In this atmosphere I soon became interested in nucleic acids.
quote by Frederick Sanger
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Related quotes
Cloud and atmosphere
Clouds appear
In the atmosphere
Atmosphere remained
Uncontaminated by clouds
Clouds is not always present
In the atmosphere
Atmosphere exists
Even when there is no clouds.
There is no clouds
There is atmosphere
There is no atmosphere
There is no clouds
Clouds is atmosphere
Atmosphere is not clouds.
Atmosphere exists in its own beings
Clouds has no separate existence
You are my atmosphere
I'm your cloud
Pray
Make me always clear
And in good use.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Menhaden
Unfortunately, the menhaden
will soon be more extinct that Latin,
since they are fast-depleting assets
which, overfished for fatty acids
with which we our lipstick and our paint
and salmon feed without constraint,
no longer thrive, and can’t be found
where they once were. Long Island Sound
is muddy now, like Chesapeake,
the Bay where fishers used to seek
these fish that filter water and
make sure it isn’t full of sand
and algae that cause it to be
as fresh as they every sea
should be. Their loss should sadden
our hearts more than the loss of Latin.
Few people now care for the Aenid,
and for the sea, when algae green it,
will care still less, and once we’re forced
to give up fish for liverwurst,
until all livers are depleted,
we’ll realize that we’ve been cheated
by being led to think that there
will always be some food somewhere
to eat. Perhaps there won’t be any.
Not long ago there were so many
menhaden, but we’ll have to fast
once we found out we’ve killed the last.
Inspired by an article on the disappearance of the menhaden by Paul Greenberg, the author of “Four Fish: The Future of the Last Wild Food” (“A Fish Oil Story, ” NYT, December 1,2009) :
If you are someone who catches and eats a lot of fish, as I am, you get adept at answering questions about which fish are safe, which are sustainable and which should be avoided altogether. But when this fish oil question arrived in my inbox recently, I was stumped. I knew that concerns about overfishing had prompted many consumers to choose supplements as a guilt-free way of getting their omega-3 fatty acids, which studies show lower triglycerides and the risk of heart attack. But I had never looked into the fish behind the oil and whether it was fit, morally or environmentally speaking, to be consumed. The deal with fish oil, I found out, is that a considerable portion of it comes from a creature upon which the entire Atlantic coastal ecosystem relies, a big-headed, smelly, foot-long member of the herring family called menhaden, which a recent book identifies in its title as “The Most Important Fish in the Sea.” The book’s author, H. Bruce Franklin, compares menhaden to the passenger pigeon and related to me recently how his research uncovered that populations were once so large that “the vanguard of the fish’s annual migration would reach Cape Cod while the rearguard was still in Maine.” Menhaden filter-feed nearly exclusively on algae, the most abundant forage in the world, and are prolifically good at converting that algae into omega-3 fatty acids and other important proteins and oils. They also form the basis of the Atlantic Coast’s marine food chain. Nearly every fish a fish eater likes to eat eats menhaden. Bluefin tuna, striped bass, redfish and bluefish are just a few of the diners at the menhaden buffet. All of these fish are high in omega-3 fatty acids but are unable themselves to synthesize them. The omega-3s they have come from menhaden. But menhaden are entering the final losing phases of a century-and-a-half fight for survival that began when humans started turning huge schools into fertilizer and lamp oil. Once petroleum-based oils replaced menhaden oil in lamps, trillions of menhaden were ground into feed for hogs, chickens and pets. Today, hundreds of billions of pounds of them are converted into lipstick, salmon feed, paint, “buttery spread, ” salad dressing and, yes, some of those omega-3 supplements you have been forcing on your children. All of these products can be made with more environmentally benign substitutes, but menhaden are still used in great (though declining) numbers because they can be caught and processed cheaply.
12/16/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Interested
Your favorite food
What you like to do
Your favorite color
or any other
The thing on your mind
That you like to share
Cause I can stay here
And listen to every word
Because I'm interested
Can I be an instrument
For changing your life
Is that all right?
Because I'm interested
I'd rather be with you instead
Than anyone else
Cause I'm interested in your middle name
Now don't be ashamed, Naw
It's between me and you
Everything you do
Let your guard down
Because there's a new girl in town
gonna turn it around
I hope that you are down
Because I'm interested
Can I be your instrument
In changing your life
Is that allright?
Because I'm interested
I'd rather be with you instead
of anyone else
I'm wide open
No more secrets
No lie
Don't wanna live like a fool
But I will
For you
So I'll beg
I'll scream
I'll call
I'll write
If that's what it takes for you to be in my life
Because I'm interested
And I'll be an instrument
In changing your life
Is that all right?
Because I'm interested
And I rather be with you instead
Of anyone else
Oh No
Because I'm interested
[...] Read more
song performed by India Arie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Oxymoron
Oxymoron:
fresh fish
*********
JBO:
'The beach at Sanibel... an Arlington Cemetery of shells.'
*
Every suffocated or strangled fish is first given
waterboarding sensations.
*
Fishes more frequently than
mammals or birds are cut open
alive, while their eyes watch
the knifing of others and their
gills struggle for absent air.
Fish cannot scream.
Greed for suffocated fish flesh causes seals to be clubbed in Canada, Norway, S Africa etc., dolphins to be knifed in Japan, whales to be murdered by
Norwegian Japanese Icelandic and American Inuit fishermen, bears
to be murdered in Alaska, untold thousands of fishermen to
be lost in tsunamis,700 Bangladesh fishermen lost in just 1 storm, Thai fishermen working for slave wages, tens of millions around
the world to die of stomach cancer, food poisoning etc.**
What's in fish? unreported Mad Fish
Disease, nuclear toxins a million
times more concentrated than in
sea water, AIDS from unprocessed
human waste dumped into
the oceans, hepatitis, anaphylactic shock, ecoli,
and other food poisoning,
throat, stomach and other cancers,
mercury, lead, cadmium, arsenic, pbb's, pcb's, thousands
of carcinogenic industrial waste products, and heavy metal sired
brain damage, pfiesteria (red tide) which poisons the fishes
FISH CAN'T SCREAM, FISH TOXINS, FISH STORIES
Are all anglers stranglers?
Dick Gregory: Eating fish liver oil is like eating the filter out of a car.
[...] Read more
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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This Girl
Take me as I am
Though I'm good at pretending
I tire easily
And hurry to the ending
There's more than what you see
But not the way you see it
I hope you follow me
And you get the meaning
Here is where I stand
Here is who I am
And I'm not interested in
Fitting in
I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in I only want to be
This girl
Take me as you will
Under no illusions
I offer myself whole
I give into you and I
Offer you the sky
The sun and moon and seas
But you need to know that I
Not more or less than me
Here is where I stand
Here is who I am
And I'm not interested in
Fitting in I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in
I only want to be
This girl
I'm not interested in
Fitting in
I only want to be
To be this girl
I'm not interested in
Giving in
I only want to be
This girl
song performed by Kylie Minogue
Added by Lucian Velea
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Can’t Breathe This Greed Industrialization
atmosphere
provide
oxygen
atmosphere
provide
carbon dioxide
atmosphere provide
for plants animals
seal in an ecosystem
atmosphere
guardian part
of water cycle
complex interactions
elements in atmosphere
without atmosphere
there would
be possible
no life at all
give me a little
of my God given air
of my God created air
give me a little
so i may breathe in renewed
complex wonder of creation
pollution sticks in my throat
burns eyes throat burns
mankind is burning creation
can’t breathe this
greed
industrialization
give
me less greenhouse
gases
earth pump
as God created
engineered
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dinner Menu Affected The Bedroom
Insecticides concentrated
in meat and fish cause sterility
Amyloid plaque from meat
and fish... cause senility
The animal fat in meat fish
and dairy
clogs the arteries
reducing sexual
ability
*
PREVENTION OF SEXUAL TRAUMA
Impotence And Animal Flesh
A. CONQUERING IMPOTENCE
Dr. Michael Klaper, Md, in a public speech mentioned that a 25 per
cent blockage of penile arteries from cholesterol (animal fat) accounts for a quadrupled lack of function. Elimination of animal products in many cases returns sexual function. The Physicians' Desk Reference lists sexual dysfunction or impotence as a byproduct of many psychiatric drugs.
(Dr. Klaper is available through archives and live discussion on the web
at
Drs. Neal Barnard MD and Chaitowitz both concurred in this opinion in an
article in May in the Montreal Gazette.
National Public Radio on Sept 9,98 hosted the author of a book on Prozac
who stated that 30 to 40% of users feel a loss of sensation sexually.
Viagra has been correlated to heart attacks. (Eli Lilly and Pfizer
make these 2 drugs.) Fox News reported June 10,98 that Viagra in combination
with nitrates such as sodium nitrate used to color hot dogs can be lethal.
Dr. Drew, MD, host of Loveline, stated one should research the many
antidepressants which cause impotence.
B. CURING BREAST CANCER
(See the Ohio file no.7 under Nonviolent Action for an analysis of
federal and state programs regarding breast cancer.)
The New England Journal of Medicine in November of 1997 stated that
animal fats which become trans-fatty acids are a cause of breast cancer.
The major cause of breast removal in the U.S.is animal products.
(The five countries with the highest rates of breast
cancer have the highest animal product consumption. They are
Scandinavian countries, the U.S. and one other. Women with mastectomies lose
none of their beauty, but they have
a difficult time adjusting. Elimination of the butyric acid in animal
products makes the body more fragrant.
(Other factors in sexual dysfunction are generalized anger, anger with
the partner, low self esteem, general exhaustion, female hormones in animal
products, etc.)
The dietary causes of breast cancer are both the animal products and the
female hormones given to the animals. The Dept. of Defense Health Section in
October did a symposium on the trans fatty acids found in animal products as
a cause of cancer.
The administration's plan to give 450 million dollars to the testing
[...] Read more
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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The fate of attention
I grew interested.
I became interested.
I stayed interested.
I was no more interested.
I was no longer interested.
I grow uninterested.
It is so for every person
And for every thing
We focus our attention on.
29.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Sylph Of Summer
God said, Let there be light, and there was light!
At once the glorious sun, at his command,
From space illimitable, void and dark,
Sprang jubilant, and angel hierarchies,
Whose long hosannahs pealed from orb to orb,
Sang, Glory be to Thee, God of all worlds!
Then beautiful the ball of this terrene
Rolled in the beam of first-created day,
And all its elements obeyed the voice
Of Him, the great Creator; Air, and Fire,
And Earth, and Water, each its ministry
Performed, whilst Chaos from his ebon throne
Leaped up; and so magnificent, and decked,
And mantled in its ambient atmosphere,
The living world began its state!
To thee,
Spirit of Air, I lift the venturous song,
Whose viewless presence fills the living scene,
Whose element ten thousand thousand wings
Fan joyous; o'er whose fields the morning clouds
Ride high; whose rule the lightning-shafts obey,
And the deep thunder's long-careering march!
The Winds too are thy subjects; from the breeze,
That, like a child upon a holiday,
On the high mountain's van pursues the down
Of the gray thistle, ere the autumnal shower
Steals soft, and mars his pastime; to the King
Of Hurricanes, that sounds his mighty shell,
And bids Tornado sweep the Western world.
Sylph of the Summer Gale, on thee I call!
Oh, come, when now gay June is in her car,
Wafting the breath of roses as she moves;
Come to this garden bower, which I have hung
With tendrils, and the fragrant eglantine,
And mandrake, rich with many mantling stars!
'Tis pleasant, when thy breath is on the leaves
Without, to rest in this embowering shade,
And mark the green fly, circling to and fro,
O'er the still water, with his dragon wings,
Shooting from bank to bank, now in quick turns,
Then swift athwart, as is the gazer's glance,
Pursuing still his mate; they, with delight,
As if they moved in morris, to the sound
Harmonious of this ever-dripping rill,
Now in advance, now in retreat, now round,
Dart through their mazy rings, and seem to say:
The Summer and the Sun are ours!
But thou,
Sylph of the Summer Gale, delay a while
Thy airy flight, whilst here Francesca leans,
[...] Read more
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Goes Good With Beer
Goes Good With Beer
(Casey Beathard/Ed Hill)
Flat tire on the interstate;
Too many nights of workin' too late.
Had a run in with an old memory.
No, it ain't been the best of weeks.
But it goes good with beer and the Friday night atmosphere.
Of this cross-town bar where the cars all get steered to.
And it goes hand-and-hand with my crazy buddies and this three-piece band,
And the pretty girls and the games we play, and the smoke and mirrors:
Yeah, troubles come, but they go good with beer.
Yeah, it does, yeah.
Bring all your debts and all your bills;
Load up your mountains and your molehills.
Come as you ain't or as you are,
An' don't forget that broken heart,
Oh, it goes good with beer and the Friday night atmosphere.
Of this cross-town bar where the cars all get steered to.
And it goes hand-and-hand with my crazy buddies and this three-piece band,
An' the pretty girls and the games we play, and the smoke and mirrors:
Yeah, troubles come, but they go good with beer.
Yee haw, oh, yeah.
Bring all those stories you can share.
Just like the peanuts and the pretzels on the table there.
Yeah, it all goes good with beer and the Friday night atmosphere,
And the pretty girls and the games we play, and the smoke and mirrors:
Yeah, troubles come, but they go........
Good with beer and the Friday night atmosphere,
Of this cross-town bar where the cars all get steered to.
And they go hand-and-hand with my crazy buddies and this three-piece band,
An' the pretty girls and the games we play, and the smoke and mirrors.
Yeah, it all goes good with beer and the Friday night atmosphere,
Of this cross-town bar where the cars all get steered to.
And it goes hand-and-hand with my crazy buddies and this ten-piece band,
An' the pretty girls and the games we play, and the smoke and mirrors:
Yeah, troubles come, but they go good with beer.
Pass me them peanuts brother.
Shhhhhhh.
song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bitter
Bitter, bitter, bitter, the taste of men and the curdled perfumes
of their women putting on weight like the moon
and the gaudy hopelessness of their ejaculant children
living in the extinct carapace of a condemned volcano; bitter the lies
they whisper in sleep in dreams to the gods they keep
like spare rooms with skeleton keys
to their public coffins and closets. And bitter the nightwind
that vipers over the schooled sands of their cities
looming a harp of astringent acids into the whole cloth
of a funeral shroud, a body bag to contain the miscreance of their music.
Face after face after face, among orchards, planets, waves,
how many come to fruition, how many fall from ripeness
in unknown places, elicit arms, looking up into the sun that wined them
and sent them away without tears, mysterious sugars
in the fleets of their heart, and seeds, and green
superstitious stars tangled in the lifelines of their unmooring,
to unknown exorcisms on barbarous shores that fear them?
Their blood unspooled like a ribbon for a gift
they never gave, their blood, a scarlet noose of spectral chromosomes
slumped across a bough on the tree of their bitter knowledge
to lynch the lean thief and the ardent stranger
to the rigorous sorrows of their vaporous lustrations; bitter the fate
of the poor as they wait in a traffic jam of genes for the lights to change,
and bitter the restless, blood-drenched soil that receives them
like an embassy overwhelmed by the emergency of their arrival.
Are the paupers of dawn brighter in the root than in the flower,
is there no gentleness left in the flaring poppy to console them,
no milk that isn’t soured, no crumb of light in the pantry
to redeem the crushed heartscapes of a disinfected dream?
Bitter the monstrous sterilities of affluence
that dance on their graves like shovels full of deranged stars
elated by a fate unworthy of their shining, and bitter the church
they pearl around the lie of their filth
to convince the maggot of wings. That song is dead in the mouths of men,
that song is rock that once transformed the desert into roses
and gathered eyes like bees, like poets to their unfolding,
and bitter the aftermath of forgeries that heed the call
but will not answer the singer in the well
hoarse with mysteries in supple tongues
that confound the fallen towers with echoes, thieves, and voiceless birds.
And bitter to know this, bitter to say this, bitter
to discover this truth on the wrecked shores of the heart
the corpse of a beached dolphin suffocating under its own dead weight,
betrayed by the Judas-needle of too many messianic norths.
And there shall be no respite from the pettiness
of the enflamed parasite grown fanatical with the consumption of power,
no grace in the waltz of the tide that wears its gown of oil
like bitter weeds and formic nettles to a funeral ball
celebrating the providential death of excellence, no refuge
from the scorching wind that burns the eyes like glass
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick White
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The Day An Empty Envelope
The day an empty envelope, the clouds
islands of their own in a slow wind,
gathering out of nothing, going anywhere
the blue conception of the dispersing sky urges
above the green, summer turmoil of the trees.
I wake up wondering if love is just a word
or a whisper of smoke from distant mountains
or a tuberous begonia someone tore up last night
in their madness to dramatize their exit out of ecstasy,
their roses, scalded lobsters, their heart
torn like a soggy dawn in the pincers of the moon.
And I have been here before at the end
of these long wharves pillared in departure,
standing firmly fixed in the tides of sorrow,
saying goodbye to the sky and the sea
that have cried enough stars for the night
to remember its light is the taste of oblivion.
The air breathes you in like an anchor of mist
and all the words we released like vows
gently unhooking their wings from the fishing nets
we found abandoned in the wake of a lunar desert
that had wandered off like an arsonist in the archives of its tears,
are pens that have flooded in our pockets of blood like oilslicks,
not the feather of song left that could fly.
And I should thank you for the bouquet of corals
you gave me like an island in a ocean of ashes,
and the nights my heart was a frenzy of mating eels
thrashing the silver waves in a ferocity of transcendence,
a rabble of moonlit tongues, that made me feel
the hanged man was at last a key someone would risk,
a boat moored to the wind that had at last found a door
with the eye of a water-lock and the Gulf Stream
of an infinite threshold it would take a galaxy to cross,
and there were voyages I dreamed, o, I dreamed
of naming continents after you, oceans on the moon
that teemed with startling new forms of luminous life
that did not salivate for each other like arrows on a food chain
but fell from the intensity of our wishing like rain.
I wanted to add your fire to mine on a pyre of thorns
and mounting the last constellation uttered in bliss
by the mouth of a burning rose immolated in her own beauty
rise like a kite trailing a thread of blood to show the stars
how to weave a life that breathes like silk
out of the mulberry cocoons of their nebular cradles,
auroras exhaled like the veils and ghosts of riverine light
that disclose the grace of a woman, secret by secret,
until even the stars are homeless gestures of ash,
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick White
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Women, can you escape?
You may not be interested in sex
But sex is interested in you.
You may not be interested in men.
But men are interested in you.
Women, can you escape us; think.
04.05.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Outside World
She has six swans singing in her sauna
So she cant hear whats going on
No she cant hear whats going on
In the outside world
In the outside world
In the outside
Bad black and white men
Standing in their pigpen
Selling guns to simpletons
To shoot em in the abdomen
And shes not interested in that
And shes not interested in that
She has six swans singing in her sauna
Outside - world - outside
She has eleven lions laughing at her lakeside
So she cant hear whats going on
No she cant hear whats going on
In the outside world
In the outside world
In the outside
Bad brown and yellow men
Splitting on their fellow men
Drape her in a newspaper
And stab her with a poison pen
Shes not interested in that
Shes not interested in that
She has eleven lions laughing at her lakeside
Outside - world - outside
You can keep your animals
All the noise and the din
Just make a little space for me
Im coming in
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Outside World
She has six swans singing in her sauna
So she cant hear whats going on
No she cant hear whats going on
In the outside world
In the outside world
In the outside
Bad black and white men
Standing in their pigpen
Selling guns to simpletons
To shoot em in the abdomen
And shes not interested in that
And shes not interested in that
She has six swans singing in her sauna
Outside - world - outside
She has eleven lions laughing at her lakeside
So she cant hear whats going on
No she cant hear whats going on
In the outside world
In the outside world
In the outside
Bad brown and yellow men
Splitting on their fellow men
Drape her in a newspaper
And stab her with a poison pen
Shes not interested in that
Shes not interested in that
She has eleven lions laughing at her lakeside
Outside - world - outside
You can keep your animals
All the noise and the din
Just make a little space for me
Im coming in
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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I and Imp In me!
I am not alone, an Imp lives in me,
The Imp is Impassioned Idiot,
Sometime Idle,
Sometimes runs behind Ideals,
Most of them are mere Illusions,
Idolum it sketches, idols it carves!
Ignonimous that Imp is,
Over Imaginative and impulsive,
Intuitions confused with illusions,
Innocent and ignorant,
Innocent and ignorant about its own Ignorances,
Impertinent and impetuous,
Impinge on Implex Theories, doctrines and ideologies!
Interested always its own idyll,
Roaming Isolated in illation and imagination,
Falling to own Immature imaginations,
Sometime Implore and sometimes explore,
Impractical and Imprecate its fate!
Interested in amusements,
Interested in pleasures,
Interested in expression to impress,
than impressive expressions!
That implacable, impious impish, imposter finally feel tired,
Looks at that Greater I in me,
And Impetrate to enter into
Impervious, imperturbable,
Immovable, impartial, impeccable, Inimitable And illimitable 'I'!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Atmosphere of nature
The field is green
The sky is blue
The sun is shining,
I feel so new
It’s the atmosphere of nature
When the sky is grey
Thundering and lightning
Predators catch there prey
Except some that got away
It’s the atmosphere of nature
Its light and its morning
I can hear the birds singing
And the children’s laughter
Swaying away like a lullaby
It’s the atmosphere of nature
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
Nature is too
It’s the atmosphere of nature…
poem by Maryam Kazmi
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The atmosphere of nature
The field is green
The sky is blue
The sun is shining,
I feel so new
It’s the atmosphere of nature
When the sky is grey
Thundering and lightning
Predators catch there prey
Except some that got away
It’s the atmosphere of nature
Its light and its morning
I can hear the birds singing
And the children’s laughter
Swaying away like a lullaby
It’s the atmosphere of nature
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
Nature is too
It’s the atmosphere of nature…
poem by Maryam Kazmi
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You Have Lived
You have lived such a gentle life upon this earth
that I am stunned by your sight.
If I could give but a token of the love you have,
then I might not be this lonely tonight.
Let them have their smug and their cool, confined by fashion and peer.
I love you for your courage in this frightened atmosphere.
I love you for your courage in this frightened atmosphere.
Oh, there are so few brave one's like you. Need I explain?
Never wondering what to do, what to venture, what to gain.
And, you have loved, in a total way, from flesh to soul.
You speak, without coy without pose.
Your eyes can see that the emperor has lost his clothes.
And what's more, you'll tell the whole world what he stole.
Let them have their fad and their fix, confined by fashion and peer.
I love you for your courage in this frightened atmosphere.
I love you for your courage in this frightened atmosphere.
song performed by Don McLean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fierce Storms
Fierce are storms when they first appear,
Killing the school, killing the family,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
The allegiance forming can be a career,
Kinsfolk are blamed for it actually,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
The damage is a conflict, of a charioteer,
Waging war of a storm additionally,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
Gods are of a stormy nature, like a chandelier,
The work is able, of a tempest working abnormally,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
A school admits us when the weather is to cheer,
How do we fight in class and work fitfully?
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
The leisure of the skies is about what is near,
My moments stray into oblivion foolhardily,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
poem by Naveed Akram
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