Shunting blood from vessel to vessel the phlebotomist takes about five hundred millilitres of me and stows it away for future use. Joke’s on you, though, because my body will have replaced the plasma component in a day or two and the red cells in a few weeks. And in any case my body is constantly engaged in a process of replacing that which I gave up.
This is how I’ve always played it: a bet each way and, more importantly, never commit to anything.
p = mv, momentum = monotony x trajectory: this is god’s equation, not fractals, with their endless barycentric subdivisions of pumpernickel that reveal yet more pumpernickel.
Tap my arm, then, and squirt me into your little silicone tubes. Watch the coagulation cascade take told of my cells and shake them into place, but you know that I haven’t given you anything that can be traced back to me, right?
What you’ve got there is DNA-free, and the last great thing I learned wasn’t hidden in my genes: I remembered how to make people shiver.
Written on Monday, 5 August 2013