I cannot tell you why I should be so afraid, Except I am. Perhaps it’s evolution keeping me alive That makes me scram. But I have always hated spiders, big and small – Oh god, so small ! They’re lurking in this room, right now – They lurk, until they crawl…
But sooner yet than later, Then the peace between us must be made – For I don’t want to be a hater, When, oh please !, I hate to be afraid…
And with tarantulas – so big !- we get to see Just how they’re built – Their legs, their palps, their spinnerets, Their onyx eyes and downy quilt… Yet small ones have these too, too small to see – But oh, they’ve got the lot, Upon a strange and creeping body – Never let this be forgot !
But I am more than this, and greater – I shall love them, I shall not be swayed. For I don’t want to be a hater, I don’t want to spend my life afraid.
Low-temperature electron micrograph of a cluster of E. coli bacteria, magnified 10,000 times, microscoped by Eric Erbe, colourised by Christopher Pooley
Z. apocalypsus
Squirming and writhing in unthinking hordes That cannot be dented with bullets or swords – They’ll find us and kill us and shred our remains, They’re after our bodies and after our brains. They’ll mess with our minds worse than Dali or Escher, Our stomachs will turn and our bowels feel the pressure, I sense in my gut that they’re here in the flesh – Oh my… Escherichia coli!
I feel a little bit guilty about the last line, as apparently the stresses should fall on the RIC and the CO, whereas I would prefer them to fall on the I and the LI (that is, the next sallybles along). But honestly, whoever actually ever says the name in full anyway ? So I reckon my stresses are every bit as valid.
E. coli, incidentally, is a natural part of our gut bacteria without which we would probably be dead. That is, until it turns bad…
On a completely different note, this seems like a good place to discuss horizontal gene transfer. This is where a (usually) bacterium grows a sex pilus which attached it to another of its species (or sometimes a completely different species) and exchanges genes, which may include a fancy new antibiotic resistance gene it happens to have mutated. My question is: why would it do that ? If its environment is suddenly flooded with penicillin, it’s surely to that one bacterium’s benefit to be the only survivor.
I cannot find a definite explanation online, but I do note that, for the most common method, the DNA that builds the pilus is a self-contained plasmid (that is, a part of the genome outside-of and independent-of the nucleus). It seems that the primary genes sent across are the very genes to want to poke its neighbours, and the other genes transferred are an accidental by-product. Therefore, the solution I tentatively propose is that, just like the mitochondria in our own cells, it started life as a parasite that over time has found it more advantageous to pay its host back for the netrients and shelter.
The plasmid would seem to be less far along this particular evolutionary journey in that it is not so intergrated into its host as to lose its own identity (as shown by their ability to pass between species) – basically they are freeloaders who don’t, I suggest, cause any problems for their hosts, and sometimes quite by chance cause an advantage. And of course, there’s no guarantee that it ever will be further subsumed, particularly as it seems to be spreading itself around just fine as it is. (Oh, and yes, I did just spell ‘intergrate’ with two Rs, and I just did so again…)
But I could be totally wrong. I just wish that a few of the articles marvelling at the outcome would give a thought to how we got here.
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still right here – Death, you coward, you failed to appear ! Did you send forth your goblins and demons and wights ? Cos I’ve still got my wits and I’ve still got my lights. So where were the werewolves, the hairy-scare werewolves ? And where were the zombies and spectres and sprites ? Is it really too much to want to believe in Some un-hallows odd on All-Hallow’s Even ?
It’s Halloween night, and I’m still in the clear Death, you blackguard, you just ain’t sincere ! Plague and Pollution, Famine and War Now those are damn scary, and worthy of awe. Cancer and cold snaps and car wrecks are killers, Not witches or vampires – they don’t come near ! Vengeance and greed are the stuff of good thrillers, But I ain’t heard a peep from a banshee all year.
It’s Halloween night, and I’ve nothing to fear – Death, you pussy, you’ve lost all your sneer ! And a rubber spider or pumpkin grin Will scarcely scare me out of my skin. My heart’s barely strumming, So Death, if you’re coming, You’d best get a-frighting to stand any chance – So unleash your devils And skeletal revels – Quit tuning your fiddle, and strike up a dance.
Why do shadows lurk and clump Wherever there’s a lack of light ? Why do hearts and footsteps thump When too much nothing gives us fright ? So why do throats grow sharp and taut, And fingers white, and faces pale ? And why does breath get loud and short, And turn into a vapour trail ?
I know, I know, it’s only night When only nerves attack… Yet what is watching out of sight, And turning shadows black ?
Who’s that walking where I’m walking, Pacing half a pace behind ? Who’s that lis’ning when I’m talking, Twitching back the mental blind ? What’s this tongue that’s speaking tongues ? Who’s beating heartbeats next to mine ? Who is that breathing in my lungs, And shivering upon my spine ?
I know, I know, I’m overwrought, From which my phantoms stem… But who is thinking all my thoughts, And who is hearing them ?
We’ve all heard the stories in the school lunch-queue, Every village has its ghost or two – Headless horsemen, women in white… ’Course, we don’t believe you, and you’re just kidding, right ?
Witches had a presence – there was always one around, But werewolves and vampires, were rarely ever found. We knew them from the telly, sure – a terrifying throng, Yet somehow in the villages they didn’t quite belong.
And then there was that weird guy who hardly ever spoke, Since ever since he’d lived alone, and never smiled at folk, And his house was full of boxes full of empty snail shells, And it made these funny noises, and sometimes funny smells.
The heroes of the playground were the locals who won’t rot – The strangled and the drowned and the poisoned and the shot. Spirits of our neighbours – though they’re long since dead and gone – Except, of course, they’re not. They’re out there. Pass it on.
Listen to the east-wind as it rattles at the window latch… Listen to the mice behind the skirting…scritter-scratter-scratch… Listen to the garden foxes gnawing on some unearthed bones… And listen to the creaking and the thumping and the sighing groans…
Now the sun has gone to bed and now that night has spread its gloom, Then shall I tell you, children, of the ghost that haunts this very room ? Listen closely…closer still…behind the death-watch beetle’s click… And there he is…the ghost of time…the never-ending tick-tick-tick…
Shall I tell you, children, shall I tell you what is worse than witches ? Scarier than sprites and spectres…filling sleep with sweats and twitches…? Listen then…and listen for the tiny voice on nights like this… The tiny voice that ev’ry child must hear…must hear its icy hiss…
Never witches…never spectres…nothing ever living on… Nothing from an afterlife, and nothing but oblivion… Listen…can you hear it ? Can you hear the voice from the abyss…? Listen to the tiny voice that terrifies on nights like this…
Halloween, when the dead don’t walk, The wraiths don’t keen and the sprites don’t stalk, The shades don’t slink, nor devils prowl, The vamps don’t drink, nor werewolves howl.
Halloween, when the dead stay dead, The walls aren’t green and the sheets aren’t red, And physics’ laws still reign supreme – We’ve got no cause, yet still we scream.
Halloween, when the ghoul-less roam, Or sleep serene in their haunt-less homes – We walk this night with carefree airs, And won’t take fright, nor whisper prayers.
Halloween, when the kids raise Hell – It’s always been within their spell. They may look gaunt, but fake their gore – They only haunt from door-to-door.
Halloween, when the pumpkins smile, And folks convene in a gothic style – With tongue-filled cheeks and boozy breath, They dress as freaks and laugh at Death.
Halloween, when the graves aren’t stirred, The ghosts aren’t seen nor the banshees heard. Yet still we fret by thinking dumb When we forget how far we’ve come.
Halloween, when the mind plays tricks, And the silver screen gives us frights for kicks. For this one night, let’s dig suspense – Just don’t lose sight of our common sense.
Lookit all you zombies, living lives like you was thinking – But I know you’re just the puppets to the Codebooks in the sky. Lookit all you statues – yeah, you don’t fool me by blinking – Cos I know you’re really dummies – and the suck is, so am I ! Ev’ry single doll of us is following the Script With its plot for ev’ry atom all controlled in all its jazz – Gotta keep ’em tight in line, you can’t have strays or space-time’s ripped, And then how can the Future come to pass like it already has ? Of course, it’s all that Albert’s fault – Him and his flash equation. Had to open up the vault And loose the tachyon invasion – Had to prove, and quite routine, His theory for the time machine. And whoops, he’s sent our free will sinking. Hello zombie. Goodbye thinking.
Now when it comes to sci-fi, I can take a little licence – Like your artificial gravity – we know all that’s all bunk – And beaming-down and warp-speed – well, the concepts have entice-ence – We all so want to so believe, like any cyberpunk. But daddy of them all, be it phone-box or DeLorean, Is scorching up the past-times when they ain’t so dead and gone. Sticking-up two fingers to the know-it-all historian, And making sure our parents got to meet and get it on. But don’t you see the problem here ? The Future is already there – And all we do must all adhere To make it happen right and square. So ev’ry choice is just a lie, We’re ruled by Codebooks in the sky, We’re patsies with our choices stripped, We’re puppetss to the Master Script.
Lookit all we zombies, living lives like we got lives to live, And not some pre-determined plot to parrot as we plod. Lookit all we robots, got our program and executive, To serve the algorithm of our micro-managed god. Ev’ry single slob of us is following the show, With the final season written long before the pilot aired. But we’re still convinced it’s streaming live, and watch it blow-by-blow, As we’re stuffing-in the popcorn – yet we none of us are spared. Of course, it’s all that Albert’s fault – Unless…old Albert’s wrong instead ! And if infact causality, Just like us zombies, is undead… But how can Time and Space apply Without the Codebooks in the sky ? Yet if the Future ain’t our grey-boss – Goodbye zombie, hello chaos.
I love the way your halves combine. I love the way you place each lung With careless grace and good design On either side your centre line, And equidistant from your spine. I love the way your ribs are strung.
I love the way your shoulders fit, I love the way your arms construe. I love the way your kidneys sit, So each, the other mirrors it To keep the couple quite legit. I love the way your hips are two.
I love the way you wear your legs, So nicely paired, and just enough – For with a third, the question begs Of where upon your frame it pegs. I love the way you keep to regs. I love the way you’re up to snuff.
I love your face with eye and eye, I love the way they both are blue. I love the way they flit and fly In unison, to watch me pry Upon thy tygrish symmet-try. I love the way you’re balanced-through.
The penultimate line is inspired by how I always read the fourth line of a certain poem of William Blake’s.
Rhyming Couplets 