it’s like a jungle, fighting in the jungle, i can’t see because someone shot out my eyes, and there are bugs crawling on me, i feel smaller, so much smaller, i can’t speak, help, i see only red. just red.
If i keep stressing out and worrying about this heart condition pretty soon i’ll be on an incubator with no time to worry. is being on an incubator better that breathing on your own?
Incubation. such a peculiar way of doing things. Warming something up so it is not destroyed by natural selection as it should be. Using a machine to substitute for the touch of the parent. Here’s to never knowing how that child feels.
An incubator is an instrument that provides heat. New babies delivered early will be kept inside an incubator for extra care. Now a days, incubators are even used to hatch chicken eggs in farms.
I think back to 1st grade when we hatched eggs in my science class. The eggs were kept in an incubator and after the eggs hatched, one of hte new chicks had to stay in the incubator to stay alive. It helped sustain its life, do what its MOm was not there to do. Keep it warm so that it could grow big and strong and live a long time.
you think its so simple at first.
you think you can handle it all.
I suppose we are fearless without knowledge.
we can do anything, we can be anything
and then they put you in an incubator because you’re not ready for the world yet.
I was ready to put the eggs into the incubator when my father stomped in, purple in the face and noticeably sweating from the sideburns down, soaking his neck with his own sea salt.
“Forget chicks,” he wheezed, wiping his steaming chin with his sleeve. “Your mother wants an omelet, stat.”
I stared. “Pregnancy cravings?”
“A huge fucking omelet!” my father gasped. “Fucking STAT!”
the idea for my novel has been locked in an incubator. it’s my mind. it’s warm in there, but things aren’t born from there. i need to find a way to get them out of the incubator and on the page. this is a start.
When someone offers you their heart it’s your job to keep it warm. Leave it out in the cold it will slowly seize up and die. So hold it close to your chest and never forget the responsibility you’ve been handed.
He put it back into the incubator, and closed the lid. After seven years of research, it looked like he had finally succeeded. A small, warm, breathing, living reproduction of the greatest man his species had ever known. Now the future would have a second chance…
Her hand is over his heart, and she can feel the warmth radiating off of him in waves. It’s a very large contrast to the cold breeze that’s passing them every few moments and sending shivers down her spine.
Chicks live here when they are little so that they are kept warm and snug. Also babies sometimes are in incubators but if they are in there too long they can have problems like with their eyes. Mrs. First needed a glass eye because of it. I like to be incubated because I like to be warm I do not like to be be cold.
Martin looked into the incubator; the baby was sleeping fitfully. This was exciting but scary; no one had ever cloned a human before and they had to watch this new life carefully.
She had been in there for almost two weeks, getting stronger everyday. I watched from the behind the glass as my sister toughed her small hands. Fingernails smaller than a half grain of rice. It was magical. And heartbreaking.
The bubbles upset him. The liquid burned his eyes, but he couldn’t blink. If he blinked, they would see him moving, so he stared ahead and breathed in slowly, hoping the liquid would stop burning. Please stop burning. I can’t stand this. Lights swam in his vision as the figures in starched coats and gloves walked in and out of his field of view.
“Ok, Lizzy, I’ve got ya back, but don’t ever go back to-”
“A-lookin’ for me, John-oh?”
“It’s JOHNNY, ya fuckstick.”
“I don’t give a FUCKSTICK. Suck all the dildos ya want, you’ll never be able to compare to, eh, uh, Lizz-loh here.”
Lizzy gasped in horror. “A stripper? Hell no!” She lunged toward him, only to unleash unto him a grasp of black magick, which would choke him for an eternity of time. But with lack magic, come the horror… Johnny unzipped and started toward Lizzy.
“Eh, bae. Maybe’ah this one wont be in the incubay-tah, ehh?”
“Oh, Johnny! I love you, SOOOOO much.”
“Zip it, flipshit.”
“It’s YOUR fault the babies in the… The…”
Livvy let out a wail following a trail of sobs, as Johnny reluctantly consoled her.
The baby, my baby. my daughter, lay there, her small – too small – body flushed from the heat of the incubator. At last, she opened her eyes opened her eyes and the sight of her blue orbs peering up at me, her gaze filled with such openness, such undiluted trust, that, had I not already been laying down, would have brought me to my knees.
“Have you picked a name yet?” the nurse asked, her voice loud in the silence of the room.
I wet my lips. “Miranda,” I said, not moving my eyes from her.
The baby slept, its breathing, in and out, in and out, sighing away on the path to the longer dreamt of life. She felt tired. The people surrounded her, their faces filled with what she would come to know as concern: it meant nothing to her. She was cold and hungry. What more was there?
Life is our hope for a future, life is our fear of disappointments, life is our love for the new adventures which await us every day. Given, that we live.
Eggs lay next to each other, separated only by the soft fabric squished between them. They’re warm to the touch, filled with tiny lives. My hand rests on one. What life will it hold? How will it live? Will it live to question what it is, and why?
Incubator seems like a large word, yet it has a meaning, a story, a past. Incubator can be related to a person, because we all have a past that is hidden by the littlest of movements. A simple
The man had a body in the incubator; you can tell by it’s hand moving across the glass cylinder. It was breathing abnormally causing it to move in furious manner.. The man pressed some buttons in hope that the gas he was releasing would calm the thing.
lawd jesus listen to my prayer
my surroundings got me surrounded
in an army of haters
my mind has me minding
tho not my creaters
all this
shit just for the paper
but my temper could end it
bringin a new peace
and poverty
staying warm with these loose leafs
its robbery
what they get away wit
there’s a new theif
hiding in sight
no reason in keeping
identity secret
like its cool beans
but im shielded
and stored
like how you do cheese
chillin
with a few G’s
30 niggas livin like how they do me
and we gonna do we
to survive in that
murderous rhymes and caps
you snakes aint Severous
you just lie in grass
wait till food arrives
wit knives and bats
to kick the fuck out you
aimed at all eyes and ass
7.62
pointed at ya nipple
rifle so big i gotta lay down to blast
recoil can get you
hear the pop
see the ripples roll down my back
security
The woman in the tube was unconcious, which was probably all the better for her when Jack thought about. She floated in the green goo, attached to wires in various places, most likely for breathing and nutrients purposes. The incubator itself was also attached to a larger machine by wires.
It’s crazy how something so small can hold so many things
She stared at the incubator, admiring the little flowers inside of it.
Buying that thing was definetely the best idea she’s had all year, even if mom said otherwise.
She loved it with all her soul.
“The Mexican. . . is familiar with death, jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it; it is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love. True, there is perhaps as much fear in his attitude as in that of others, but at least death is not hidden awe….Death as nostalgia, rather than as the fruition or end of life, is death as origin. The ancient, original source is the grave, not a womb.” – Octavio Paz
“Oh.” I bite my lip, pulling the skin off slowly until it stings. I run my tongue over the stinging slit in my lip. “How long do they have to stay in there?”
“‘Til they hatch, I’m guessin’,” Chaz says, shrugging. “I ain’t never done this before. Joe’s always the one messin’ with the eggs and chicks. I’m more a horse man myself.”
I look at the corded muscles of his arms, his veins like small rope rising up beneath his skin as he flexes and moves, the way his jeans clutch just right along his bow-legs. My stomach warms and my face heats up so I peel another piece of skin off my lip and lick it until the pain ebbs. Yeah. He’s a horse man.
“What?” Chaz asks.
I shrug. “Nothing. I – Nevermind.” I kick into the dirt with my sneakers, avoiding his gaze, but I feel him watching me. His gaze permeates my skin, touches me physically. God, can’t he be less…present? “Let’s go,” I say, turning on my heels. “Auntie’s probably waiting.”
I don’t give him time to say a word and take off for the old farmhouse.
A robot cat that live in the incubator, in 60 seconds, it will bust open and attack the stupid director. You better start running, it is program to GET YOU. YOU! YOU!
She looked out over the lab through the inky black-blue waves. Everything was distorted, shimmering; she couldn’t make out any faces, just the blinking lights on the instruments. She was almost ready. She could feel it in her skin.
Sometimes I still feel the warm surface of the incubator as it kept the body of my baby girl warm and dry, her little face hidden beneath a tiny mask that helped her breathe. She was such a tiny thing, so perfect in every way. But so sick. So doomed.
when i was in 12th grade biology we hatched a bunch of eggs in an incubator. Mostly chicken but a few pheasants. I preferred the chickens over the pheasants. the pheasants were gold or silver and bueatiful, but the chickens were fluffy and yellow and adorable. it made me so happy to see their little moist selves dry after hatching and walk about the inside of the incubator which kept them at the optimal temperature.
There were souls in that incubator, the mastery house of the head of that psycho person that bend in halves and touched my hair was creeping me out. I nearly die when I though of the touch of that skin next to me. Those eyes, greyish, souless and lifeless, the pain in that hair and the colorful rainbows ahead in real life.
They were desperate for a child. So many years of trying only to have that same pain a few months into the pregnancy. Now they had a little baby girl lying in an incubator while they prayed for her.
There he laid, tinier than you could ever imagine. He was the most beautiful thing in the world, but terror gripped her heart as she watched all the machines flash and move in sync with his tiny body. She knew he would come of the machines one by one, well she believed. She had total security and a future in her tiny son – he was still the only way out of this mess. It was just a matter of waiting and hoping, being there with him everyday to support and love the bundle in front of her, his life may have begun for all the wrong reasons but now she cherished him regardless of her situation. Motherhood had changed her and that was the scariest thing of all.
The child came screaming from one womb and was put into another. The incubator was his new home, life. He looked content, and Edward wondered if his underdeveloped lungs nothered him.
it’s like a jungle, fighting in the jungle, i can’t see because someone shot out my eyes, and there are bugs crawling on me, i feel smaller, so much smaller, i can’t speak, help, i see only red. just red.
Her lungs were shriveled incubators of disease—filled to the brim with blood and mucus, burning the back of her throat with cough after painful cough.
If i keep stressing out and worrying about this heart condition pretty soon i’ll be on an incubator with no time to worry. is being on an incubator better that breathing on your own?
Eggs pale white glowing glowing golden orange. Rouged fetus struggling for the air it’s lungs are not ready to hold.
Incubation. such a peculiar way of doing things. Warming something up so it is not destroyed by natural selection as it should be. Using a machine to substitute for the touch of the parent. Here’s to never knowing how that child feels.
An incubator is an instrument that provides heat. New babies delivered early will be kept inside an incubator for extra care. Now a days, incubators are even used to hatch chicken eggs in farms.
I think back to 1st grade when we hatched eggs in my science class. The eggs were kept in an incubator and after the eggs hatched, one of hte new chicks had to stay in the incubator to stay alive. It helped sustain its life, do what its MOm was not there to do. Keep it warm so that it could grow big and strong and live a long time.
you think its so simple at first.
you think you can handle it all.
I suppose we are fearless without knowledge.
we can do anything, we can be anything
and then they put you in an incubator because you’re not ready for the world yet.
I was ready to put the eggs into the incubator when my father stomped in, purple in the face and noticeably sweating from the sideburns down, soaking his neck with his own sea salt.
“Forget chicks,” he wheezed, wiping his steaming chin with his sleeve. “Your mother wants an omelet, stat.”
I stared. “Pregnancy cravings?”
“A huge fucking omelet!” my father gasped. “Fucking STAT!”
the idea for my novel has been locked in an incubator. it’s my mind. it’s warm in there, but things aren’t born from there. i need to find a way to get them out of the incubator and on the page. this is a start.
When someone offers you their heart it’s your job to keep it warm. Leave it out in the cold it will slowly seize up and die. So hold it close to your chest and never forget the responsibility you’ve been handed.
He put it back into the incubator, and closed the lid. After seven years of research, it looked like he had finally succeeded. A small, warm, breathing, living reproduction of the greatest man his species had ever known. Now the future would have a second chance…
Her hand is over his heart, and she can feel the warmth radiating off of him in waves. It’s a very large contrast to the cold breeze that’s passing them every few moments and sending shivers down her spine.
Lizzy watched her baby, now plump and heavy, be pulled out of the incubator. It blubbered, though not crying, “Uh-mama-mama-ma!
Chicks live here when they are little so that they are kept warm and snug. Also babies sometimes are in incubators but if they are in there too long they can have problems like with their eyes. Mrs. First needed a glass eye because of it. I like to be incubated because I like to be warm I do not like to be be cold.
Martin looked into the incubator; the baby was sleeping fitfully. This was exciting but scary; no one had ever cloned a human before and they had to watch this new life carefully.
She had been in there for almost two weeks, getting stronger everyday. I watched from the behind the glass as my sister toughed her small hands. Fingernails smaller than a half grain of rice. It was magical. And heartbreaking.
The bubbles upset him. The liquid burned his eyes, but he couldn’t blink. If he blinked, they would see him moving, so he stared ahead and breathed in slowly, hoping the liquid would stop burning. Please stop burning. I can’t stand this. Lights swam in his vision as the figures in starched coats and gloves walked in and out of his field of view.
“Ok, Lizzy, I’ve got ya back, but don’t ever go back to-”
“A-lookin’ for me, John-oh?”
“It’s JOHNNY, ya fuckstick.”
“I don’t give a FUCKSTICK. Suck all the dildos ya want, you’ll never be able to compare to, eh, uh, Lizz-loh here.”
Lizzy gasped in horror. “A stripper? Hell no!” She lunged toward him, only to unleash unto him a grasp of black magick, which would choke him for an eternity of time. But with lack magic, come the horror… Johnny unzipped and started toward Lizzy.
“Eh, bae. Maybe’ah this one wont be in the incubay-tah, ehh?”
“Oh, Johnny! I love you, SOOOOO much.”
“Zip it, flipshit.”
“It’s YOUR fault the babies in the… The…”
Livvy let out a wail following a trail of sobs, as Johnny reluctantly consoled her.
The baby, my baby. my daughter, lay there, her small – too small – body flushed from the heat of the incubator. At last, she opened her eyes opened her eyes and the sight of her blue orbs peering up at me, her gaze filled with such openness, such undiluted trust, that, had I not already been laying down, would have brought me to my knees.
“Have you picked a name yet?” the nurse asked, her voice loud in the silence of the room.
I wet my lips. “Miranda,” I said, not moving my eyes from her.
The baby slept, its breathing, in and out, in and out, sighing away on the path to the longer dreamt of life. She felt tired. The people surrounded her, their faces filled with what she would come to know as concern: it meant nothing to her. She was cold and hungry. What more was there?
Life is our hope for a future, life is our fear of disappointments, life is our love for the new adventures which await us every day. Given, that we live.
Eggs lay next to each other, separated only by the soft fabric squished between them. They’re warm to the touch, filled with tiny lives. My hand rests on one. What life will it hold? How will it live? Will it live to question what it is, and why?
Incubator seems like a large word, yet it has a meaning, a story, a past. Incubator can be related to a person, because we all have a past that is hidden by the littlest of movements. A simple
The man had a body in the incubator; you can tell by it’s hand moving across the glass cylinder. It was breathing abnormally causing it to move in furious manner.. The man pressed some buttons in hope that the gas he was releasing would calm the thing.
lawd jesus listen to my prayer
my surroundings got me surrounded
in an army of haters
my mind has me minding
tho not my creaters
all this
shit just for the paper
but my temper could end it
bringin a new peace
and poverty
staying warm with these loose leafs
its robbery
what they get away wit
there’s a new theif
hiding in sight
no reason in keeping
identity secret
like its cool beans
but im shielded
and stored
like how you do cheese
chillin
with a few G’s
30 niggas livin like how they do me
and we gonna do we
to survive in that
murderous rhymes and caps
you snakes aint Severous
you just lie in grass
wait till food arrives
wit knives and bats
to kick the fuck out you
aimed at all eyes and ass
7.62
pointed at ya nipple
rifle so big i gotta lay down to blast
recoil can get you
hear the pop
see the ripples roll down my back
security
The woman in the tube was unconcious, which was probably all the better for her when Jack thought about. She floated in the green goo, attached to wires in various places, most likely for breathing and nutrients purposes. The incubator itself was also attached to a larger machine by wires.
It’s crazy how something so small can hold so many things
She stared at the incubator, admiring the little flowers inside of it.
Buying that thing was definetely the best idea she’s had all year, even if mom said otherwise.
She loved it with all her soul.
File under research:
“The Mexican. . . is familiar with death, jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it; it is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love. True, there is perhaps as much fear in his attitude as in that of others, but at least death is not hidden awe….Death as nostalgia, rather than as the fruition or end of life, is death as origin. The ancient, original source is the grave, not a womb.” – Octavio Paz
#categories #catalysts #catacombs
“So… What’s that?”
“The incubator.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, pulling the skin off slowly until it stings. I run my tongue over the stinging slit in my lip. “How long do they have to stay in there?”
“‘Til they hatch, I’m guessin’,” Chaz says, shrugging. “I ain’t never done this before. Joe’s always the one messin’ with the eggs and chicks. I’m more a horse man myself.”
I look at the corded muscles of his arms, his veins like small rope rising up beneath his skin as he flexes and moves, the way his jeans clutch just right along his bow-legs. My stomach warms and my face heats up so I peel another piece of skin off my lip and lick it until the pain ebbs. Yeah. He’s a horse man.
“What?” Chaz asks.
I shrug. “Nothing. I – Nevermind.” I kick into the dirt with my sneakers, avoiding his gaze, but I feel him watching me. His gaze permeates my skin, touches me physically. God, can’t he be less…present? “Let’s go,” I say, turning on my heels. “Auntie’s probably waiting.”
I don’t give him time to say a word and take off for the old farmhouse.
A robot cat that live in the incubator, in 60 seconds, it will bust open and attack the stupid director. You better start running, it is program to GET YOU. YOU! YOU!
She looked out over the lab through the inky black-blue waves. Everything was distorted, shimmering; she couldn’t make out any faces, just the blinking lights on the instruments. She was almost ready. She could feel it in her skin.
Sometimes I still feel the warm surface of the incubator as it kept the body of my baby girl warm and dry, her little face hidden beneath a tiny mask that helped her breathe. She was such a tiny thing, so perfect in every way. But so sick. So doomed.
when i was in 12th grade biology we hatched a bunch of eggs in an incubator. Mostly chicken but a few pheasants. I preferred the chickens over the pheasants. the pheasants were gold or silver and bueatiful, but the chickens were fluffy and yellow and adorable. it made me so happy to see their little moist selves dry after hatching and walk about the inside of the incubator which kept them at the optimal temperature.
There were souls in that incubator, the mastery house of the head of that psycho person that bend in halves and touched my hair was creeping me out. I nearly die when I though of the touch of that skin next to me. Those eyes, greyish, souless and lifeless, the pain in that hair and the colorful rainbows ahead in real life.
They put babies in an incubator. That’s about all that comes to mind. Sometimes they hatch baby chickens in incubators too. Nice and warm I guess.
They were desperate for a child. So many years of trying only to have that same pain a few months into the pregnancy. Now they had a little baby girl lying in an incubator while they prayed for her.
There he laid, tinier than you could ever imagine. He was the most beautiful thing in the world, but terror gripped her heart as she watched all the machines flash and move in sync with his tiny body. She knew he would come of the machines one by one, well she believed. She had total security and a future in her tiny son – he was still the only way out of this mess. It was just a matter of waiting and hoping, being there with him everyday to support and love the bundle in front of her, his life may have begun for all the wrong reasons but now she cherished him regardless of her situation. Motherhood had changed her and that was the scariest thing of all.
The child came screaming from one womb and was put into another. The incubator was his new home, life. He looked content, and Edward wondered if his underdeveloped lungs nothered him.