[virii] Writer's Rejection (+ new system: uploading files!)

No, I did not drop off from the face of the earth, but a lot has happened since my last post.

But now lets indulge in this as the literary digression it is supposed to be. I am really excited at the chance of finally being able to post whole stories now (and long monologues, haha), because I'm going to be using drop.io to put up my documents (a true gem of a site and app, I laud it profusely and sincerely, and you should definitely check it out). This way you can finally:
- Preview my work using iPaper so you can skim through the piece easily, and not have to scroll through a copious amount of text if you don't want to
- Download my large pieces and stories to read at your own leisure
- Even print out the stories if you are so inclined
- Have all my literary texts uploaded to one location which you can peruse

Depending on interest (and trust in your discretion), I am thinking of posting a link to the "drop" (where all my literary uploads can be found) in the future if the number of docs grows significant.

Now: on to it. The first piece is no story, but (ironically or appropriately?) yet another Seethe about writing :) Hope you find it amusing.

View "Writer's Rejection Seethe" - and download if you please!

[pathopoetry] Song of the Platonic Sweetheart

I have been meaning to write this for some time, and have been mentally turning it over, and physically reworking it for a while now, so I am very glad and even relieved that it is done. I really wanted it to turn out well and I hope it has; I may still revisit it in the future, but for now I felt that I really must end it, and so I have.

To my dear friends. You know who you are.

Song of the Platonic Sweetheart

No ballads have been sung for this.
Such tempered affection cannot inspire
Spontaneous odes or lilting melodies -
This steady beat won’t make a harmony
Ours was a love the world does not define.

Moth-wing romances resonate the air
Ubiquitous pollen lusts usurp the ear
Expunging fevered words from swollen lungs
All that is oversung, but sung and gone

So that’s the reason that I sing for you
Your care, I knew, deserved a longer line
Love beyond blood is not reserved for lovers -
We forged a link those notes could not endure
And our oaken timbre was sustained

Each other’s understated inspiration
In mutual admiration of our idiosyncrasies
Trading our shoulders to withhold the burdens
Of one another, we remembered God
And birthed a sun unclouded by desire

How many epiphanies can we claim
Within the clustered grove our thoughts have grown
Since we began this green companionship
Revealing truths we started to assume;

Though now we hang on different reaching boughs
I know the very moments I will miss you
The instances this distance will be felt
as some expanse, not solely by our footsteps
but by the different ways we card our lives

I sing for you to gently shore the waves

Remember my perception of your depth
Know that you made an imprint of yourself
Within the silvered lining of my mind;
Ours was a love the world does not define.

mascara

eyes hurt (eyes hurt!)
why (dirt?) no (squirt?)
no; I played with mascara,
even with sophisticated primer (aka
gunk) to add millimeters
to your eyelid hair before you
slather on blackness;

perturbed me
those disembodied spiderlegs
so maybe I scrubbed my face too zealously
grimacing at mudslides of concealer
anxious to be
re-revealed as me I
hardly avoided
that delicate eye area
until I was satisfied my skin had returned
smiled triumphant but my eyes ran burning
(that salicylic cleanser
really, is just soap.)

a few crocodile tears later:
eyes calm (eyes fine)
by all that rubbing, I may have removed a few lashes
but oh, are you winking at me, mirror?



--

Summer is a-comin' in

So here it is, another summer. A couple of life-changing events later, and Spring dandelions have long since peppered the green below my window.

It has been an interesting, eventful few months. I've had the entire contents of my laptop (all 6 years of it) wiped out - an unfortunate occurence which later seemed wholly insignificant after that very sudden death of a very dear person. I've had the great fun of explaining the digestive system with blue paint, plastic tubes and soda crackers; of making some geometric art and tissue paper flowers and sneaking some sketches in at the museum; of reading Shel Silverstein poems out loud and recieving poems written about me from a bunch of wonderful young people.

My life is spinning into a brand new direction, and it seems that this summer will be the time for significant change. But to me, summer is my time for poetry. I may end up anywhere, but I'll see you at Stylus Virus, friends.

grocery vanities

I desire a certain adulation
being selfish again and craving
a word about some wonder in me
as I shuffle doubtful by the aisles
coated and booted I claim no grace
at the cash register, holding tomatoes
my eye wanders lustful to gerbera daisies
browning at the petal-tips at 10pm

hockey-shouldered, I fumble with change.
drop your voice an octave and tell me
among this I am worth a careful sentence
murmur something only you find true
that I can pretend to cast aside laughing
silently soaring, hoping -;
and adoring.



--

Snowly Lullaby

Silently the gentle wind
Moves the earth below
Beneath the clouds the branches sway
softly falls the snow

this is why I need to say
that I love you so

Carefully the tender breeze
Takes the leaves below
Carries them so gingerly
Till they kiss the snow

this is why I need to say
that I love you so

Slowly in this careful night
I recede below
Into thoughts that still remain
drifting in the snow

this is why I need to say
that I love you so

Hoplessly the night moves on
On the earth below
Life will leave and what will stay
sifting in the snow

this is why I need to say
that I love you so

Strangely soon will dawn the day
Rising from below
If I wake, I hope to pray
As recedes the snow:

show me Allah the way to say
that I love you so




--

Nature insight:host-microbe interactions!

I picked up an old copy of Nature today (October 2007 issue) to read in the library...and guess what I found?

An "Insight" supplement on host-microbe interactions!
What's more, you can read it free online here: http://www.nature.com/nature/supplements/insights/hostmicrobe/index.html

For more features, visit the Insights archive on the Nature website: http://www.nature.com/nature/supplements/insights/. All are free to access for 6 months from the date of publication.

[pathopoetry] jagged jigsaw

jagged jigsaw


Sometimes you think I am crazy, no
if it were that simple; I’m a jagged jigsaw
a hole in the middle when you fit me together
missing a piece never found

without it the portrait remains incomplete
what would the lost one reveal
have I misplaced this place in a heart
or maybe you’d shape it for me

[virii] Hindsight

Hindsight.
If only you could bring it forward to your face when you need it.
"In hindsight..."
Ah. My dear little sight, why are you always slightly behind? The orbs spin backwards in their sockets, but still cannot anticipate the mind.

[virii] A bout of writing at 11.05

Listen to that. You know what it is? It is the sound of some kind of thought. Tap tap. Slug-slugga-chug. Glug. That’s what it is. A wooden spatula, churning up thick batter and molasses up in headspace. Preoccupied with the onomatopoeia of your subliminal messages.
Anxiety, though, makes BLASTS of noise. screeeeeech screeeeech scratch-scratchety. The deeper you furrow your brows the higher in pitch it becomes. Listen! LISTEN!!! Yes, the urgency. You can close your ears, but can you close your mind?
If the brain dies. You are brain-dead. I suppose you hear nothing then. I suppose…snip snip synapses, how will you send the message down now? Not even head-sound. You know? Sound in your head, they say when you sing you have to get the sound up, in your head, have it hum there, take it up out of your forehead. But if there is no sound. Not even head-sound.
There is the sound of me typing at 11:12 pm. Trying to sophisticate a sludge of thought into a slurry of words into a cascading cacophony, a rhapsody in sound.

Mind of a beta-Microbiologist.1 #9 Killer cold, or cold trail?

Is a virus a "bug"? I'm used to calling bacteria "bugs" even among trained professionals...but I guess I stop short of viruses due to the whole alive/non-living debate. I do see the usefulness of such an identification for media purposes though - "Killer cold bug" makes a better headline.

Speaking of which, I wonder if and when that new strain of adenovirus serotype 14 will become a real media scare. I wouldn't call adenovirus a "cold" (that I would mostly associate with rhinovirus/coronavirus) but you do get cold-like syptoms. You may have heard that this new strain of Ad14 has been shown to cause severe respiratory illness and mortality in quite a few cases, which is something to take notice of since adenoviruses do not usually cause fatal illness. However, I have seem some strange things floating around the net (internet flotsam?), like conspiracy theories linking the failed HIV vaccine (delivered via an Ad5 vector) to the emergence of the new Ad14 strain.

I have a soft spot for adenoviruses. They are so very cool, and really useful in terms of gene therapy.

As far as pandemics go, we are indeed due for a flu pandemic...but pandemic just means a "worldwide epidemic," not necessarily a high-mortality-epidemic. I guess we'll see.

To read:
Fact sheet for Ad14 from the CDC

Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report(MMWR) 2007;56(45):1181-1184. ©2007 Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC)


This is great. I may no longer be in the world of Microbiology, but I'm connecting with it all the same. That makes me happy.:)

when i.write

My cold fingertips
reaquaint themselves
with an array of keys
smooth from dull jabs, and words
beat jarredly from the gaping screen
l e t t e r by lett- shrink back - streamoutlong
swift. then; one sweep, whole lines are seized
a white slot hole
the text bar blinks, bemused.

Fragments - December 5th

See this post.

--------------------------------------------------------------

1
I'll let you in on something. When the subway rumbles loudly, and I lose some of my 60-before-60 decibels of hearing, and it becomes hard to even hear your own thoughts, I sing.

2

Lately it has been My paddle's keen and bright/Flashing with silver. I keep repeating silver, trying to will my voice into a new tine.

3

You know what? When you fall asleep on the bus, and are totally drowned in subconcious, and you get a feeling that you should wake up...and your eyes look out the window just as the bus slows into your stop...and when that keeps happening in different circumstances...subhanaAllah, subhanAllah.

P.urge

Oh, do I have much to say. Spinning mind, copious thoughts, and time in disarray.

Points to note before internal combustion:

1) I never realised this, well I realised something as I was handed my bouquet of flowers and signed construction paper card smiling yet completely taken aback while I thought myself insane for curtailing tears after being in that classroom for but a month:
I must teach. I am glowing now, glowing with wonder at how well this fits despite the insanity, how good this feels after uncertainty yet deep in chaos yet again. More later.
2)I miss my friends though, all of them. All of those thunderous wonderous folk I've met, from elementary to highschool and beyond. Much love, drop me a line.
3)My head is spinning, I am really overwhelmed, and truly wasted this day, which is horrible.

4...3...2...Boom!

strung

I need to be a little muffled, a little more
underwhelmed. I
need to be curtailed somewhat
stuffed up with cotton, I
need plush stuffing in my head ears coming out
in white gauzy trails I need
something to smother me

not to hear
not to feel
drawn string taut bow stressed out high gear
I need

time to shut down
time to think and dumb down
time to get it all down and out of my mind I need
time

thunderous wonderous

What have you got
that I haven't got
That makes you so thunderous wonderous, oh,
Have you possessed
An item so blessed
That lets fortune court you wherever you go?
What do you have
That I haven't had
To make you victorious glorious? - "Why,
just this I do:
you judge by a 'You' -
and I weigh myself by an 'I'. "

a mind that shrinks away

compel me to cry
because I am something hard
I am something hurt
I am growing old

once remembered,
once more forgotten
I have raised my hands
placed my head on ground

everything seems to close
calmness is in breathing
strange, it's tangible, this...

I will settle down
in this unbroken state
once I reassure
an agitated mind;

[pathopoetry] a daisy

hashalillaah; the daisy -
long l o n g
stalk
bright
face
flawless floating honey-centred  milk   fan

the grass lies flustered at her feet
at her precocious hovering grace

[pathopoetry] butterfly words

for Neelain Muhammad

My eyes shine
at the fleeting butterfly
from your heart     to words

and the roll of your accent
like gentle, old man river

the simple joy of expression
beneath the humble cap, white robe
your skin belies
the warmth of your concern

so put on your glasses
dip your head
to the microphone and
your eyes shine

Bismillaah 'irrahmaan 'irraheem...

[pathopoetry] two names

I know your name
you know mine
our most distinguishing features

it's wonderful
a confidence
defining

I will carry it in apostrophes
over our
electronic common ground

you will come up
in all sorts of interesting places
with marvellous identities and
surprising images

giving you a sidelong glance
I will read your puerile comments
you will sneak a peak at my angst
laughing at what is archived
mortified it's still there

then from time to time
when we remember
we'll wonder

when there's a good link
after that click
that sudden pulse is
binary

so we'll keep the secret
until we are disconnected

then with our hearts brimming
we'll tell someone
to grope the databases

last, and first