deconstructed engine

Watching through old videos of ours and I can’t believe I was doing ironic candles are symbols of patriarchal oppression discourse at the tender age of 19 at christmas dinner



threw the process
into reverse

broke the words
down to syllables

thence to
compound molecules

thence to

down to the realm of hypothetical structure
crazy subatomics that weave a Wonderland spell

wave particle duality bizarre entanglements
(trysts and life liaisons characterizing this level)

in all
all in all
as each modicum of meaning
gets ruthlessly deconstructed
completely disassembled

exactly what you would expect of
that thing but not a thing
that two dimensional hologram
of a tesseract
conveniently call a poem

A group called The Turning Point Project took out this full-page ad in the New York Times in 1999 after the publication of a paper including the image of Joseph Vacanti’s “earmouse.” The ad falsely claims that the mouse is a result of genetic engineering and includes the following criticisms of biotechnology:

“Does anyone think that it’s shocking, therefore, that this infant biotechnology industry feels it’s okay to capture the evolutionary process and to reshape the life on earth to suit its balance sheets?”

“Biotech companies are blithely removing components of human beings (and other creatures) and treating us all like auto parts at a swap meet.”

“Someday when one of these companies finally decides the public mood is receptive, will they make a human-gorilla combo to take care of heavy labor?”

“Have we lost our sanity?” 

So far, there exist no half-human, half-animal “chimeras” (like mermaids or centaurs) but we may soon have them”

Sometimes scientists are so focused on results that they forget about ethics, and it’s great that public groups are out there to focus on holding the labs accountable.

But, as you can see, in a lot of cases the accusers come off as rather phobic of change and science-illiterate. 

"The Anderson Rose" - Kurt/Blaine (5/24)

(See the masterpost for the full summary/notes/overall warnings.)

Blaine Anderson is heir to the ruling seat of Westerville and, from birth, has been destined for an arranged marriage—he must father an heir in order to ensure the line of succession. When it becomes clear to his parents that his affections lie with his own sex, they make it their mission to find him a suitable—and potentially happy—match with a carrier who can return his interest.

Kurt Hummel is the son of Burt Hummel, Westerville’s most well-known engineer. Though he has grown up far from the Andersons’ manor in a small village to the north, his family has worked with the Andersons for generations, providing them with transportation vehicles, engines, machines, research, and repair work of all kinds. After the tragedy of losing his wife, Burt takes it upon himself to explain to Kurt that, since his birth, he has been sought after by the Andersons as a potential future husband for their son, because he is a carrier.

Marley is a petite person with a sweet voice.

The first time that Kurt sees her, she’s got her skirts hiked up around her thighs and she’s crouched knee and elbow deep in a deconstructed engine block, covered in grease with six mechanics wide-eyed and quaking in front of her as she lectures them on the different merits of two kinds of machinery-grade lubricant.

Kurt is impressed, and they haven’t even said hello.

When she’s done speaking, she climbs out of the engine, snaps her gloves off, and notices him standing near the door to the shed’s office space.

He feels overdressed in the work robe that he’d put on that morning—he’s used to pants, and the light weave wrapping feels strange against his skin, but it’s breathable and looks good, if he does say so himself.

“Well,” she says, sticking out a hand at him. “I was wondering when you’d find your way here.”

He shakes her hand. “I should have come sooner. I apologize.”

She winks. “Between Luce and Blaine, I’m surprised that you remembered the sheds at all.”

“I practically grew up in transport sheds,” Kurt says, smiling. “They’re difficult to forget.”

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