NEW POETRY: SIGNZ by NEW:::POETRY

NEW ::: POETRY

POETRY: STANISLAV LAUK-DUBITSKY V. LOBOS, DANIEL THOMAS MORAN & ELEONORE BLAUROCK-BUSCH AND SHANTI ELKE BANNWART, F. BRAHMI, RICHARD BERLIN, ANDREW KIRK, NARRATIVE THOMAS GIBBS, PHOTO CYRUS MCEACHERN AND OTHERS...

YKSTIBUD-KUAL VALSINATS :YRTEOP NAROM SAMOHT LEINAD ,IGIL AIRA HCSUB-KCORUALB ERONOELE & ,TRAWNNAB EKLE ITNAHS DNA ,NILREB DRAHCIR ,IMHARB .F - EVITARRAN ,KRIK WERDNA - OTOHP ,SBBIG SAMOHT NREHCAECM SURYC ...SREHTO DNA

ISSUE 1|2015 SUBERs

NUMBERRY

rebuse

memory hack

A GMams I AN a g r an

a le

PESs Y T OSriddle G LOsual vi

s Ru

n sia

JARGO

N E.Iints T T h LAatin L

SUBMISSION

GUIDELINES Dear colleagues, we accept submissions from scientists and doctors from all around the globe. You can send us poems, articles, tales, fiction and non-fiction, photos, illustrations and fine-art, courses and riddles. The o n l y re q u i re m e n t s a re quality of content and, of course, novelty, because we don't like to publish reprints.

signz@newpoetry.net

T ABLE OF CONTENTS

OEUVRE CADABRA

CREATIVE STUFF MADE BY SCIENTISTS FROM DIFFERENT AREAS OF KNOWLEDGE

FOR THE FIRST ISSUE OF 2015

POETRY: STANISLAV LAUK-DUBITSKY, VICTOR LOBOS LOBOS, DANIEL THOMAS MORAN, ELEONORE BLAUROCK-BUSCH, SHANTI ELKE BANNWART, FRAN BRAHMI, RICHARD BERLIN, ANDREW KIRK. PROSE: THOMAS GIBBS. PHOTO-ART: CYRUS MCEACHERN AND OTHERS...

SCOPIUM | 23-24

GAMET

CREATIVE PHOTO-ART STUFF WITH SURREALISTIC IMAGES MADE BY SCIENTISTS BY MICROSCOPE.

FREE POCKET BOARD GAME WITH HARD-CORE RULES. IT'S READY TO PRINT AND SEND VIA POST SERVICE.

MEMORSE

REBUSTERS

LEARNING TIPS WITH HIGH CLASS MNEMONICS FOR HARD TO MEMORIZE SCIENTIFIC TERMINOLOGY AND LATIN.

ANIGMA

MEANINGFUL ANAGRAMS WITHIN A SPECIAL POEM.

LOGOSTYPES

SUBER

POETIC RIDDLES WITH ALL LETTERS' VISUALIZATION.

HARD-CORE REBUSES FOR SUPER-HEROES.

CREATIVE STUFF MADE BY SCIENTISTS FROM DIFFERENT AREAS OF KNOWLEDGE

LATTE.IN

NUMBERRY

JARGO

EDITORIAL STAFF

ADVISARY BOARD

No portion of this electronic magazine may be reproduced in any other form or by any means, except for the purposes of review, without the prior consent of the appropriate copyright owner.

Stan Lauk-Dubitsky Aria Ligi

Victor Lobos Saavedra Daniel Thomas Moran

For Questions & Oﬀers: signz@newpoetry.net For Submission: submission@newpoetry.net

LEARN LATIN PREFIXES WITH SMART HINTS

SYSTEM FOR COMFORT NUMBERS' MEMORIZING

LEARN SCI-TERMS OF FOREIGHN LANGUAGE

B O O K S P U B L I S H I N G C O M PA N Y

MAGAZINE FOR PRETTY MINDS

What is THE SIGNZ magazine and why we created it. First of all the magazine is a playground for people from the editorial staff where they can share their creative stuff, thoughts and examples / teasers of projects, all for readers. Then it is special place for authors (retired or practicing scientists and doctors) who needs more from their current job and wants to expand the horizons of self-expression with joy and enthusiasm, in other words... we're welcome all kinds of geeks, insane (-/+) geniuses and out-of-the-box thinkers. Why? Because we think that old era of interdisciplinary titans and grand-masters of science and art is indisputably awesome, especially in comparison with the modern "monkology 0f mediocrity". So our motto is "the more you create the more you can get from your brains". And finally let's figure out what tasty mind candies we cooked 4 you. STAN LAUK-DUBITSKY. Senior editor

THE WORD | The marriage of polemics and science When John Keats went to medical school to become an apothecary in 1815 he had no idea that he would leave both his mentorship (he was an apprentice to the physician Thomas Hammond) and medical school to devote his life to poetry. Yet, if we look at his medical journals during that time, the margins are filled with lines of poetry. Keats found solace in writing, as his days were filled with the noxious smells of corpses, as well as the screams and wails of the afflicted (upon whom he was asked to practice the art of medicine). One must remember that anesthetics (aside from alcohol) were not used in abundance, and so he was expected to cut into limbs and cavities without the patient being sedated. One cannot help but sympathize then, with his need to find not only an external peace, but an internal one as well. Keats though is not an anomaly. Chekhov, William Carolos Williams, Mikhail Bulgakov, and Somerset Maugham all studied medicine. In fact this trend dates back from antiquity, to modern times. There is a long list in fact of writers who were in fact physicians as well is poets which starts from Ctesias, 5 Century B.C. Avicenna, 980-1037 (Middle Ages) to Biernat of Lublin, (15th Century Polish poet, Fabulist and Physician) Jan Brożek 16th Century Mathematician, astronomer, poet, physician, writer, and musician. The 17th Century had Sir Henry Vaughn, Welsh metaphysican and poet, eighteenth century, had of course Keats, while the Nineteenth century has a long litany of poet/physicians including Chekhov, and the previously mentioned Somerset Maugham.

The twentieth century had the likes of Alaa Al Aswany, a poet and dentist, while in the twentieth century there has been an upsurge of poets and writers including Richard Mounce, endodontist and magazine writer, as well as Steve Hacker, dermatologist and author. Given this, what is the connection between poetry and science? Is it that physicians are privy to the extreme sorrows and sometimes joys, of human life? Or is that in doing something so intricate (and sometimes repugnant, such as the removal of a tumor, or repairing a splintered hip) they find beauty neath layers of skin, ligaments and bone? And in doing that, in delving into areas, which most would find odious, do they discover a grandeur seen by few? Are these tableaus for creating myths, metaphors, and connections between finely attenuated threads lightly fluid luminous tendons opaque and pulsing with life, and in doing so, transform these images from the grotesque to the divine? Or are these things, a prayer if you will; a therapeutic elegy which allows them to continue in their calling, to help those, who without their skill and bravery would surely die? Poetry in this sense is a release, a comfort, letting them float above the temporal plane, and thus find an area between the corporeal and divine. That they can then, come back and transpose into words, much like the Impressionists did with colors and oils nuances of form and thought, is a testament to how the mind adapts, not only making sense of pain and suffering, but allowing the reader to as well.

ARIA LIGI. Poetry editor

POETRY: STANISLAV LAUK-DUBITSKY VICTOR LOBOS SAAVEDRA, DANIEL THOMAS MORAN ELEONORE BLAUROCK-BUSCH AND SHANTI ELKE BANNWART, CAROL LYNN STEVENSON GRELLAS FRANK BRAHMI, RICHARD BERLIN, ANDREW KIRK, NARRATIVE: THOMAS GIBBS PHOTO: CYRUS MCEACHERN ART: PATRICIA DAHER

OEUVRE CADABRA - CREATIVE STUFF MADE BY SCIENTISTS

special art sign for a creative stuďŹ&#x20AC; and for an author

STAN LAUK-DUBITSKY POETRY |- POISONNET | YOUR NAME -| Biologist and post-graduate student in Centre of Biomedical Technologies of FMBA Russia. Senior Editor and publisher of this magazine, My current research project is in Cryobiology area (authomated systems for cryopreservation of ograns and grafts). Extra: biology (stem cells), genetics, bioinformatics, poetry, prose, translation work, linguistics, mnemonics, art, design (web, print), photography, board-games, coding, coaching, puzzles... P.S. single :) Skype: newpoetry.net | E-mail: stan@lauk.me Linkedin / Facebook: .../stanlauk

a scientist of interdisciplinary research area

NODD

YOUR NAME Stone drops of decay herald the abrasive music of the night the muffled screams of heartbeats won't hold back the ax, the blade, the right, to your failed retreat, to the echoing of tweets. Someone sings to his knife, to his song and by-the-by in the hollow, in the hush, holding hearts alone he'll howl, he'll thread valedictory tones. Wish, wheesh the steel groans its way through flesh, tick tock, tick tock – your name swings pendulous within the eternal traps of clocks. Tick and tock, again, your name in father's chords, in mother's veins, riding on a run of thoughts. The belly of the tides... holds tight the run of my words. Beneath the under-light we find the running of my eyes! Step by step, into darkness hide, into darkness burns the flame in which tears divide the two of us. Your name inhales, and inhales, agonies and again, shivers by the shivering. I walk back through, for divine fever, malady divine, to give myself to loss, to the name of yours, that which will grant me grace. The noise is the rustling of feathers, the coming of the Lord of snakes, heralded by that same dark run. The song for those who are brave, the lines ascend to the name, that name which you lost under your grave...

POISONNET In the last empty maze I left you for lust... For regular shades, the stem's thorned ladders Only after my fall to the mired fault's meadows My memory showed you, I'm pulled to the past! I saw scarlet flowers, your loneliness throne, And tasted bitter pollens of dead unread letters! I felt insane nectar, your sweet perfumed ghetto! I feared the bees – those blind slaves, all your own... Yet I crept towards you in the depth of night's fires. I saw eight shadows, as I blink, in the dances And a cross on your back... you poured honey on lances. The spider!...Widow of darkened wings and white eyes. Oh, please! Catch my heart in your sweet-poisoned net, it will be your willing butterfly-marionette.

STANISLAW LAUK-DUBITSKY

VICTOR LOBOS SAAVEDRA |- WAYS OF KEEPING YOU -| (or Just wishful thinking) Senior Editor of the NEW ::: POETRY LAS (Latin American & Spanish edition), translator, poet, writer; and also he is a psychologist and psychodynamic psychotherapist (Catholic University at Santiago de Chile)

a scientist of psychology & psychiatry areas

MENS

WAYS OF KEEPING YOU (OR JUSR WISHFUL THINKING) Before you vanish into thin air Like a faint ghost, Like something that never was, I have to strip you off Completely naked Of your soul. You haven’t got to be a human being, Just a piece of flesh, a pretty stone, A beast to hunt and devour, To become real again. So I turn myself into a big hound And lick every precious inch Of your ivory, sweaty skin With the length of my smoky tongue And bath you all in sweet saliva. But no, that’s too sweet! So I turn into a hungry wolf, Alfa-male claiming his undisputed right And bite your neck and tear you off And eat your flesh and blood Till the whiteness of your bones. But that’s too much! Stop now! You’re real enough! So now I am as tender as a babe And suckle your milky breast (Just torturing a little bit Your rosy, sensitive nips), And drink the moon in your eyes In ecstatic reverie...

But then you dissolve like a mirage again And I have to turn myself Into the cruellest psycho-murderer And split your agonizing body In two at the trembling waist, And then cut your limbs off And then your singing head, Till there’s nothing left except Tiny bloody pieces of fresh meat That I wrap up in glossy Christmas paper And hide under my lonely bed. I think to myself That this is getting Pretty extreme. I need to find a point of balance Between too harsh and too sweet Or I’ll lose you for ever, So I transform my own shaky self Into a master of ropes and whips That’s terribly clever. And now your collared, gagged, Tied soul and flesh Hang swinging naked From my own ceiling, So that I can kiss you and spank you And ask you if you are O.K.

VICTOR LOBOS SAAVEDRA

DANIEL THOMAS MORAN |- MINDING THE PITS | INTELLEGENT DESIGN -|

BS in Biology & Doctorate in Dental Surgery. Retired Clinical Assistant Professor at Boston University's School of Dental Medicine and Poet Laureate. He is the author of seven volumes of poetry, "A Shed for Wood", was published by the Salmon Poetry in Ireland and "Looking for the Uncertain Past", was published by Poetry Salzburg at The University of Salzburg in 2006. Web: http://www.danielthomasmoran.net

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

INTELLIGENT DESIGN For Christopher Hitchens I cannot give much credence to divine intervention,  Even at the risk of my defying a redemption.  But I have faith that it would be wholly mistakable,  To endorse any god who’d make a bone that was breakable.

MINDING THE PITS for Catherine Arcure An olive and an apricot contain a day that was dry and hot. And drops of mist by clouds relieved, Like the brackish tears the widow grieved. For them did poets dare invent, A word so rare as succulent. Yet in their heart there lives alone, This silent and solitary stone. As dense as any secret be, Until one reﬂects upon the tree.

Daniel Thomas Moran

E. BLAUROCK-BUSCH |-SESTINA FOR 3 SIBLINGS AND A DOG-| PhD (metal toxicology and human nutrition) Research director in Micro Trace Minerals Analytical Laboratory (Ger). She is a founding member and co-chairman of the International Association of Trace Element Research and Cancer, a scientiďŹ c advisor to the International Board of Clinical Metal Toxicology (IBCMT) and to the German Medical Association for Clinical Metal Toxicology. She is a member of the European Academy for Environmental Medicine and the British Society for Ecological Medicine.

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

SESTINA FOR THREE SIBLINGS AND A DOG Before the crackling fire sprawled the dog and vintage wine was served, the one she loved and rarely shared. The older brother bored with cancer details, hormonal treatment, thoughts about survival. The sister glanced outside. December snow fell on the pond outside. She slit the mackerel and watched the dog, her younger brother gulped the wine he needed for survival and bragged about the vehicle he loved, it's special motor, brakes and fancy details, the leather seats he never shared. He pulled another bottle of Bordeaux his sister shared. December snow turned into rain outside, he reminisced about the winery and listed details. She took a sip and stroked the yawning dog she cared about and truly loved, more than her brothers' damned survival. She'd written poetry about survival and quietly recited while her brothers shared some soccer news about a club they loved. December rain turned into ice outside. She went into the garden with the dog, escaping irksome details, about midfielders, details on atrial fibrillation and survival. She nearly slipped and called the dog who brought a stick he gladly shared. December grew into icicles outside, she picked one, threw it in the pond she loved and watched how stars changed shapes. She loved the moving light, the sound, the ever changing details. December blanketed the pond outside. She thought about the fish, the frogs' survival, her visions, views she never shared with any of her brothers, but the dog.

Eleonore Blaurock-Busch

SHANTI E. BANNWART POETRY |- I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT -| Psychotherapist MA, LPCC M.F.A. in Creative Writing, Writer, Author, Writing Coach, Counselor and Certiﬁed Professional & Personal Life-Coach C.P.C.C.m 'PAIRS' Master Teacher for Psycho Educational Relationship Training, Licensed IMAGO Relationship Therapist, National and international workshop leader and presenter, AHMA American Holistic Medical Association.

a scientist of psychology & psychiatry areas

MENS

Shanti Elke Bannwart I want to write About Creative Art And how it tears us apart. About the fire that scorches the heart. About mistakes that turn into art. About the medicine that heals the scar. About the crack in the jarr and About the delight of creating About the pleasure of mating About audacious flight towards light beyond the boundries of wrong and right. I want to write about creativity with its clay feet on the ground, and its squabbles between square and round. Its messy outbursts, and smelly piddlings Its failures and mediocre fiddlings Its piercing doubts and lousy moods Its sharp-edged rocks in worn out boots. About its lust for fame. And disgust for the same-old-same. I want to write about creativity, How it gives shape to the dreams of a child or to the cravings of the wild Self during dreadful doubt When hungry ghosts rumble and shout . I want to pose my questions to YOU and to the angels as well as the the grusome forces of the Dark. Where shadows and brilliance meet We artists stomp with enormous feet Across the glowing ember Remember….?

FRAN BRAHMI |- INTIMACY | IF | HYDRANGEAS -| PhD (information sciences) and MA (English)

N/A NO PERSONAL INFORMATION

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

Fran Brahmi INTIMACY Like sand castles Left behind Abandoned to Lapping waves Slowly Lap by lap Until No trace Is left Just Rounded mounds of Sand.

IF If only we were like hydrangeas In the summer heat Easily revived By cool droplets Of an unexpected rain, bowed heads rise leaves no longer droop And we thrive.

HYDRANGEAS A heaviness dissipates ďŹ&#x201A;atness animates and darkness lightens in shades of grey. I wonder: . . . . . . . . . . . .

C. L. Stevenson Grellas ODALISQUE, AN AUBADE: LOVE POEM Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas is a seven-time Pushcart nominee as well as a four-time Best of the Net nominee. She is the 2012 winner of the Red Ochre Press Chapbook contest with her manuscript Before I Go to Sleep.She has authored several chapbooks along with her latest full-length collection of poems: Hasty Notes in No Particular Order, newly released from Aldrich Press. Her work has appeared in a wide variety of online and print magazines including: The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, Poets and Artists, War, Literature and the Arts and many more. According to family lore she is a direct descendent of Robert Louis Stevenson.

a guest star with professional poetry expirience

STAR

ODALISQUE, AN AUBADE: LOVE POEM What hour is this that brings a jaundiced glow? The sun has found us through the maidenhair disturbing all the camouflage of night to notify our rousing. Lady faire your window raps, intruders with perfume awakening each flower through the glass, where last a moon-rock’s shadow graced your hair obsidian’s dim blackish veil will pass. And I must find a purpose to go on another day to mourn, your devotee. As if the evening’s gift of this soiree− one last remembrance left will set me free. My love I fear a death unless you’re near unworthy as I am, you must comply. Without you I’ll surrender to the day a daunting life alone and surely die. Oh listen, hear the harpsichord, it plays; our opus is a symphony for two and though I am a shameful fool, succumb before a moment winks the morning through− or solitude will push throughout my veins. A spirit without verve won’t feel at all, so blinded by the loneliness, I’ll chide the atmosphere that yields a life to pall. Since nothing of my life will ever grow beyond this longing tarnishing my soul. If blooming till the bursting is replete, the probing bee, your drone, my queen this role− will only prove my valor by your side when close you lie beside me as obsessed am I, forgive me for my cowardice, yet you are like a goddess when undressed.

Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas

RICHARD M. BERLIN POETRY |- A HEADLONG ACT OF LOVE -| Board Certified Psychiatry, Psychotherapy, & Expert Psychopharmacology in the Berkshires The winner of numerous poetry awards, his first collection of poems "How JFK Killed My Father" won the Pearl Poetry Prize and was published by Pearl Editions. His second collection of poetry, "Secret Wounds" was published by BkMk Press. He is the author of more than sixty scientific papers and has edited Sleep Disorders in Psychiatric Practice and Poets on Prozac: Mental Illness, Treatment, and the Creative Process. He practices psychiatry in a small town in the Berkshire hills of western Massachusetts.

a scientist of psychology & psychiatry areas

MENS

A HEADLONG ACT OF LOVE -from a line by Pablo Neruda It was a headlong act of love when I kissed her. She was gone. No one could have saved her. The dialyzer hummed a little love song. The way I kissed her (she was gone) was a reﬂex, a hand to break my fall. The dialyzer hummed a little love song. No one saw us, the curtains were drawn. It was a reﬂex, a hand to break my fall. My mouth was on her lips! No one saw us, the curtains were drawn. I’m a man who doesn't take risks. My mouth was on her lips! I closed my eyes, but not for long. I’m a man who doesn't take risks. The corridor was quiet, it was close to dawn. I closed my eyes, but not for long. Her lips on mine felt soft and warm. The corridor was quiet, it was close to dawn. She was dead, but I sang her a song. Her lips on mine felt soft and warm. No one could have saved her. She was dead. I sang her a song— It was a headlong act of love.

Richard Berlin

ANDREW KIRK |- TROUBLE GIRL (for Persephone) -| Professor and Head of Neurology at the University of Saskatchewan.

He’s published short stories in Ars Medica, spring VI, Transition, Canadian Medical Association Journal, and The Canadian Journal of Neurological Sciences as well as having had a story broadcast on CBC Radio One’s SoundXchange. He’s also published creative non-ﬁction pieces in Doctor’s Review, The Medical Post, and Just For Canadian Doctorsand is on the editorial board of the Canadian Journal of Neurological Sciences.

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

TROUBLE GIRL (for Persephone)

Andrew Kirk

What in Hell were you thinking, Ms. P., when you swallowed those seeds? Those seeds like bloody little embryos? And why did you go with him anyway, That slick salesman uncle, charging down through that cleft in the dark earth, Usually seen in his chariot with midnight horses But maybe tattooed, all in leather, helmeted on his Harley? Wooed by Mercury, Mars, Apollo, Hephaestus, You had your pick of them – perhaps too safe they were And too approved by Mom (Besides, Hephaestus had that gimpy leg), And you wanted your bad boy to take you away to somewhere else, A place your mother didn’t know and wouldn’t follow For once you’d get some peace and quiet from her constant complaining. Yes you knew it wasn’t easy for her as a single mom (she’d told you that till your ears bled) And dear old Dad had never been seen since before your birth, Had roamed from Olympus to lie with nymphs, goddesses, ladies, and even boys But never came to visit Ms. P, never gave a damn. Now quarter-damned, you’ve troubled us all. Why anyway did He give you fruit in the underworld? Did He grow it there or steal it from mortals above, That slick one whose sham as a snake seduced your sister Eve To ﬁnish that fruit you’d started. Did you know when you tasted the slippery gel of those seeds what you were doing? Did you know your mother raved, seeking you far and wide? Raised on ambrosia and nectar, was taking a handful of pomegranate a suicide attempt, a gesture? Did you leave a note? Or did you want to stay down there? Was he not such a bad type anyway = Just misunderstood? And did you know what you were doing to us – That winter reigned above in your mother’s sorrow? Likely you didn’t care – How bad could it be in sunny Aegean Hellas anyway? But here in Ultima Thule, I trudge white feathers as you trudge cinders below. Why, in your teenaged angst did you have to cause us all this cold? Perhaps I’ll move to Costa Rica where no one knows your name.

THOMAS GIBBS PROSE |- IT AIN'T RIGHT -| Obstetrician gynecologist practicing in Orlando, Florida His most recent work has been accepted by Lee Gutkind for his anthology On Becoming a Doctor. My publications include; “Living Large” in The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine, 2009 “Growing Pains” in Stone Canoe, vol. 3, 2009 “Longing” in The Sylvan Echo, vol.1, issue 3, 2008, “Rites and Rituals” in Hospital Drive: A Journal of Reﬂective Practice in Word and Image, summer 2007, and “The Bruising” published in the Healing Muse: A Journal of Literary and Visual Arts, vol. 6, number 1, Fall 2006.

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

Thomas Gibbs

It Ain’t Right The office phone rang. “My baby isn’t moving?” Bethany said. The receptionist sensed the urgency and forwarded the call to my private line. I had seen Bethany the day before. Five days short of her due date she was happy. The pregnancy was almost over. It had been an uneventful nine months. She joked about how she hoped the baby would be big so she wouldn’t have to lose a lot of weight. She had come to my office as a teenager because her mother, also a patient of mine, wanted her to take good care of herself as she developed. Now in her late twenties, married, with a good job, everything was working out well. I had delivered her first baby, a girl, now a normal toddler. “Go directly to the hospital.” I said. “I’ll call and have them bring you straight back into triage and put you on the monitor. I’ll see you there.” When a baby stops moving near term, the fear is stillbirth. Sometimes a compromised fetus will stop moving just before dying. Fetal movement is a sign of wellbeing. Pregnant mothers complain about being awakened in the night by an active baby. They come to the office sleep deprived but understand this is just a precursor to bringing home a healthy baby who needs them in the night. The hospital nurse called me as soon as she placed Bethany in a room. I left the office, full of patients, and drove to the hospital, which was only five minutes away. One of the OB residents tried to find the fetal heartbeat with a Doppler and was pushing the sonogram machine toward the room when I walked in to assess the pregnancy. The exam rooms are small. You have to be careful not to hit the stretcher or equipment when opening the door. Fetal maternal monitors fill the wall at the head of the bed. There is little room to move around the bottom of the stretcher when breaking it down for an exam or reaching for instruments. Bethany turned toward me as I entered. Her grandmother stood on the other side of the exam table. The nurse, standing in the corner, waited for instructions. I took the transducer and placed it over Bethany’s pregnant fundus. The baby was still. Using the probe, I looked directly into the heart of the baby. The valves were not opening and closing; there was no flow of blood. In medicine this is called fetal demise. The term fails to describe the condition. The obstetrical specialty has developed protocols for preventing loss when women with diabetes or chronic hypertension become pregnant. We have improved outcomes for women with multiples, twins or triplets. Although we blame reproductive endocrinologists for implanting too many embryos, we know what to do. We provide dietary counsel for the morbidly obese. We provide antenatal monitoring to all pregnancies at risk. There are over one hundred neonatal beds attended by an excellent staff at our hospital. We are proud of our outcomes. But the unexpected still birth in a low risk healthy pregnancy is humbling to the obstetrician. I began to second guess my management. After twenty five years I am still caught off guard. I know there is nothing I can say or do. Bethany began to weep. Her grandmother had come in with her and did not expect this outcome. Standing at the side of the bed, she did know what to do. “I’m sorry, Bethany,” I said. “You did nothing wrong.” When I left the room, I could hear the two women behind the closed door. Their grief could not be contained. I arranged to send Bethany upstairs to the labor floor and begin an induction to deliver the baby. The hospital has formed a “grief team,” a group of nurses who help women who have lost pregnancies. Their job is to help the patient make arrangements for autopsies, funeral services, and to swaddle the baby and take pictures, “mementos” that help the mother to not think of their babies as abnormal or monstrous. The nurses wrap the baby in a blanket and cover its head with a knit hat. Sometimes the colors of the clothing are gendered blue and pink. Still, it is the obstetrician who passes the baby to the mother and talks to the extended family.

The first stillborn I ever delivered in private practice was not a patient of mine but one of a doctor I was covering. The mother had a healthy boy at home and this twin pregnancy had gone well. On admission to the hospital only one heartbeat was heard. I confirmed the loss with a sonogram. The mother was distraught and claimed she had felt them both moving throughout the day. The first twin I delivered was a perfect beautiful girl. She had blonde hair and porcelain skin. She never took a breath. The second baby, a boy, was born healthy. When the delivery and postpartum check was done I walked to the end of the hall in the surgical suite and stood over the scrub sink. I braced myself against the stainless steel. I struggled wondering if I had the strength to handle patients with losses like this one. I have often been asked to baptize a stillborn baby. My conflictions concerning these spiritual rituals are not important compared to a patient need. My disbelief in the carnal nature of man is no deterrent. I do what I can to help. I become a priest. I hold the baby in my left arm. I pull the blankets away from the baby’s head. With my right hand I take tap water from the faucet in the sink next to the patient. I watch droplets of this suddenly holy water fall from my hand onto the forehead of the baby. I hear myself saying, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.” I then pass the baby back to the father who stands next to me as I follow his wish, or to the mother still lying in bed wanting to stand but unable. I wondered how Bethany’s delivery would go. Her parents, divorced and remarried, were there with their new partners. I remembered the two of them together many years ago. I sensed some awkward tension outside of the room but next to the bed they focused on Bethany only. Both sets of grandparents had driven some distance to be supportive. They spoke little and stood away from the bed. It seemed more than they could bear. I grew up in a family that suffered from the results of difficult pregnancies. Only seven of my mother’s twelve pregnancies ended with healthy children. She suffered one loss, then another. Her fourth baby was born premature; too small, too early. There were no neonatal units to support him, no lifesaving Surfactin to help his lungs work, no neonatologists. Decades later when my grandbabies, twins, were delivered, the new technology helped. Lily weighed two pounds ten ounces. Placental insufficiency is the term we used, which meant her placenta had worn out. Her growth was restricted. Her twin, Thomas Joshua, was doing well. Still, to save the little one they both were delivered. Tiny tubes were placed in their lungs to help them breath, small catheters were placed in the umbilical cord for medication and monitoring. More lines were placed in their stomachs to feed them. A whole team of specialists, with skills that had not been developed when my brother was born, took care of them. The twins lived. My brother was not so fortunate. Mother wanted to name him after a family member. Father knew the boy would not live. He refused to have an important name taken by a baby soon to die. They settled on Brian. He did not live out the day on which he was born. I was the first healthy baby born after five previous problem pregnancies. As I grew, I came to understand how significant Brian’s death was to my mother. Although I do not remember the exact date, I do remember that each summer around the same time, Mother would ask if I wanted to go wade in the creek in Scott-at-Water. I knew what she meant; where she wanted to go. First we would first stop at the cemetery and go to the place under a big maple tree. This is where the babies were buried. There were many small plots--three feet by four--in the section for young children and infants. Small headstones marked each one. Grass had overgrown some markers. A few were not visible; the graves neglected. My mother never had trouble finding Brian. She would bend down and pull at the grass around the stone, cleaning the best she could. It read Brian Gibbs. There was no middle name engraved nor was there room for the date, or the fact that he died on his first day of life. After the visit to the grave, my mother would drive to the creek. As I waded in the shallows catching frogs and salamanders, my mother sat alone. Our drives home were silent. Her third pregnancy was delivered in a second-story procedure room of a local clinic in Cortland, New York, where my father practiced. After two days of labor, Mother delivered what my father called a blue baby. This time the boy was named Donald after my father. My mother doted on him, and tried her best to help him meet his milestones. My father did not attempt to dissuade her from believing that he was normal. She thought love and patience could help him overcome any challenge. Father went off to war and mother ignored the missed milestone.

She enrolled Donnie in kindergarten. She dressed him in brown slacks and a matching argyle sweater. He wore a brown cap with a small brim. Mother took his picture with a 35 mm lens, drove him to school in the blue Ford, and walked him to his classroom. He didn’t last the week. When my mother became ill during Donnie’s teenage years, she worried that he might unintentionally hurt one of the younger children. There had already been one or two incidents when serious harm could have occurred. She could not keep up with him or watch him all the time. Donnie ended up in the state mental hospital. When he came home for visits, he had a new vocabulary; words that I had never heard. He used them when taking a bath. I could hear them through the door or in my bedroom next to the bathroom. My parents would not speak about the words or how they thought my brother came to know them. I knew better than to ask again. I did wonder what my mother thought when she heard these words coming through the wall into her bedroom. I asked my friend Biffy Chapin what he thought about those words. I didn’t tell him why. He had some ideas about what they meant. So did Wayne, the preacher’s son. I realized that if they were right, someone was hurting Donnie; taking advantage of him. He could not defend himself. I was upset and confused. I didn’t understand how this could happen in a hospital, a place that helped people. When I was old enough to drive, I drove to the hospital to pick him up. He came out singing songs we sang at home and in church. But when I drove him back to the institution he crawled up in the fetal position and cried. Sometimes he would sit up, cuff the back of my head and tell me I was breaking Daddy’s boy’s heart. After driving through the gates and parking, I walked him up to the entrance of the New York State Mental Hospital. The guard opened the door and Donnie walked in without looking back. I could hear those words as he disappeared down a long dark hall. Driving home I tried to remember better times. Like the afternoons we spent in the family pool. He loved to wear my mother’s swimsuits. No one ever questioned his swimwear so long as he wore a suit and tie to church. He was the only boy in the family who didn’t complain about wearing a tie. I asked him once why he wore mother’s bathing suits. He said they felt good. He also felt compelled to officiate the rite of baptism by immersion on me. Standing in an elegant sky blue Esther Williams suit with three quarter sleeves, he would raise one hand to heaven and with the other he baptized me. I could hear, “I baptize you in the name---” as I went down under. I had to be alert because he always forgot to bring me up. I struggled to get my feet on the bottom and stand. He would get nervous and laugh when I yelled at him, “Donnie, watch it, will you? You’re going to drown me.” For the last twenty years he has lived in a community house. He is one of the highest functioning persons there. Some of the other residents wear helmets. The last time I visited Donnie he took me to his room and showed me his tie collection. A Yankees game was playing on the TV. His favorite player is Mickey Mantle. Donnie used to pretend he was Mantle. I remembered how he used a bat like a golf club and left the ball on the ground. It was the only way he could get a hit. At the seventh inning stretch, we stood together at the end of his bed in front of the television. I put my arm around his back. We followed the organ playing Take Me Out to the Ball Game at Yankee Stadium. He pumped his arm on the last line imitating the umpire, "for its one, two, three strikes you’re out at the ole ball game.” After Donnie, Mother gave birth to a girl. She suffered from canker sores that covered her mouth and throat. It was difficult to feed her. Later my mother told me she cried every night wondering how she would feed this baby. Margaret was anemic and struggled with fatigue when she went to elementary school. In high school she fainted when on her cycle. Then I was born and followed by three boys and two girls; all healthy. In my mother’s last pregnancy she went to my father’s office to confirm her condition. Uncle George, the lab tech, saw abnormal cells in my mother’s blood smear. He called his brother, my father, to the lab. Father looked under the microscope and saw the cancer in his pregnant wife’s blood; acute myelocytic leukemia. The next day he drove Mother to the cancer specialists at the university hospital in Syracuse. They stopped along Route 11, a country road, on the way to take photographs of the fall foliage. My mother loved the autumn colors and my father enjoyed using his wide angle lens on the Pentex. All his photographs were produced in slide format and we had regular shows at home, especially when visitors came to see us.

I wonder if the dread of hearing the news was what made them stop, or if they simply wanted to prolong the not knowing. But I do have a copy of one of those photographs. It sits on my desk. Mother is standing on a grassy shoulder; a forest of sugar maples rises up on the hills of the Finger Lakes behind her. The color spectrum is bright; it includes yellows and reds. Mother was very thin but she stood straight and tall in her soft butternut colored cashmere knit dress with a light mohair collar. Her coordinating ensemble included a wide-brimmed navy hat with matching gloves, purse, and shoes. The sky is not part of the photograph; it is cropped out. A dark break in the foliage reveals what might be a trail. The darkness of the void starts just to the left of my mother and extends up and over her head. After consultations and second opinions, they headed home. They did not stop this time. Mother must have dropped Dad off at the office because she came home alone. Walking through the house, pulling off her gloves, she said she couldn’t do what they said. I was old enough to understand. I stood in the middle of the living room where I had been practicing the piano. I wondered why my father had let her come home alone, why she talked to me. I didn’t know what to do; what to say. I didn’t move, didn’t respond. After getting the words out, Mother turned right and disappeared up the stairs to her room. My father operated on people with cancer. He didn’t talk about it, but I knew that some of them died. I didn’t know that sometimes cancer works slowly. I didn’t know that sometimes the person dies right in front of your eyes. I didn’t know that in the next four years, I would be the one to pick her up and carry her down the stairs. I would be the one to put her on the mattress in the back of our blue Ford station wagon. I would take her for rides around the Finger Lakes. She would be too weak to talk, so I would sing to her. I was sixteen. Lying on her side in the car as I drove, she would look out the side window. I pointed out herons and egrets. I parked the car in her favorite cove. I rolled down the windows, and we to the honking of Canadian geese as they flew into gray clouds, heading to a warmer place. Mother lived to deliver a baby girl, Mary Elizabeth. Despite following doctor’s orders in her postpartum condition, she did not improve. The doctors were surprised she lived for four years after her original diagnosis. By the last time she was admitted to the hospital, I had been sent away to a parochial academy. I was not happy. I took my mother’s Ford Falcon back to school and parked it. I didn’t care that it was against the rules. I drove home at night and stayed at the hospital until mother fell asleep. I sat in her hospital room with its white enamel walls, white iron bed, and white porcelain bedpan. I watched her fade into the white. My father had Brian moved from the children’s corner of the cemetery. Both mother and Brain were buried in the same grave. I wondered if it was mother’s request or my father’s doing. Either way I felt better knowing they were together. swimwear so long as he wore a suit and tie to church. He was the only boy in the family who didn’t complain Mary has never asked about what options mother was given. I have never brought it up. Mary has her own problems. Now fighting breast cancer, she looks down inside her shirt and says she sees a horror show. My mother’s losses and suffering have something to do with my choosing obstetrics. I may have thought I could help, maybe even fix problems. But I have come to know there is no resolution. As long as we live, there is no ending. We go on because resignation is not an acceptable condition. I know something about what happens when pregnancies end in demise, or worse, when the result is long-term disability and abuse. Bethany’s labor was not long. She pushed and I delivered a beautiful baby boy. He appeared perfect. There was no sound in the room. No one moved. I noticed a true knot, pulled tight, in the cord. I had warned Bethany that we might not find a reason for the stillbirth. Even with an autopsy we sometimes cannot make a definitive diagnosis. This was different. When I see a knot at delivery it is usually loose and I can pass my fingers through the loops of the cord. This knot could not be freed. I cut a section of the cord above and below the knot and placed it on a towel covering the delivery table. I would send it to the pathologist. I delivered the boy into his mother’s arms and stepped back as the family drew up around the bed. I watched as they looked at the baby. Bethany sat up and examined each part of the boy; she missed nothing. There were no marks or telltale signs. I told them about the cord. I held it up in front of the grandfather. He took a long look at the knot. “It ain’t right,” he said.

CYRUS MCEACHERN ANATOMY PHOTO-ART SERIES (+ riddles by Stan Lauk-Dubitsky) Anesthesiologist and photographer In ďŹ rst person: throughout my training as a physician, I explored the intricacies of anatomy and physiology with light-paintings during longexposure photography. Anesthesiology is particularly fascinating to me, as it requires seizing complete control over human physiology and consciousness, monitoring and controlling it with invasive procedures and powerful drugs. My biggest inspiration was Eva Markvoort (portrait with a heart on her chest that she painted in the mirror). She endured a lifelong struggle with cystic ďŹ brosis, eventually requiring a double lung transplant that gifted her an extra two years of life. Together, we created portraits of other transplant survivors for a media campaign: "Celebrate Transplant".

a scientist of any area of medical science

MEDY

1) Brie bull + 0 + XY | 1010 thing = ? 2) Spire + at moth (fear) / 0 (space) = ? 3) Primer - C + roof boys' action = ? 4) 23 + (|reeb ) - nefarious > (.) = ? 5) 2 + mime + I have (short) + % = ? 6) Sit + naked % + 543210... = ? You can ďŹ nd here a fake riddle or riddle for next page

7) Thunder + ace needle + [#] = ? 8) Death + /// + eagle (live) + R = ? 9) Would + haul + derrick + "L" = ? 10) (. + male creative + lO + V(e) = ? 11) Lonely lion-man + land + * = ? 12) Tra-la-la! + Eh! + we sell red = ? 13) > + attempt + edge + & = ? 14) Your + (raid - 0) + shield = ? 15) Monkey + write + ./ ./ ./ = ? 16) Cup + k + need + ^. = ? ANSWERS: 1) MALE-1 (LUNGS) 2) FEMALE-1 (LUNGS) 3) FAKE (ABDOMEN) 4) FEMALE-2 (KIDNEY) 5) FAKE (DIGESTIVE) 6) MALE-2 (KIDNEY) 7) FAKE (THORACIC CATE) 8) FEMALE-5 (LIVER) 9) FAKE (SHOULDER) 10) FEMALE-3 (HEART) 11) FAKE (SPHINCTER) 12) FEMALE-4 (HEART) 13) FAKE (INTESTINE) 14) FAKE (THYROID) 15) FAKE (APPENDIX) 16) MALE-3 (KNEE)

PATRICIA DAHER LETTERS OF LIFE. SERIES (curated by Stan Lauk-Dubitsky) Visual Artist and Math Educator. Patricia Daher is a New York based Artist, Graphic Designer and Private Math Educator. She carries a BA is Fine Arts and a minor in Mathematics and Art History from Hunter college. Her art explores the relationships between the Micro and the Macro, the blurred boundary between the inner world of the mind and the outer world of reality and the hidden in the obvious.

a scientist of any area of medical science

MATH

LTHI

AVWX

NMKY

MEIOSIS

OQGC

MITOSIS

DRPB

FEZ

The DNA of Language, Building its form Relating the macro patterns to their micro origins of letters hidden, in the light of day In the day of light Too common to recognize a needle in hay Only to visualize as cells multiply creating tissue and form molecules mirrored to inďŹ nity the letters unfold a poem of pattern a written story untold

UJS

MACRO ABSTRACT PHOTOS MADE BY MICROSCOPE SCOPIUM: is heading based on MARS (!Oi), experimental genre of photography. The most important characteristic - is to catch and shoot a meaningful image in unexpected places, in other words, it is a factory of photo-artifacts with the clear plot, where the distortion of light, refractions, reﬂections, special eﬀects, defocus, original framing, shadows and the random motion of the camera can create a picture on the boundary between painting, poetry and a manifestation of the subconscious mind of the photographer. If you want to get a good picture in this genre you can use any photo equipment and any objects, the main thing is the result you will achieve. What is common in this genre with candid photography? I think - a lot! Many hours catching the mirracle or "Unicorn" (ingenius picture) and shots on intuition and luck, without any preparation; it is a special connection between the photographer and the shooting object, inspired, gambling and partly a mystical link! Try to go to the MARS! Anyone can!

AUTHOR: STANISLAV LAUK-DUBITSKY

AXIOSCOPE IMAGER A1

COVER GLASS blood / vessels

BURONINS. Freezed samurais in dead well keep a cry.

CRAZY CLOWN'S BRIDGE. With spots of thoughts.

LAVA LARVA. The soul of king is within a burning worm.

PLOWMAN'S DREAMS. The soil is full of his veins...

FREEZE & RISE. Dead ice is waiting for ďŹ re.

FACE OF THE EMPTY SOUL. No lips, no eyes, no emotions at all...

SCAR MASQUERADE. The darkness, the scar of light, the mask...

TRAFFIC LIGHT. three windows of eternity

POCKET BOARD GAME

by Stanislav Lauk-Dubitsky

NOT A CROSS

Rules: 1) Take a picture and print out the playing field. Choose the playing side: crosses are noble crusaders and noughts are brutal tribes. The purpose of each side is to be the first to reach the sacred relics in the Temple of Eternity, passing the halls with the challenges and stay alive faced the fate. 2) Decide how many soldiers you want in your army- 44 or 66. Place 20 of your soldiers, one soldier in one go on the first 4 fields - halls of Horror, firstly on the first (outer) perimeter, and then on the 2nd and so on. Read the next rules carefully. NEXT PAGE OF RULES

PLAYFIELDS "HALLS OF HORROR" & how to place soldiers on cells of the field (X or O) # 1. Hall of Excitement: place your soldiers following the classical "tick-tack-toe" rules. # 2. Hall of Betrayal: place enemy soldiers in any cell of the field. # 3. Hall of Panic: place your soldiers to a random cell: use a system of "Mon" # 4. Hall of Agony: place random soldiers to a random cell; use 2 phases of... "MON" throws by the first phase you will determine the number of cell and by the second you will determine the soldier (X or O): The tail side is the cross and the head side is the nought.

#5. Night hall: secretly select the cells for 8 soldiers on two fields... place them and check with the enemy. All cells of fields are mirrored and connected with each other, so the soldiers in paired cells must be mixed by special rule (by the force of the Night and Reflections, so that courage becomes madness!) (see. the rules of placing of paired cells). After that, place 8 more soldiers, check and move all the survivors in the final hall of the game - hall of eternity. #6. Hall of Eternity: you can use the soldiers from the bonus reserve who survived after the night, plus eight more soldiers! Also you will find the altar of emptiness in this hall which will take your victims in it! Place the first four soldiers; it is obligatory that you place two of them in the cells of 5 or 6. MON: Mon is the system which helps you to choose a cell number of the "Hall of Agony" by tossing up a coin. To choose the cell # in the first perimeter (numbers from 1 to 6, except 0; the cell # 0 is active only in the final game) take three different coins, where each side of each coin is a single number in ascending order (coin 1: head side is number 1, tail side is number 2, etc) . By throwing 3 coins you need to have the combination when 2 coins are fallen on the same side, in this case the third coin will give you a unique number of the cell (coin 1: tail + coin 2: tail + coin 3: head = number of head of third coin) . To find the cell' number in the second perimeter you should throw two different coins, so each combination of heads and tails will give you a number of cell: coin-1: tail + coin-2: tail = #1 / coin-1: head + coin-2: tail = #2 / coin-1: tail + coin-2: head = #3 / coin-1: head + coin-2: head = #4. After all the soldiers have filled all the perimeters of fields it is necessary to make a combat record of their losses, and to apply special techniques. See "Records of horror and special techniques". All survived soldiers should go into the bonus reserve, which can be used in the final game. Records of horror and special techniques. Only those soldiers who fight their own fear will pass in the halls of Night and become guides for the rest of the army. To make "record of horror" you need to move enemy soldiers to each other, one at a time, so that their fear paralyzed them in one group (the famous rule of "three in a row"). It is called "hand of fate”. Moving the soldiers (either by erasing by pencil rubber or just by showing to the enemy the move and its effect) you need to record their quantity, then everything comes back to the former place and the enemy moves your soldiers on the same play-field. Now compare the results: 5 paralyzed enemies - 3 your soldiers paralyzed by your opponent = 2 survived soldiers of yours! But if the game ended in a draw you need to use one of the specials techniques: 1) “Pushing”: soldiers with numbers 1, 6, 4 can move to cells of both perimeters between them, they push the soldiers to the edge after that; soldier, who was moved beyond the edge field, disappears. 2) “Edge fight”: soldiers on the extreme cells with numbers 3 can also change places. Then check the results again. Won? So, Hall of the Night and Hall of the Eternity are waiting for you. Placing of paired cells: X / O + empty cell = mirror cell absorbs the soldier. Х + Х / О + О = super-cross / supernought withstands one attack of nought or empty cell and then leaves the field and goes into the hall of Eternity as an ordinary soldier. X + O = both disappear from the game, but if there are more noughts in nearby cells, so the nought remains and the same for crosses.

Altar of emptiness: it is the central element of the play-field; place all your survived soldiers on the all cells. In the first round select one cell for the altar' victim, using the "mon" (a number from 1 to 6), a soldier on this cell will be marked by Fate and you have to fight for him in the next round. The numbers 5 and 6 are paired and work together (2 victims at once). In the second round you have to get a number of cell, using the "mon" again, for the fight of the Fate. This number is a number of playfield where you have to play against an opponent in the classical noughts and crosses with 3x3 field, and yes, #0 cell is in the game this time, but the extra cells of the field (# 4,6) become an echo portals (a sign "((("). Each third turn/round you can move one of your soldiers (instead of the main move) on the same row with echo portal to the nearby field, horizontally, this soldier will be your ghost. Each ghost can be activated if the next fight will occur in his field. If you won, the victim in the "Hall of Eternity" will be saved and you choose a new victim, placing soldiers on empty cells. And so on - victim / Fate fight / victim… One who saved more of own soldiers - wins and receives a relic!

PLAYFIELD

PRINT 4 PLAY

1 3

4 2

5 5

6 6

Numbers of cells

Altar of emptiness

Two perimeters

LATTE IN Latin preďŹ xes with hints for memorizing.

NUMBERRY

JARGO

Start to memorize numbers easily

Learn sci. terms of foreighn languages.

STAN "MNEMONSTER" LAUK-DUBITSKY

PREFIX | SUFFIX

DEFINITIONS

HINTS FOR MEMORIZING

A, ANAB-AC, AL, ACAL -ARY, -EAL ACR(O)-AD ADADIPALBALGE- | -ALGIA -ALGIO

LACK OF, ABSENCE AWAY FROM PERTANING TO -/EXTREMITY, TOPMOST TO, TOWARD INCREASE, VERY FAT, FATTY WHITE PAIN, ACHE -/-

ALLOARSENANTEAPOBLASTBRADYCHROMCO, COMDACRYODE, DI, DIFDYSECEOSINEU-GNOSIS GYNOHOME(O), ISO-ICLE KOILLEIMELANMORPHPHRENRHODSCOTOSITO-

DIFFERENT MASCULINE IN FRONT OF SEPARATED FROM GERM, BUD SLOW COLOR WITH, TOGETHER TEAR AWAY FROM, APART BAD, DIFFICULT OUT, AWAY RED TRUE, GOOD, NEW KNOWLODGE WOMAN SIMILAR, SAME SMALL HOLLOW SMOOTH BLACK FORM MIND RED DARKNESS FOOD -

ANARCHY - LACK OF ORDER ABBEY - AWAY FROM SOCIETY A CALL TO LINK, UMBILICAL TO MARRY & TO CARRY, TO SEAL & DEAL TOP SHOW - ACROBAT ON THE ACRIDITY ARC ROAD TO ADD, ADHERENCE A+ DIP TO MOUTH = FAT ALBATROSS - WHITE BIRD, MIRROR: BLANK ALGEBRA IS PAIN FOR KIDS, ANAGRAM: GEAL BY PAIN, GO AIL | NOSTALGIA - PAST PAIN OF "NO! PAST". ALONE & ALOOF ALIEN ARRGH! ARSE-SENIOR, ARSENAL - MEN TOYS ANTENNA IS IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE APART, APOSTATE. BLAST! BABY BOOM! BAD READY + BE TARDY = SLOW COLOR + AROMA = CHROM COUPLE, COMRADE DA CRY OF DEATH - AWAY FROM LIFE, DISTANT, DIFFERENT DYSTROY!, ECHO, ECCENTRIC - OUT FROM CENTRE EOS' SIN = RED COLOR OF DAWN MIRROR: TRUE GOOD "KNOW THIS", PROGNOSIS AS QUEEN + GENESIS HOME IS SIMILAR TO YOU, O is O TICKLE + FICKLE = SMALL COIL WITH HOLLOW PRINCESS LEIA IS SMOOTH & PRETTY, SLEIGH MELANCHOLY, MELANGE ALL COLORS PHORM > FORM PHRENZY - WITHOUT MIND (FRENZY) HOT ROD WITH RED FLOWERS, ROTT (GERMAN) SCOT-FREE STATE LEADS TO DARKNESS, SCOTCH SIT & EAT

LATTE IN. Ch. 1

GLOBAL LETTERS: look and sound the same as English alternatives. А - [ʌ], [ɑː], [æ] | A in Another, fAther, cAr, drAma | М / O / Т - the same letters K - [k] / "K" sound in ck (duck), k (kitten), c (cat).

CYRILLIC

ALPHABET

Pronunciation Symbols: these letters have no sound on their own, but are still considered letters Ъъ - The 'Hard Sign'. It indicates a slight pause between syllables. Like in D’arc and "Pause" upside down. Ьь - The 'Soft Sign' makes the previous letter 'soft'. It is like soft consonant in view [vjuː] (soft “v”) instead of van (hard “v”). Try inflecting a very slight "y" sound onto letter before it. SPY LETTERS: look like English letters but sound different. 1) B - V | it looks like hard "w" or "v" + "w" | Vi-Bro Bo-Vine spy | Image hints: Vocal (lips), Veil, Vinyl (DJ's deck), Vehicle (wheels), Valve (2 faucets), Vertebrae. 2) H - N | n + n = H | HoNey HeN spy| Image hints: Net, Note, Necklet, Nape, Niche. 3) Р - R | r + r = P | red RIP spy | Image hints: Rucksack, Racket, Rapier, Ram, Rib, Reel 4) C - S | c + c = S | SpaCe spy | Image hints: Cycle, Cent / er, Cyclon, Cemetery (stone) 5) Х - H | h + h = X | HooX spy | Image hints: Hug, Hockey, Horns, Hydra, Hunt, HInt. 6) Y - [u:] / Oo, Ue | i + u = Y | Yoo-Hoo spy | Image hints: two (2), clUE, yoop 7) E - ['je] / Ye | lr + r = P | YEs spy | Image hints: yegg (key), yell (screem) FAMILY LETTERS: look unusual, but have familiar sounds. 1) Б - B | b + i = Б | Image hints: Bath (douche), Berry, Banjo, Beard Barber, Button 2) Г - G | G = г + С (turn)| Image hints: Gull, Grotto, Gun, Gallows, Golf, Goose 3) Д - D | D + [ | Image hints: Door, Devil (upside down), Dental, Dig, Dome, Dam 4) C - S | c + c = S | Image hints: Cyclic, Cent, Cyclon, Center, Cemetery 5) З - Z | z + z = 3 | Image hints: Zephyr, dreamz-z-z, Zip, Zoom, Zone, Zeppelin 6) Р - R | like freezing R, r + r = P | Image hints: Rucksack, Racket, Rapier, 7) И - I / Ee / Ea | x3 i = И |Image hints: Eaves, Eel, Implulse, Incisor, Infinity. 8) Л - L | L + l = Л |Image hints: Lady's Legs, Lair, Lee, Ladder, Lodge, Loft. 9) П - P | П is P with not bended leg|Image hints: Pants, Paper, Pedal, Portal, Pipe 10) Ф - F / Ph | F + F = Ф|Image hints: Foam, Face, Fountain, Fly, Flask, Fakir, Float 11) Э - [ə] / [e] / e (let), a (day) | Image hints: Eros, Abaddon, Anchor, Adaptor FRIEND LETTERS: the sounds are familiar, but they don't have their own letter in English. 1) Ю - U (universe) / Ew | Image hints: dEW, mUle, YOU, IQ (brains & tester). 2) Я - Ya | Y + a = Я | Image hints: Yarn, Yacht, Yak (bull) 3) Ё - Yo | Image hints: Yoga (pose), Yo-Yo (x2), Yoke. 4) Ж - Zh / soft J / soft G (beige) / S in pleasure |Image hints: fuSion (s), Gem, Gym, exploSion (s), Jam, Jaw 5) Ц - Ts |It's like Hebrew letter ‫( צ‬tsadi) | Image hints: booTS, bolTS, TSunami, TSe-tse fly, TSar (with beard) 6) Ч - Ch| C (turn) + h = Ч|Image hints: CHime, CHest CHain, CHair (upside down), CHimney. 7) Ш - Sh|It's like Hebrew letter ‫( ש‬shin) | Image hints: SHelf, SHower, SHave, SHackle, SHeaf SHredder. 8) Щ - S in Sure (British), soft Sh, long Ch|To pronounce it try putting your tongue in the same position as you would to say "ch" but say "sh" instead, sounds like bad TV signal or desert wind. 9) Ы - sounds like drunk / heavy "Ee", "Ei" in being or like zombie / Idiot's "Ee"|looks like pregnant (i) 10) Й - Y in toy|Image hints: quaY, boY (XY), raY, buY ($)

Russian scientiﬁc terms

HOW TO READ CYRILLIC ALPHABET The main rule is "one sound is one letter". In the Russian language every vowel taken separately or in combination with consonants forms a syllable. Two vowels form two syllables (just like in Korean or Japanease) Russian words have one accented syllable. The accent may fall on the ﬁrst, second, third etc. syllable of a word. The accented syllable is longer and is articulated more tensely than unaccented ones. The lips play more important part in the pronunciation of Russian vowels than they do in the articulation of English vowels. All Russian vowels are shorter than their English counterparts.

RUSSCI

JARGO

RUSSIAN WORD | DEFINITION | MEMORIZING HINTS & SYNONYMS

RUSSCI

1) НАУКА | sciense know-how / now sky

18) МУДРОСТЬ | wisdom mod (wisdom) + rised

35) ОДИН | one like Odin god (#1)

2) ЗАДАЧА | task, goal sad + do + chart

19) БЕСЕДА | talk, chat be seeder - chat with

36) КНИГА | book is "a king", book is enigma

3) ХОРОШО | good, ok Ho! + rosho (right + rush)

20) МЫСЛИ | thoughts myst, myth + muesli

37) СОМНЕНИЕ | doubt somn- + some nay

4) ЗНАНИЕ | knowledge know near, snake need

21) ДЕЛО | business do + deal, deed

38) ДОКЛАД | report doc + clad

5) УМ | mind mind is oomph

22) ТОЧНО | exactly torch + know

39) РАБОТА | work, job like robot

6) ДУРАК | fool doodle + ruck

23) ДОВОД | evidence do + evidence

40) ВИД | view, scape like video

7) ЧИСЛО | number number is a chess law

24) ЗАГАДКА | mystery sage + addict

41) БУКВА | letter book' vowel

8) ЧИТАТЬ | to read teach + chit

25) СЛОВО | word logos + word

42) БОЛЬНОЙ | ill blast + annoy

9) СПОР | debate spar, mental sport

26) ПУТАНИЦА | mess putative + nits

43) СОН | sleep like somn-

10) СТАТЬЯ | article stats + ya, assets

27) ГЛУПОСТЬ | stupidity glue post + glop

44) ПРИБОР | tool probe + ware

11) ТРУД | work true do + hard, trudge

28) ОБМАН | deception bilk | bob mania

45) ГОЛОВА | head goal lover

12) ГЛАЗА | eyes gaze + look + eyes

29) УРОК | lesson tutor + rock

46) ОПЫТ | attempt o...pt

13) ПИСАТЬ | to write to pencil at

30) ЦЕЛЬ | goal Let's!, like ziel (De)

47) ВОПРОС | question why + pry

14) ЛЕЧИТЬ | to cure leech it with cheat

31) ПЛОХО | badly poor + low, Ho!

48) СВЯЗЬ | link with + with

15) ПОКОЙ | rest slowpoke + coy = rest

32) ДАННЫЕ | data data + done

49) ПРИЧИНА | reason plea + sheen

16) РЕШЕНИЕ | resolution rethink + shine

33) УЧЁНЫЙ | scientist ouch!-owner

50) ЯСНО | clearly eyes know

17) МОЗГ | brain more + zig-zag, Moses

34) БОЛВАН | blockhead dolt one, bally one

51) ЛОЖЬ | lie rise & go for chat

NUMBERRY NUMBER TO LETTER MEMORIZING SYSTEM

5 is S,s (P), R,r (C)| Split: r+u, r+c / c+r = 5 Extra: “$”, "*" “Face” hints: Sax, Stomach, Surfer, Seal, Sickle, Snake, Scoop, Scorpion sting, Skate, Skeep, Ski, rhomb, Rose, Reich, Rhino “Name” hints: Sport (5 Olympic rings), Star “Person” hints: uSSR (ﬁfth column), FIReS (ﬁve + RS)

0 is O,o (P) | C,c (C) | Split: n+u | u+n | c+c = 0 Extra: “θ” sound (think), “@”, “.” “Face” hints: Oval, Orb, Circle, Center “Name” hints: Out, Ought, Ony, Cavity “Person” hints: COin (O), COO

6 is b (P), a (M) D,d (M) | Split: r+o / o+r = 6 Extra: “ð” sound (this), "€", B, A is 66 (special) “Face” hints: Boxing, Bomb, Best (sign), Drop, Down, aries, amerind, amphitheater, antler, ascarid. “Name” hints: Beehive cell's sides “Person” hints: bad 666, ABove ACme

1 is L,l (P) | l,i (C) | T,t (M) | Split: T+L|L+T= 1 Extra: “ʃ” sound (show), “/”, “-“, “(...)”, “!” “Face” hints: tooth, trunk, line, lance, leg, iron “Name” hints: leader, icon, idol, tyrant “Person” hints: TIL (1), TILT

7 is V,v (M) F,f (F+M) J,j (F) | Split: l+l, A+t = 7 “Face” hints: Violin, Victory, Jag, Joining, Joist, Joystick, Jump, Fountain, Foot. “Name” hints: the 7 Virtues, The 7 Joys of the Virgin Mary “Person” hints: VJ “F”

2 is Z,z (P) | U,u | N,n (M+F) | Split: J+I = 2 Extra: "=", "~", "£" “Face” hints: Zebra, Zorro, Zig-zag, Needle, Union “Name” hints: Nose (2 nostrils), Zoom x2, “Person” hints: NUZZle 3 is W,w | M,m (M) | Split: c+u / u+i / u+t = 3 Extra: "{}", “ʒ” sound (vision), “ɜ:ʳ” sound (turn) “Face” hints: Waﬄe, Wave, Whale, Wire, Withe, Whirl, Mac Donalds, Motive, MeW. “Name” hints: Wednesday (third day), Three Wise Men, the Magi, with three gifts. “Person” hints: Woman + Man = 3 (three), MoW 4 is H,h (M) Y,y (C) Kk (F) + (M)| Split: L+i / i+X = 4 Extra: “tʃ” sound (check), “+”, "#". “Face” hints: Handbrake, Harpoon, High, Hour Hands, Yoga, Kite, Knife, Knit, Yo sign. “Name” hints: 4 Horsemen, Yin, Yan (4 elements) “Person” hints: K + yacHT with sail (4)

8 is g (C) X,x (F) Split: o+o = 8 (as mirror) / c+h = 8 Extra: G is a half of 8, “%”, “&”, “:” “Face” hints: Glass (hourglass), Gear, Gab (open mouth), Gapes, Gas, Gather, Gaze, Genes (in chromosome), Globe, Grain, Xenon, Xerox "Name” hints: googol (just like eternity, many zeroes), gate “Person” hints: GeeX (geeks) 9 is Q,q (P+M) P,p | e (M) Split: c+o = 9 Extra: E is 77, “?”, “,” “Face” hints: Quote, Quasimodo, Quay, Query, Quiet (gesture), Quill, Qipe, Proboscis, Eddy, Ear, Quack “Name” hints: pregnancy (nine months) “Person” hints: EQP (equipment)

CAPITAL BONUS: 2 numbers = 1 capital letter. A, B - 66 | C - 00 | D, Q - 10 | T, E - 77 | F - 21 | G, Q - 07 | H - 14 | I - 01 (i) | J - 02 (j) | K - 74 |L - | M, W - 44| N, Y - 17 | P, R - 12 | S, U - 22 | V, X - 11

READ BEFORE USE | LEGEND:

SPECIAL TECHNIQUES:

(P) Portrait. Thia is a direct similarity between numbers and letters. (M) Mirror. The number is similar to an inverted / mirrored letter. (C) Caricature. Caricature likeness numbers and letters. (F) Fantasia. The number appears on the letter, as amended

1) Hebrews: turn numbers to words without using of vowels, just like in "Major system". 2) Abbrevolution: Use only limited amount of letters for each word you can make. For an example If you chose 3letters limit: 203 - zombie. Plus you can turn numbers to letter until reaching special symbol - the ﬁrst vowel or double letter. 3) Capit: turn few numbers to capital letters with the one of these schemes: Abbb, AbbbA, AAAA. It's perfect for brands and names of persons or places.

“Face” hints: number looks like an object with the same 1st letter in the name. You can use "face" hints as images for visualization too, just make a nice logical composition. “Name” hints: number has special explanation or background. “Person” hints: hint for memorizing all letters linked with number Extra: alternative signs for numbers, use them between words to make sentences or inside words for abbreviations (U.K.) or special terms. Split: one number gives you two letters. Use it only after extra signs, for an example: 404 = M.IX

STAN LAUK-DUBITSKY

GRAPHIC AND TEXT RIDDLES & PUZZLES

ANIGMA

=SUBER=

Meaningful anagrams within a poem.

Hard-core rebuses for super-heroes.

LOGOSTYPE Poetic riddles with all letters visualisation.

ANIGMA MEANINGFUL ANAGRAMS WITHIN A POEM

SHADE

IT'S ANAGRAM. USE ONLY CAPITAL LETTERS TO BUILD AN ANSWER.

(1) EN-SEER of the sea said: (2)"I AM... I CAN...make (3) RYE SING in the rising of the (4) CAT FEAR*..." (5) DIM' SOW drank (6) SOUL' SAP and tear to ﬂee from (7) HARd NADIR... It cried (8) "Oh SUN, (9) DIE AT RIBS! for the (10) MOoN' REST...". Night has (11) RAW GRIN of (12) ONE RAT... Squeeze out stars to an ink, (13) TYPE OR... (14) SIN ON a PIG! Find your (15) JOY RUNE, rush the ladder to the temple of pest, (16) STEP To ME! (17) DARE to DONE GAMe! but this (18) TRIP IS just... (19)...IS NICE TRY to die alone in the (20) DEN of cCERE! Could you be (21) ONE like SPEAR without face? (22) TRY A SOIL of desolate ﬁelds or (23) RISE to OLD the bloody way of orders from (24) CULT Of the TRAP. the SEA INN is waiting for you... My shade. *One extra "T" in answer

ANSWERS: 1-serene 2-maniac 3-syringe 4-artefact 5-wisdom 6-parlous 7-harridan 8-onus 9-diatribes 10-monster 11-warring 12-ornate 13-poetry 14-poisoning 15-journey 16-tempest 17-armageddon 18-spirit 19-sincerity 20-credence 21-persona 22-solitary 23-soldier 24-plutocrat 25-insane

STAN LAUK-DUBITSKY

2.1

2.2

3.1

Historical persons linked with ﬁrst six rebuses. 5

People

3.2

HINTEYE SYSTEM: bared hints with multiple levels of diﬃculty. But if you are smart enough try to ﬁnd answers without hints. Note: not all parts of rebus' image are linked with an answer.

ANAGRAM HINTS: 1) cad shot it - RIP 2) 2.2 - net den dep... 2.1 - tanato-i-trail 3) 3.1 mists' e-pod, 3.2 - nary nyet 4) soul bate 5) el bad bake - SOS 6) h... doer 7) big ora... 8) nite chop 9) ...ism in soul 10) to plop 11) gluc-alia 12) evil crow or mell 13) pale rim ALLEGORY HINTS FOR PARTS OF THE WORDS: 1) ...sounds like sea term, name of the book and mark 2) ...deep end + friend of a baby 3) ...death hot + king Lear 4) ﬁtness & music terms 5) african eater 6) bad baby boom 7) orgy papa 8) latin boss 9) pizza killer 10) orient red dirt 11) royal horse whore 12) skirt slayer 13) ...hell alcohol RHYME HINTS: 1) sick tutor's hip... 2) 2.2 - keep end' rent... 2.1 - rot ally carry an... 3) 3.1 - death' spot teeth... 3.2 - tear rant 4) grab soul loot 5) fed 'll bog riser 6) the rot 7) lore je... 8) sin of het 9) juice of mini 10) all hot 11) dull league love 12) holy ve... nom hell 13) dim mailer

ANSWERS 1) Dictatorship 2) Dependent + Totalitarian 3) Despotism + Tyranny 4) Absolute | Persons: 5) Bedel Bokassa 6) Herod 7) Borgia 8) Pinochet 9) Mussolini 10) Pol Pot 11) Caligula 12) Oliver Cromwell 13) Impaler

SUBER

Hard-core rebuses for super-heroes.

1 2 3 4 Anatomy riddles with all letters visualisation

5 6 7

ATTENTION: Each term can be written in Latin, English, allegoricaly description or even false located on the body. Letters can be inverted or reorganized also.

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

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