#sciencepoem

[nudeartpluspoetry]

"The Microbe," by Hillaire Belloc

[gaslitbyamadman]

[wonders-of-physics-blog]

Feynman // Atom in the universe // Poem

Atom in the universe t-shirt Buy from Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Ui2x9N I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves mountai...

[oldphonyspencer]

A poem for everyday #43

Never forget

that all you are

all your flaws

your talents

everything you despise

and love 

about you

can be written

with four infinitesimaly

small letters.

And never forget 

how beautiful that is 

[iampando]

My heart is a Quantum String

My heart is

a quantum string

with its endless permutations and

transfinite calculations

interfering and

decohereing

with all the things

its ever been.

My body is

a fractal set

composed of people that ive met

branching off and growing in

repeating in the changing wind

through topologies of time and space and

twisting souls and

saving grace

like mobius I find

myself rewinding

back in place

The coordinates may come and go

the passions change

and jungles grow

but leave me unobserved and free

inside my naked singularity

coz

My mind

is an infinite summation;

my unsolvable equation

that eats the heart of my elations-

there is no transubstantiation

to turn philosophy to flesh

or dreams to sight

just math that turns my constants into night-

recursively, like snake to tail,

with hidden variables of light

that solve themselves, though incomplete,

and make my heart remain discrete

[wanderaerrrr]

Fried Brain

Eleven million,

Bits every second, forty.

Null information.

�

[melanincollective-archive]

So you want to die. So you’ve been eyeing the Drano under the sink. So you’ve been looking at your arteries like highways you could cleave with airplane-wing steak knives. So you’ve written about six different suicide notes and none of them says goodbye without actually saying goodbye in the perfect way. So you’ve been Googling bridges. I’m nodding. You’re clenching your fists. I know with the pain even the bacteria in your intestines are tornadoed asunder. But let’s stop comparing ourselves to natural disasters when we both know you’re nothing like one. I promise not a mention of stars or ribcages. Drop the poetic and let’s look each other in the eyes. Wanna hear a name you should never give a child? Caenorhabditis elegans. It’s the roundworm. They call it C. elegans on the streets. Every single roundworm has exactly 959 cells. Of 959 cells, 131 cells self-destruct. Scientists have mapped the fate and the lineage of each and every one. This is non-negotiable. Every roundworm on the face of the planet has exactly 959 cells and of them 131 cells will die. That cellular ceremony is called this. Apoptosis. This is not a biology textbook, but according to Barbara Conradt and Ding Xue in “Programmed cell death” (wormbook.org), “Programmed cell death is an integral component of C. elegans development. Genetic studies in C. elegans have led to the identification of more than two dozen genes that are important for the specification of which cells should live or die, the activation of the suicide program, and the dismantling and removal of dying cells.” I know what’s underneath your tongue, tangoing between your teeth: “I want to, but I can’t.” “I wish I could fight.” “I’m so tired.” “My knuckles are broken open, decades fell into them, my throat hurts, I want to close my eyes, I am numb. I am numb. I am numb.” I know. I know because they’ve been underneath my tongue and sometimes still are. I know because I’ve wondered what Drano tastes like. I know because there’s still numbness between my toes. And I know there is no combination of words, no right spin to your master lock, no deadbolt thrown hard enough to keep you from the fogs. But maybe this pain is a rite. Maybe this confusion, this numbness, this evolution into a streetlamp is non-negotiable. Maybe this is an integral component of your development, maybe there is a specification of which parts of you should live or die, the activation of the suicide program, the dismantling and removal of cells that chant dumb ways to die in your ear. Maybe this is something to toughen your molars and sharpen your jawline. I know that it’s piercing the flesh around your spine, dipping into the waters in you, that you’re coming to a standstill. So uncap the Drano. Stand on that bridge. Pick up the blade. Maybe coming facefirst to this edge will reveal the vastness of the space behind you. Maybe this was programmed into you. The question is. Will you stay in this nightmare til it dissolves. Will you keep clenching your fists. Creep to the edge. Look over it. I won’t tell you to stay because I know you can’t. I will tell you to grope desperately in the dark for a hand, and hold it like an extra joint when you find one, because it will stay when you can’t. And anchor the both of you down. This is the apoptosis: you were not programmed to die in total, sodo not pull that trigger. Not even C. elegans destroys itself completely. There are parts of you that need to be swallowed whole, but only 131. 959-131 means 828 parts still studding your artery walls. You may be breaking, but not all of you. When the winds come to sweep you up, find roots and slip your limbs beneath them. Because I tell you this. Death wants you completely. But you are not meant to be dissolved in total. This is not how. This is not. This is not your deathtime. This is apoptosis, breather. So breathe. Lose air sometimes, but breathe. Breathe.

Apoptosis (a proposal to the suicidal) | kira tang