Scribal Terror

Sperm tails for nanobots?

Discovery News reports:

Scientists have taken the first steps in reproducing the biological engine that powers a sperm's  tail and modified it for use in nano-sized devices.

The tiny biological machine is something like a car engine that uses fuel to generate motion.

Only this machine -- composed of 10 carefully arranged enzymes -- runs on natural sugars, using them to produce an high-energy molecule called adenosine triphosphate, or ATP for short.

In the case of sperm, ATP energizes the tail. But it could also be used in nanorobots that do everything from activate drug-delivery pumps to manufacture missing enzymes necessary for healthy bodily functions.

So that's how the little bastards get from there to here.

The door is open . . .

Come on in and talk.  Or drop off one of your random bursts of verbal energy -- poem, limerick, story, top ten list, clerihew, essay, alliterative poem, rant, Surrealist or or Dadaist poem, parody, cento, dirty joke, amusing  syllepsis, haiku, dirty haiku . . . to share.   

Ethel Waters, getting sick and tired . . .

For Lisa, with thanks for the Della Reese.

The door is open . . .

Come on in and talk.  Or drop off one of your random bursts of verbal energy -- poem, limerick, story, top ten list, clerihew, essay, alliterative poem, rant, Surrealist or or Dadaist poem, parody, cento, dirty joke, amusing  syllepsis, haiku, dirty haiku . . . to share.   

If the cat won't eat it . . .

It's not a fish.

Banjo tune

Something special to start off the day after Christmas, from the John Quincy Wolf Collection of Ozark Folksongs.

The door is open . . .

Come on in and talk.  Or drop off one of your random bursts of verbal energy -- poem, limerick, story, top ten list, clerihew, essay, alliterative poem, rant, Surrealist or or Dadaist poem, parody, cento, dirty joke, amusing  syllepsis, haiku, dirty haiku . . . to share.   

The True Christmas by Henry Vaughn (1622-1695)

Ours was not the first generation to bemoan the Christ-lessness of Christmas. Henry Vaughn believed that we should imitate the shepherds of old, and simply watch and wait. Vaughn's language is somewhat difficult between lines 3 and 10. If you get hung up in that section, just skip to line 11 and go from there.

So stick up ivy and the bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the earth and all
But your wild revels, and loose hall.
Could you wear flowers, and roses strow
Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto music, masque, nor show:
Nor gallant furniture, nor plate;
But to the manger's mean estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a check to pomp and mirth;
And all man's greatness you may see
Condemned by His humility.
     Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcome Him with holy joys,
And the poor shepherd's watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your load.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.

Upon Christ's Nativity by Rowland Watkins (c. 1662)

Michael Gilleland at Laudator Temporis Acti has posted this wonderful Christmas poem from a contemporary of Milton and Marvell:

From three dark places Christ came forth this day;
From first His Father's bosom, where He lay,
Concealed till now; then from the typic law,
Where we His manhood but by figures saw;
And lastly from His mother's womb He came
To us, a perfect God and perfect Man.
    Now in a manger lies the eternal Word:
The Word He is, yet can no speech afford;
He is the Bread of Life, yet hungry lies;
The Living Fountain, yet for drink He cries;
He cannot help or clothe Himself at need
Who did the lilies clothe and ravens feed;
He is the Light of Lights, yet now doth shroud
His glory with our nature as a cloud.
He came to us a Little One, that we
Like little children might in malice be;
Little He is, and wrapped in clouts, lest He
Might strike us dead if clothed with majesty.
  Christ had four beds and those not soft nor brave:
The Virgin's womb, the manger, cross, and grave.
The angels sing this day, and so will I
That have more reason to be glad than they.

Kiss me, comrade

Not that there's anything wrong with that. Via English Russia