firstly i would like to apologise for going off on a tangential arc recently. rest assured that the story is not just a rambling of sorts, with no intent or purpose, but (at least i would like to think) it is quite elaborately planned out, with the ingredients of making what should be a wholesome read (although i have no doubt that it is far from). in any case, as with any good story, there is a theme, with questions, plots and subplots, all ready for the literary feast that it will never be.
secondly, it is with great pleasure that i announce that the arc is part of a greater whim, which i will hopefully reveal should it come into fruitition.
thirdly, i have to sadly announce that i have a mild case of writer's block at the moment, and being someone who prides himself in the creation and giving essence into each and every post, i find that every time i sit down and write something, there is much a lacking and i am not going to post sub-standardly if i can help it (although this being biased since i set the standards myself).
so, once i get past this (hopefully brief) hiccup of sorts, it'll be back to the arc. and after that, hopefully back to lighter, less mind-wracking stuff. for the time being, here's some beautiful music introduced to me by a friend, chicken-president. classic meets rock for a fusion of wtfbbqsauce.
Monday 28 June 2010
Thursday 24 June 2010
exclusively, forest from trees
[to read this arc from its beginning, click here.]
though amaru and alphonse may never come to meet, it is destined that they would share a bond of consanguinity that transcends their ancestral rivalry, or their gender kinship. but, far from taking concern of their metaphysical linkage, let us consider both in their respective roles in courting and questioning the enigmatic fermastika.
alphonse carries the burden and the sign of aristocracy in his blood. he is well versed in the rigidities of social contracts and nuances of the unspoken languages. he is trained, by force and by nature, to be one of the elite of the populace - to converse with poetry and to sing in verse, to eat from silver platters and drink exclusively ambrosia, to deal with the dealings of only gold and nothing less. perhaps rare jewels, too, and possibly tin and coloured servants, but that is another matter. succinctly, if society were segregated into caste of crusts, he is the creme de la creme de la creme.
and so it comes, unsurprisingly, that upon falling for fermastika, alphonse had made it his every goal to win her heart. failing that, however, he would settle for winning her lips and her touch, for in his mind, those are one and the same. like a talismanic demi-god bestowed with cult-like fervour, he diverted his every resource in a zealous display of power and affection.
hundreds of gifts were sent, ranging from betel nut to jewelry, thousands of ufti were offered, from silk-embroidered cotton-dresses to bunga mas. on the peninsula, gargantuan idolatries were served in constructing statues of worship. effigies were made and distributed, to become household necessities, and the people came to know fermastika in such closeness, that myth and legend had blanded and blended for a while, rendering the powers of said puteri meaningless almost devoid. although this would seem unfavourable and even despicable an ends for fermastika, one should never underestimate the lunacies, logic bereft when one is in love. or at least while one is being wooed so strongly.
and so, the vulgar display of meaningless trivialities, but expensive showering continued. and did not stop yet there. positions of power were created and bodies of politics were erected to accompany and cater the every whim of our princess. national holidays and melodious anthems were construct, as construct of alphonse's weaving web of wily ways set into motion spiraling- and sand-pit traps for fermastika. blinded by adoration and fuelled by love, neither were lucid to the lies each played upon the other, nor were either to those they played upon themselves.
this would continue such that, every bystander would notice, every pedestrian would know of the ill intent from alphonse, and like a scar upon his handsome face, so would any and all ill-gotten gains which would come from his frivolities with fermastika. but, that is past the climax of this story, and it is with apologies and waving of our hands that we leave that aside, just as we do with the case of alphonse's courting because we have garnered all that we need to know of it - beautiful and expressive as it may have been, his love and its declaration to fermastika would and will always be just that: a declaration. one without much substance, and one without any puja, alphonse had won what he had set out to gain.
alphonse would go on to win fermastika's body and lust, but far from winning her whole, that would be the end of it. which suited him just fine. and what of fermastika's feeling in this grotesque puppet show of emotions and deception? we will probably never know, for is that not how all the intricacies of a woman's heart can allow?
though amaru and alphonse may never come to meet, it is destined that they would share a bond of consanguinity that transcends their ancestral rivalry, or their gender kinship. but, far from taking concern of their metaphysical linkage, let us consider both in their respective roles in courting and questioning the enigmatic fermastika.
alphonse carries the burden and the sign of aristocracy in his blood. he is well versed in the rigidities of social contracts and nuances of the unspoken languages. he is trained, by force and by nature, to be one of the elite of the populace - to converse with poetry and to sing in verse, to eat from silver platters and drink exclusively ambrosia, to deal with the dealings of only gold and nothing less. perhaps rare jewels, too, and possibly tin and coloured servants, but that is another matter. succinctly, if society were segregated into caste of crusts, he is the creme de la creme de la creme.
and so it comes, unsurprisingly, that upon falling for fermastika, alphonse had made it his every goal to win her heart. failing that, however, he would settle for winning her lips and her touch, for in his mind, those are one and the same. like a talismanic demi-god bestowed with cult-like fervour, he diverted his every resource in a zealous display of power and affection.
hundreds of gifts were sent, ranging from betel nut to jewelry, thousands of ufti were offered, from silk-embroidered cotton-dresses to bunga mas. on the peninsula, gargantuan idolatries were served in constructing statues of worship. effigies were made and distributed, to become household necessities, and the people came to know fermastika in such closeness, that myth and legend had blanded and blended for a while, rendering the powers of said puteri meaningless almost devoid. although this would seem unfavourable and even despicable an ends for fermastika, one should never underestimate the lunacies, logic bereft when one is in love. or at least while one is being wooed so strongly.
and so, the vulgar display of meaningless trivialities, but expensive showering continued. and did not stop yet there. positions of power were created and bodies of politics were erected to accompany and cater the every whim of our princess. national holidays and melodious anthems were construct, as construct of alphonse's weaving web of wily ways set into motion spiraling- and sand-pit traps for fermastika. blinded by adoration and fuelled by love, neither were lucid to the lies each played upon the other, nor were either to those they played upon themselves.
this would continue such that, every bystander would notice, every pedestrian would know of the ill intent from alphonse, and like a scar upon his handsome face, so would any and all ill-gotten gains which would come from his frivolities with fermastika. but, that is past the climax of this story, and it is with apologies and waving of our hands that we leave that aside, just as we do with the case of alphonse's courting because we have garnered all that we need to know of it - beautiful and expressive as it may have been, his love and its declaration to fermastika would and will always be just that: a declaration. one without much substance, and one without any puja, alphonse had won what he had set out to gain.
alphonse would go on to win fermastika's body and lust, but far from winning her whole, that would be the end of it. which suited him just fine. and what of fermastika's feeling in this grotesque puppet show of emotions and deception? we will probably never know, for is that not how all the intricacies of a woman's heart can allow?
Tuesday 22 June 2010
exclusively devoted, too
[part i of this series can be viewed here]
in the years following fermastika's coming of age, the territories surrounding gunung ledang were lead in a time of strife. as do the parasites of nature thrive in the withering of the lush and the live, so do the parasites of humanity in the want of others'. by this, we see the social and economical invasion from the centre of the world, and in reaction, the coup d'etat of the local malaccan governing.
entering the scene, in a swoop of glorious cannon-shelling, and pompous trumpet-blaring, was a young and aspiring portugese admiral, alphonse d'esfiladeiro. in the ensuing confusion and unsettling wake of governmental reform, such external powers held an unnaturally strong sway on the aristocracy - which would later lay the pavement for an invasion highway into the heart of the malaccan sultanate itself. but, our tale does not concern the fall from grace of islamic empires, or does it revolve around the eurocentricities of colonial nations from what-was-then the epicentre of the universe. it does serve here, to mention that alphonse, in a story of his own, ventures into the depths of gunung ledang, and has meeting with fermastika.
a revolution, and restitution of power, though, does not come into being by itself. ceteri paribus, the subservience of local culture and unrelenting subordination to the decrepit leaders would have dictated a solemn, yet unavoidable coming into power of the portugese, but, nay. it is the singular event that follows, which muses and uprising to challenge the status quo, and this event will forever be spoken in the histories of the downtrodden, of that when amaru as-satari would meet the princess fermastika.
much like the story of her mother, fermastika's encounters with alphonse and amaru are elaborate and intricate, beautiful portrayals of love and kinship, and the ugly truth of lust, greed, and vanity. the years of retelling have reclaimed much from truth and what little is left of legend is too spread between heresy and profanity to recount. however, unlike the caveats and pitfalls of pride and blindness displayed by the sultan, many generations ago, the men of now are not as easily fooled as a slave in his throes of ardor.
in the years following fermastika's coming of age, the territories surrounding gunung ledang were lead in a time of strife. as do the parasites of nature thrive in the withering of the lush and the live, so do the parasites of humanity in the want of others'. by this, we see the social and economical invasion from the centre of the world, and in reaction, the coup d'etat of the local malaccan governing.
entering the scene, in a swoop of glorious cannon-shelling, and pompous trumpet-blaring, was a young and aspiring portugese admiral, alphonse d'esfiladeiro. in the ensuing confusion and unsettling wake of governmental reform, such external powers held an unnaturally strong sway on the aristocracy - which would later lay the pavement for an invasion highway into the heart of the malaccan sultanate itself. but, our tale does not concern the fall from grace of islamic empires, or does it revolve around the eurocentricities of colonial nations from what-was-then the epicentre of the universe. it does serve here, to mention that alphonse, in a story of his own, ventures into the depths of gunung ledang, and has meeting with fermastika.
a revolution, and restitution of power, though, does not come into being by itself. ceteri paribus, the subservience of local culture and unrelenting subordination to the decrepit leaders would have dictated a solemn, yet unavoidable coming into power of the portugese, but, nay. it is the singular event that follows, which muses and uprising to challenge the status quo, and this event will forever be spoken in the histories of the downtrodden, of that when amaru as-satari would meet the princess fermastika.
much like the story of her mother, fermastika's encounters with alphonse and amaru are elaborate and intricate, beautiful portrayals of love and kinship, and the ugly truth of lust, greed, and vanity. the years of retelling have reclaimed much from truth and what little is left of legend is too spread between heresy and profanity to recount. however, unlike the caveats and pitfalls of pride and blindness displayed by the sultan, many generations ago, the men of now are not as easily fooled as a slave in his throes of ardor.
Saturday 19 June 2010
exhaustively devoted to you
many decades ago, there was an era of fancifulness, where eastern mysticism met western mythology for the first time. unaware of the future encroachment of science and unable to unify these seemingly-juxtaposing creeds, the greatest minds all over the world devoted lifetimes and fortunes to find a common ground. fueled by personal gain, glory, fame and fortune, little was it expected that unity would be found in one of the greatest conflicts between the schools.
however, behind this story is a greater impetus. one that deals in life, love, lore and satirical criticisms of sarcasm itself. and, of course, one that deals with beauty unmatched.
beyond the forests, and across the seas, atop the mountains high, lay a little seclude, in which the progeny of beauty and handsomeness had come into being, only to lay in pining. for, you see, the parents of tragedy were once wrought with seething hate and blissful ignorance. in a place known as gunung ledang, throned the heart of distraught, and to gain such heart, the sultan of malacca was found wanting, lacking, insufficient. and for such shortcomings, a prize for the sultanate - a fall from grace that was five hundred years in making, and a whitewash of culture, race, language and religion, all set upon the pedestal by the greed and lust of a single man.
but, let us not dwell on such trivialities of parents, but look forward to the future, in which we seed the promise of redemption, and the hope of love anew. and to this being, the namesake of fermastika. it is the curse of lineage, and the boon of godly humor, that all children inherit traits of their parents. and although nakhoda ragam had only praise to his name, the same could not be said of fermastika's mother-princess. and so, shielded from the world after her father's untimely death, fermastika aged with each century, only a passing year, and one hundred and eighty summers-worth has come to pass, when this legend meets with our timeline; where our medieval sorcery will come colliding with chakraic flows; when the princess-mother will die of an incurable disease, an ailment of the soul and a malignancy of the heart: the sore wanting of lost love.
now left to fend for herself, fermastika grows ripe with mental agility, and sage with divine intellect. however, as much as is curse of the flesh, so is our aforementioned one of lineage, and fermastika wanes in the moonlight, with every passing day, longing for what her mother never could have before meeting the helmsman-and-father. nay, 'tis not love, though we speak of now, but instead, adoration. for which woman could resist, and would not want devotion of unquestioned faith, of unrelenting subservience, of unlimited puja?
however, behind this story is a greater impetus. one that deals in life, love, lore and satirical criticisms of sarcasm itself. and, of course, one that deals with beauty unmatched.
beyond the forests, and across the seas, atop the mountains high, lay a little seclude, in which the progeny of beauty and handsomeness had come into being, only to lay in pining. for, you see, the parents of tragedy were once wrought with seething hate and blissful ignorance. in a place known as gunung ledang, throned the heart of distraught, and to gain such heart, the sultan of malacca was found wanting, lacking, insufficient. and for such shortcomings, a prize for the sultanate - a fall from grace that was five hundred years in making, and a whitewash of culture, race, language and religion, all set upon the pedestal by the greed and lust of a single man.
but, let us not dwell on such trivialities of parents, but look forward to the future, in which we seed the promise of redemption, and the hope of love anew. and to this being, the namesake of fermastika. it is the curse of lineage, and the boon of godly humor, that all children inherit traits of their parents. and although nakhoda ragam had only praise to his name, the same could not be said of fermastika's mother-princess. and so, shielded from the world after her father's untimely death, fermastika aged with each century, only a passing year, and one hundred and eighty summers-worth has come to pass, when this legend meets with our timeline; where our medieval sorcery will come colliding with chakraic flows; when the princess-mother will die of an incurable disease, an ailment of the soul and a malignancy of the heart: the sore wanting of lost love.
now left to fend for herself, fermastika grows ripe with mental agility, and sage with divine intellect. however, as much as is curse of the flesh, so is our aforementioned one of lineage, and fermastika wanes in the moonlight, with every passing day, longing for what her mother never could have before meeting the helmsman-and-father. nay, 'tis not love, though we speak of now, but instead, adoration. for which woman could resist, and would not want devotion of unquestioned faith, of unrelenting subservience, of unlimited puja?
Tuesday 15 June 2010
the simple life
where is it and how can i get there?
by yellow brick road or climb a golden stair?
will i be happy, will it be fair?
this is enough to make me pull my hair.
this simple life, wherever it may be,
over the ocean and under a tree,
or take a reductionist's simple approach,
and just set sail, and let the ship take broach.
and greet the wind harpies with unbashful abode,
and talk to sea serpents, and liches, and toads,
so casual that you can say 'sup, my naga?'
or reply with a 'kita bukan proton saga'.
sigh, it's been a lifetime, and a quarter or more,
these eyes can no longer stare hard at the sore;
take away all that is, that's precious to me,
i yearn for death, for that's what it means to be free.
i wish for the simple life, not one with meander, at least whilst i die, of it i hope for a gander.
p/s: (maybe you think, 'man, this kid's bat-sh*t the crazy',
i hope though, that's better than being quite lazy,
like doing the dishes, sinks and refrigerators, too,
man, i've drunk too much, i need to go to the loo.)
p/p/s: no, twiddling is not an euphemism for masturbation. god. here, i'll link it so you can get your mind out of the gutters. also, yes, i've linked UNcyclopedia somewhere, it's just a joke. don't take that too seriously. ctfd.
by yellow brick road or climb a golden stair?
will i be happy, will it be fair?
this is enough to make me pull my hair.
in anger, in rage, in outright a frenzy,
in a flight of white passion, and a flaccidness mimsy.
i think it is time to take in consideration,
that it is a republic, more than a confederation.
this simple life, wherever it may be,
over the ocean and under a tree,
or take a reductionist's simple approach,
and just set sail, and let the ship take broach.
i hear that, even this simplest place,
has a fancifulness that is commonplace,
and its inhabitants are not wary,
of those who twiddle and tarry.
and greet the wind harpies with unbashful abode,
and talk to sea serpents, and liches, and toads,
so casual that you can say 'sup, my naga?'
or reply with a 'kita bukan proton saga'.
for in the simple life, they talk of deep and wide things,
much like swimming pools and holes, and withered bat wings.
but, hark!, there can be no harder task than,
to find the darned place, i'll search to the end!
sigh, it's been a lifetime, and a quarter or more,
these eyes can no longer stare hard at the sore;
take away all that is, that's precious to me,
i yearn for death, for that's what it means to be free.
and maybe i'll find solace in the afterlife,and to sum it all up, i say take a gander, at what is left here to paddle and pander,
where simple things like a fiddler, can matchmake a wife;
where times, they are not always abidingly free,
ah yes, i remember 'oh ye, monetary'.
i wish for the simple life, not one with meander, at least whilst i die, of it i hope for a gander.
p/s: (maybe you think, 'man, this kid's bat-sh*t the crazy',
i hope though, that's better than being quite lazy,
like doing the dishes, sinks and refrigerators, too,
man, i've drunk too much, i need to go to the loo.)
p/p/s: no, twiddling is not an euphemism for masturbation. god. here, i'll link it so you can get your mind out of the gutters. also, yes, i've linked UNcyclopedia somewhere, it's just a joke. don't take that too seriously. ctfd.
Monday 14 June 2010
give and take
the semester has ended and i have nothing to do... god - he takes away everything dear to me, and next on the list is probably something like family and friends. curse you, fair and just karma! curse you!
Wednesday 9 June 2010
stylistic rhetoric. checkmate.
the shallowest pool is that of the human gene type. and that's hypocritically like calling archetypical-and-antediluvian anthropologists, hypocrites; because, really, we're all just pseudo-spidermen (peter parker) politicians. who happen to be like hypocrites. and that makes us all very, very deep indeed.
depending on interpretation, there are (or should be):
4 metaphors
3 paradoxes
2 similes
2 repetitions
2 alliterations (although one is more of a consonnance, and there's quite a few of those here, so never you mind that)
1 assonance
1 allusion
1 rhetoric
although funny, this is not really true, as it is not a metaphor :(. common misconceptions aside, it's really more of simile, or symbolism. although it could be a metaphor given the right context. hey, i just wrote all this for nothing, then. weeeewwwwww.
but more importantly, there are:
1 recurring theme in this entire blog and
1 message or question in this particular entry.
i just made this up to keep you (me) busy 'til my exams are over. should you try to find them all, then you should know what i'm talking about. can you tell me? because i don't.
now this is a kickass metaphor. goddamn i love futurama. (make sure you watch it, or you won't get the entry title).
Thursday 3 June 2010
'til death do us part
the exams are encroaching and i really should be studying (everyone says this), but i guess posting on an infectious disease topic (which i haven't done in a while) is a good compromise between doing 'work' and chilling out. so here goes.
at a dinner recently, someone had asked my friend, upon learning that she is studying i.d., 'so, what's your favourite parasite?'. this totally caught her off guard, and i'm not sure what she replied, but i think that's a pretty funny question. i mean, do you go around asking a mathematician what his favourite formula is, or a doctor what his favourite disease is? i guess as a conversation-starter, maybe some of us do. anyway, so i went home and thought about this, so that when i'm put on the spot, i'll be able to say, without a moment's hesitation, what my favourite parasite is.
schistosoma. yeap, it's a worm. but most visible parasites are, anyway, so there's not really much to choose from. i mean, it'd be a bit weird to choose something like giardia or cryptosporidium, i guess. or fungi. oh god, i hate fungi so much now. but let's not go there. schistosoma.
obviously the next question would be 'why?'. well, here goes. first of all, from the scientific / micromolecular perspective, it's quite an awesome parasite. when inside your body, the adult schistosoma coats itself with tegument surface proteins that mimic your own body's antigens. basically, it's like a wolf in sheepskin, and by doing such, your body's immune response is blinded to its presence. your eosinophils and dendritic cells (kinda like your security guards) go around looking for stuff that shouldn't be there, and looks at schistosoma, then goes 'hey, nothing to see here. move along'. how fricken awesome is that? then, when your body finally figures out something is amiss, the parasite just changes its proteins and your body is fooled again. sneaky little buggers.
but, not everything's perfect: even though the adults are wiser than wary of your body's immune response, the eggs aren't really. and so, the eggs get dislodged in your intestines and maybe bladder (and also possibly other organs, but let's not go there), and your body starts to attack the eggs, causing all the pains and itches and bleeding when you pee or take a shit (OH GOD, IT BURNS!) and all that jazz. yeap, it is a parasite after all, and would only serve its name to cause you some harm.
the life cycle of schistosoma is particularly interesting. beyond going into the chicken-and-egg arguments, let's just start with schistosoma eggs in the environment, without wondering how they got there. they hatch, and become things called miracidia, which swim around in the water and infect snails. there, they develop into other things called cercariae, which are kinda like tadpoles with two tails. except they're smaller. and have no backbone. and stuff. but yeah, little mutant tadpoles of death and destruction, which go around swimming in the water, and home in on humans which happen to take a bath / swim /wash clothes / take a piss / who-knows-what in the water. then they penetrate your skin. and start moving up your veins, into your heart, then into your lungs. where they mature from the cercariae into worm-like adults. not content with having invaded your blood system like tiny vampires, they then break out of your lung alveoli, and climb up your trachea (windpipe) and then (here comes the best part) you swallow the ugly buggers into your stomach. how fricken awesome is that. and gross. yeah. it's gross. eating worms. no kidding.
anyway, moving on. now, the adults mature in your stomach (actually more like in your duodenum or small intestine) where another amazing thing happens - the male and female adults find a partner, and they mate for life. just look at this picture, where the female is in eternal, perpetual copula with the male, sitting nicely in his gynocophoral canal 'til they both die.
what says 'honey, i love you' more than eternal monogamy? and forever sitting in (spooning) embrace with your loved one? or (at least for the guy) always banging your chick, 24 - 7? aw yeah, baby, get your freak on. ahem. well, i kinda fudged things over a bit, because sometimes you do get 2 females living in one male's canal (giggity) but, isn't that more romantic? girls, if you ever let your man into a consensual threesome, trust me. he is going to find that f*cken romantic, and love you long time. especially if the threesome lasts until you both die. f*ck, yeah. ahem.
but yeah, then, obviously, with continuous, unprotected sex, the female is gonna get preggo, right? yeap. so she lays between 300 - 3000 eggs a day. no kidding. and you thought the vietnamese women who go down to the rice fields a day after giving birth were hard core. this girl just keeps on churning. and the eggs then penetrate your gut wall and find their way to various organs, from which they can cause disease, or get released into the environment all that jazz.
also, by the way, you may notice that the female is darker stained than the male. this is nothing to do with interracial preferences, but like many interesting observations, has a rationale. a very symbolic one, in fact. while both the schistosomal genders are essentially parasites, feeding on your digested food, only the female really requires blood to lay eggs. much like a mosquito. and so, females are really blood-sucking vampires of hatred and animosity (i'm talking about the schistosomes, calm down, women!). okay fine, you can argue that it's for the kids' sake, whatever helps you sleep at night. but yeah, eating blood gives a digestive by-product called haemozoin, which stains them darker. every story with a moral.
i'd go on more, but really, you don't want to read about all the intricate details of parasite worms, do you? and besides, i'm sure some people want to be able to eat lunch without throwing up, and if i were to put up some images... well. nevermind.
so. what's your favourite parasite?
at a dinner recently, someone had asked my friend, upon learning that she is studying i.d., 'so, what's your favourite parasite?'. this totally caught her off guard, and i'm not sure what she replied, but i think that's a pretty funny question. i mean, do you go around asking a mathematician what his favourite formula is, or a doctor what his favourite disease is? i guess as a conversation-starter, maybe some of us do. anyway, so i went home and thought about this, so that when i'm put on the spot, i'll be able to say, without a moment's hesitation, what my favourite parasite is.
schistosoma. yeap, it's a worm. but most visible parasites are, anyway, so there's not really much to choose from. i mean, it'd be a bit weird to choose something like giardia or cryptosporidium, i guess. or fungi. oh god, i hate fungi so much now. but let's not go there. schistosoma.
schistosoma eggs. 10 points to whomever can tell me the species and why. go medics.
obviously the next question would be 'why?'. well, here goes. first of all, from the scientific / micromolecular perspective, it's quite an awesome parasite. when inside your body, the adult schistosoma coats itself with tegument surface proteins that mimic your own body's antigens. basically, it's like a wolf in sheepskin, and by doing such, your body's immune response is blinded to its presence. your eosinophils and dendritic cells (kinda like your security guards) go around looking for stuff that shouldn't be there, and looks at schistosoma, then goes 'hey, nothing to see here. move along'. how fricken awesome is that? then, when your body finally figures out something is amiss, the parasite just changes its proteins and your body is fooled again. sneaky little buggers.
but, not everything's perfect: even though the adults are wiser than wary of your body's immune response, the eggs aren't really. and so, the eggs get dislodged in your intestines and maybe bladder (and also possibly other organs, but let's not go there), and your body starts to attack the eggs, causing all the pains and itches and bleeding when you pee or take a shit (OH GOD, IT BURNS!) and all that jazz. yeap, it is a parasite after all, and would only serve its name to cause you some harm.
the life cycle of schistosoma is particularly interesting. beyond going into the chicken-and-egg arguments, let's just start with schistosoma eggs in the environment, without wondering how they got there. they hatch, and become things called miracidia, which swim around in the water and infect snails. there, they develop into other things called cercariae, which are kinda like tadpoles with two tails. except they're smaller. and have no backbone. and stuff. but yeah, little mutant tadpoles of death and destruction, which go around swimming in the water, and home in on humans which happen to take a bath / swim /wash clothes / take a piss / who-knows-what in the water. then they penetrate your skin. and start moving up your veins, into your heart, then into your lungs. where they mature from the cercariae into worm-like adults. not content with having invaded your blood system like tiny vampires, they then break out of your lung alveoli, and climb up your trachea (windpipe) and then (here comes the best part) you swallow the ugly buggers into your stomach. how fricken awesome is that. and gross. yeah. it's gross. eating worms. no kidding.
this is a cercarium. yay!
anyway, moving on. now, the adults mature in your stomach (actually more like in your duodenum or small intestine) where another amazing thing happens - the male and female adults find a partner, and they mate for life. just look at this picture, where the female is in eternal, perpetual copula with the male, sitting nicely in his gynocophoral canal 'til they both die.
what says 'honey, i love you' more than eternal monogamy? and forever sitting in (spooning) embrace with your loved one? or (at least for the guy) always banging your chick, 24 - 7? aw yeah, baby, get your freak on. ahem. well, i kinda fudged things over a bit, because sometimes you do get 2 females living in one male's canal (giggity) but, isn't that more romantic? girls, if you ever let your man into a consensual threesome, trust me. he is going to find that f*cken romantic, and love you long time. especially if the threesome lasts until you both die. f*ck, yeah. ahem.
but yeah, then, obviously, with continuous, unprotected sex, the female is gonna get preggo, right? yeap. so she lays between 300 - 3000 eggs a day. no kidding. and you thought the vietnamese women who go down to the rice fields a day after giving birth were hard core. this girl just keeps on churning. and the eggs then penetrate your gut wall and find their way to various organs, from which they can cause disease, or get released into the environment all that jazz.
also, by the way, you may notice that the female is darker stained than the male. this is nothing to do with interracial preferences, but like many interesting observations, has a rationale. a very symbolic one, in fact. while both the schistosomal genders are essentially parasites, feeding on your digested food, only the female really requires blood to lay eggs. much like a mosquito. and so, females are really blood-sucking vampires of hatred and animosity (i'm talking about the schistosomes, calm down, women!). okay fine, you can argue that it's for the kids' sake, whatever helps you sleep at night. but yeah, eating blood gives a digestive by-product called haemozoin, which stains them darker. every story with a moral.
i'd go on more, but really, you don't want to read about all the intricate details of parasite worms, do you? and besides, i'm sure some people want to be able to eat lunch without throwing up, and if i were to put up some images... well. nevermind.
so. what's your favourite parasite?
Tuesday 1 June 2010
puzzled
i had written a pretty long entry today. but i realise that it was very obfuscate. very obtuse and awkward. like how you offer a drink to someone and realise he is in abstinence. or how you make a joke that nobody in the room finds funny, but you've already laughed a hearty laugh and there's no turning back.
except that i can actually turn it back, and so i do.
but i think, the essence of the post is an important one, and i write here for my own rememberence and for posterity. because one day i will have lost myself in an ocean of acceptance and realisation, and it would do me well to recall that at this point in my life, i am puzzled.
puzzled at how i cannot understand someone for who she is and why she cannot understand others just the same. puzzled at how monetary woes will creep into life's prosperity and beauty. puzzled at how misconstrued gestures can effect others around you, and how misinterpreted signals will lead to dead ends and dead friends. puzzled at how i could ever think this would be worth writing in the first place.
maybe, someday in the future, i'll figure things out and we can all rejoice in such (lack of) knowledge. god f*cking damn it, this is so puzzling.
except that i can actually turn it back, and so i do.
but i think, the essence of the post is an important one, and i write here for my own rememberence and for posterity. because one day i will have lost myself in an ocean of acceptance and realisation, and it would do me well to recall that at this point in my life, i am puzzled.
puzzled at how i cannot understand someone for who she is and why she cannot understand others just the same. puzzled at how monetary woes will creep into life's prosperity and beauty. puzzled at how misconstrued gestures can effect others around you, and how misinterpreted signals will lead to dead ends and dead friends. puzzled at how i could ever think this would be worth writing in the first place.
maybe, someday in the future, i'll figure things out and we can all rejoice in such (lack of) knowledge. god f*cking damn it, this is so puzzling.
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