...
the tulip becomes a slab of butter!

because: we're expert at this...
schumacher is still a ******* cucumber...
and it's not like, death:
this instant... a tweet...
or a telegraph...
it's a bureaucratic "backwards and forwards"...
watching paint dry...
or catching a snail on the nod...
an itching spider without a web:
a very abled... sportartenspinne-mann...
     spandex galore: clue?

hell... i was thinking about...
how more agile:
when darwinistic ideology would come
to ruffle the feathers and sieve...
and what became of existnetialism...
headaches and minor indigestion faults
from the 19th century: Denmark
would: or could become more apparent...
ruffle the feathers...
pluck them from a chicken...
poach it for a soup...
       perhaps roast another one...
skin the pig and cure and later
curate the skin that would become
a leather for a belt...
                
   darwinism and historiology...
heidegger might have summoned the term...
but he wasn't "battling" with english:
islander-thinking...
           "solipsism"... or for that grandiosity
of: the great h'america:
our best kept: interlude...
constantly revived: beside the confines
of Idaho...

          and the modern "question"
of islamic religiosity...
i call the same...
the mind is less obviously tinged
with... markers...
akin to... isoprene and atomic chlorine...
after chernobyll:
why was liquid iodine prescribed
to pregnant women?
markers: like dyes...
  to invigorate the "sedation"
of... an otherwise invisible reaction taking
root: or place...

islamic religiosity is...
very much akin to darwinistic historiology...
the study of history via monkey-dough
and brains and somehow also the ****:
the building block of aztecian flat-top
pyramids...
                islamic religiosity is...
the 17th century looking at 21st century...
darwinistic historiology is...
the 21st century...
looking at totem and the primodial man...
encompassing him in the present...
the 2nd through to the 18th century
are a bit of an amnesia...
better call it a lobotomy...

               there's knitting! there's picking!
there's the apologetics...
history taught from the perspective of darwinism:
is very much akin to history:
taught from the perspective of communism...
i'm sorry: one ape one world...
i do see the fullness... from the perspective
of a microscope... that becomes
the bottle-stump... once i'm finished with it!
having drank my fill!

to romance the vampire is to also
romance h.i.v.
                how does darwinism fare against
the backdrop of: orthodox: strict...
since there is no true darwinism in nature:
and nature: vetos... whatever are the opinions
of the ideologues:
the sieve... the harvest... and the discarded...

there's always an alternative:
etymological... in that...
prior to the written word...
there was the reasoining abounding in...
what came thirst:
the "d" of Δ... or the Δ: a triangle?
               can a sound akin to "d":
occupy... a sound... geometric tool for
exploring... O... omicron...
what came first? "o" and oh...
the phonetic encoding: O...
OΔ...
                      just a suppose...
                                  
   what letters: from greek... could have been
borrowed from the natural world?
O: moon and sun...
         Δ: the mountain...
                 β - a ***** and an ***...
          ζ and ξ - a serpent...
               ι: the fraction stick... and arithmetic
counter to a • or an apostrophe '''''''''''
                waves of omega and the mu(se)...
   prior to the key and the lock and
a door: φ (key inserted)...
              θ (key turned)...
            ψ (door opened)...
           i.e. Ug (Yγ): a tree...
                         applied to the key and door?
it's not a hammer... there's no nail...
                      eta (H): rugby goalposts...
    
etymology doesn't suffice...
      the words will become morphed...
the letters are a priori...
   as numbers are...
but... whereas numbers remain intact
within the confines of a priori:
letters take on a posteriori meanings...
notsably eta (H): the rugby goalposts...
or the "vector":  (φ, θ, ψ)...
rho implies: an amputee sysiphus...
but rho is a P... hence...
the lost thrill of a R put against
the wall: and shot to a trill!
a rattlesnake ramble! mein gott!
what loss: in english and tarantula
numbed! i walked down a road:
that almost became: woad;
sly little *******...
give me a universal language...
and i'm pretty sure that it will not
be one... with a skeleton of ancient
roman to master and craft with!
donkers... plump plums in "origin"...
a Baghdad...

since the full mechanisation of the key
and lock are not represented:
but rather: insinuated...
                        
                        but there is a door...
imagine, to boot...
that there's, also, somehow...
a necessity of a doormat!

- because in vestern europa: it's about time for:
"zee... pudding-reis-poodle-tops!"
much easier laughing at german
with some "vikings" in tow...

i just abhor how darwinism has become
the neu-ego of history: "abided" by...
like... this be the zenith and 100 years
from now... people will not laugh...
or... i much prefer: scold and frown at...
because i much prefer to be baptißed
using boiling...
         using water... that might allow
me to escape... the confines
of a couch: the comforts of a skin...
and all matter of leather: thus concerning...

i am happy to allow myself the following
sentence: the rats and the moon will always
tell the better "story"...
  liberal hard-ons that are hardly quantified
as matchsticks...

you're looking for communits in your current
"conundrum"...
looking for "them" leeching and lurking
from beneath the eisenvorhang?!
          ostenberlin?!
                       i had the impression...
that... your comforts... your dickens...
your semi-detached bogus heavens...
and that's what was required...
for you... to breed your own...
without having to...
outsource the idealists:
                     your... 'aggis neeps and tatties:
roots of "origins"...
you have your own sort of communists...
mostly t-shirt print enterprises...
and... whatever...
looking for communist from under
the iron curtain...
is about like scounting for both
rats and cockroaches...
and a honing idea of the hive...
because rats wouldn't eat roaches
and the two could, somehow...
fashion of symbiotic vogue affair...

you know what ****** me off...
the most... about not being english...
leverage of pompous audacity to state
the most: infantile opinion...
worded: i know:
you cough... i sneeze...
we'll reach an equilibrium, at some point:
to make references to:
and a past...

precedence: to "think" is to:
th(ought i)... and all that's counter-productive of
"i labyrinth" and: thought and i...
or... scalpel: nurse!
grammar! genius! ******* rollerskating chimpmucks...
and... h. p. lovecraftian odes to...
squids... in less than the already:
"murky" waters of... perfect the... widespread
genius of comedy...
via... ridicule... via... bulimia...
via... cooking a steak: well-done...
over-cooking pasta:
the diet of al dente...
                             burning a mushroom:
not being to: not being able to:
and that: to Baghdad... from Loon'don...
                  virtue signalling:
a clap is... 1/100 of a fraction of...
someone... being deaf and having to resolve
the matter: sign-language about to be translated
into... braille!

the islamic religiosity of "today" is about as
mcuh equivalent as the "today":
under darwinistic historiology...

looking for communists from under the once
former iron curtain divide?
good luck: i'm wishing it unto myself:
about to find Mongols in... Kiev!

came across some burden of a sourdough:
and it's like in england:
it's "theirs": never the agony of eating...
a bread... designated to be toasted...
when it just had to be... eaten... "raw"...

what's the fan-base for raw herrings...
within the confines of Nippon...
or these... grandeours of the:
only isles... my ideas to make
metaphors of the crucifix?
a ******'s riddle...

we're looking for communist: y'all!
i'm looking for Belze...
                  and: mādégehirn-verrotten
         und rätsel: ungezieferfreude...
zylinderanziehen: der großartig:
     schwule -            
der: scrumptious...
                                               fladenbrotmann!
bessermann: das englisch...
                   herr portillo... chuckles should
it come to:
   steam-trains and replicas...
and politics: was never really...
about harems and hard-ons...
                                       really?
ask a Baghdadi then: if you pleaz...
Lawrence!

chance of me being spoken to in russian...
and being: reciprocate...
are all yours: slim jim!
  no... seriously...
a ***** of a language that is...
english: i am... most astounded that...
there are some peoples of this world
that have not: yet... allowed themselves
to translate this:
bellybutton orientation of the world
via genus: greenwichus...
to be: unifying versed: et al.

        i must bees the retardedwoz... kin:
and oops some year later...
or: to hell with keeping up...
anything beside the appearing so...
i:  "for the love of the countrymen"...
of which i have none:
are 9 my commuter friends:
and with the romanians...
and the bulagrian ******...
the polish plumbers...
the english... could have their catwalk
of opinions!
who skinned the chickens
and who did what: my shadow lacked
or i slacked over with?

i want to forget because
i just don't want to unravel in...
i would work an honest's day... of worth...
if i could work for a: get together...
or none...
             it's so disorientating...
and... lacking in motivational bravado...
to have to find one man: working...
and the other: *******!

   talk about... having to resort to mind:
the manners to count jack'oh the ol' keeper...
because: abortion signification is
burning a foot in the sole
of my shoe...
and i'm about to make do with
walking a ******* mile...

               and there i was... conjuring
the fetish fancy:
all it would ever take...
was to pretend to... attire oneself /
i.e. make pretences of: pweeety pretty!
i like being governed by:
you have to be wrong...
for the mushroom and tapeworm
and the cuckoldry muppets to be: oinking:
and with a nodding:
the holy approval as: no other route...
other than them being "white".... Rrrrrrridle
no?
                     no -ight then!
Dorothy Valeus May 2020
My eight grade year will go down in history
The impact Covid 19 had on me and my family
You won’t get rid of me!  i’m alive
And I will survive

I won’t say it’s easy
But I won’t be lazy
I’ll soar like a hawk
Although the way may look dark

Success, for me is due
You thought, I would end up blue?
But, instead I’ll wear  that mask
Feeling proud, accomplishing my task

You won’t hold me back,
I’ll recover from your attack
You want to see me in fear
But, I won’t  even drop a single tear,

I will hold my head high
After all my graduation is nigh
My teachers make it possible to achieve all
I will not allow you to make me fall

Social distancing has taken over my life
I will follow orders without strife
Although I’ll rather be at school
I embrace remote learning and play it cool  

Washing my hands a million times per day
Longing to go to the park and play
I am a bird in a cage
Disinfecting with lysol while I dream of the next stage

I will win this fight
Coronavirus  will be wiped out of sight
When “this”, is over
This story will be told to my grandchildren when I get older
This poem express my emotion  and feelings toward covid 19.
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2020
Super value autism
friendly, parking &
store of the year but
one has to go out the
back by the riverbank
to toilet. Today I had
a strange encounter a
mooning man (( who
had been but no paper!

Doc leaves to the rescue
and later he entered the
store without disinfecting
his hands proceeded to
touch apples bread but
not purchasing.

Dano's toilet has been
locked since Covid, yet
Tesco's one is open as is
Quay Co-oP in Cork.

But even when Dano's
toilet was open it had
a key demand system
which is unhygienic to
the extreme as very few
people wash their hands
after using the toilet and
the keys are handed in at
the counter but never
cleaned.

There is no consideration
for those with prostate
problems or a general need
of a toilet due to age or any
other health problems.

Disgusting.



Dano's Supervalue™
Market Mallow 9:30 AM
Sunday 28th June 2020.
conceived Gerty F. Stein

Jane Birkin's Bare Bush
Chablis is number 2 in wine
White is the cheapest of pine
Bauxite is the hardest to mine
Careful, Natashka, your fork's got a bent tine
Nylon screening comes with substandard spline
Prostrate yourself to digitize my spine
Let us sup as we communalistically dine
No one proceeds to ten without acknowledging nine
Though ivory be bright—ebony do shine
Alice Babette Toklas conceived Gerty F. Stein
Vitamin B17 renders cancer curably benign
Words long-neglected grow hard to define
Around a willing neck is strung a line;
  around the block: electronic soup line
If it be not yours—it be not mine

In the movie Don Juan (1973): Bridgette Bardot held a lit cig 3'' from Jane Birkin's bare bush. It happened in a ***** yet no one died; no hairs were singed; no men were implicated; no courses were diverged; no plans were scotched; no blood was transfused...

Jinsei Iroiro
Catch a ship, one that won't tipple
Get a grip, one that's metagrippal
Poison without sincere apology
**** as a practitioner of cancrology
Steel yourself to the futility of frustration
And feel the freeze of useless cryo-ablation
Have cannibals taught us nothing?
Nothing that McDonald's hasn't disproven
Over a Happy Meal, Ronald preaches the word of Lord Jesus
Honesty was the policy of Murray Humphreys
Let us sway beneath the palms
Sing of Christ through hymns & psalms
On the backs of Jews we exploit their good will
Tricking them into paying for everything

Cup my bra while I snap your *******
On the backs of farmers ride the urbanites who target to pillage
Leftwardly along the left-handed path bores not a missed turn
Through a borough, a hamlet, a class-2A city and a dumpy village
it's legislated to fluoridate each brook, well, spring & cistern
without regard to code, codex, exception or percentage of millage
Should I lance, squeeze, ablate, extirpate or let this cyst burn?
Helpless dejection, abject poverty, silken hose put me in a mood
to wring the necks of stolen chickens; to raise cats on dog food
I rise not by the sun in perigee, nor by the tolling of a church bell
not by Nicky of Cusa on squaring circles or the harrowing of hell
Dermatologically, chiggers and mites nourish by parasitic function
So unlike priests & bishops who decree extreme Catholica unction
It's the affront, prayer-toil & misery what feeds a cold compunction
Hydrogen peroxide is keen for punctured wounds & blisters busted
For disinfecting Negroes and Hebes who muse with brown mustard

*** Phillips has crapped out!
With what shiftily amounts to disgustingly sycophantic loyalty
The teleprompter readers drool over themselves praising royalty
When Lizzy scratches her fragrant, pocked *** to satisfy an itch
Brown-nosing T.V.-types stoop & curtsy to the devil-loving rich
Who better to rut, whelp & back-scuttle than a back-alley *****?
Who better to cut the throat of, eviscerate and toss into a ditch?
Who better to ****** than a ***** in an alley as black as pitch?

— The End —