![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teleidoplexI have a spleen fixation. It partially has to do with my view on Scorpios. People may or may not have heard of the phrase "to vent one's spleen", which means to give tongue to all the angry, nasty, terrible thoughts you've been holding back as a way to work past them, let go of them, heal from them, and move on. My philosophy of the Scorpio "vibe" is that we don't often vent our spleens. We keep that poison at a nice distillation temperature inside our spleens, so that when we do vent, the poison that comes out is refined and deadly. That's where Scorpios store their poison. In their spleens.
So, spleens have come up recently for me in another context, because let's face it, there's just something funny about the spleen. It's hard to take seriously, and referring to it helps to lighten tense situations. What started out as humor has left me intrigued, so I did some quick web research on this most remarkable organ. Without further ado I give you:
Ten Fun Spleen Facts!!
1. For a long time the purpose of the spleen wasn't known, but now it is thought to fight certain kinds of infection. (this, by the way, lends credence to my Scorpio theory).
2. In the Talmud, the spleen is thought to be the organ of laughter. (Since I often use spleens to humorous effect, I find this very fitting)
3. For dogs and horses the spleen can act as a secondary repository for blood, and will inject "super-powered blood" (extra viscous with extra oxygen) into the animal's bloodstreem when it is exerting itself (human athletes trying the same thing synthetically have killed themselves)
4. "Spleenal" is a common misspelling for spleen (what, are people idiots?)
5. Accessory spleens occur in approximately 10% of the population (dude, I want an accessory spleen!)
6. Number 8 of the top ten things you don't want to hear in surgery is: "Whoa, wait a minute, if this is his spleen, then what's that?"
7. It is possible to congenitally lack a spleen, although there is no evidence of anyone born in November suffering from this tragic lack.
8. Splenomegaly is a disorder that is characterized by an enlarged spleen (yeouch! Better vent that thing!)
9. Anne Finch, the Countess of Winchelsea, wrote an entire poem dedicated to her spleen!
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? {1}
Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, {2}
Who never yet thy real Cause cou'd find,
Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape.
Still varying thy perplexing Form,
Now a Dead Sea thou'lt represent,
A Calm of stupid Discontent,
Then, dashing on the Rocks wilt rage into a Storm.
Trembling sometimes thou dost appear,
Dissolv'd into a Panick Fear;
On Sleep intruding dost thy Shadows spread,
Thy gloomy Terrours round the silent Bed,
And croud with boading Dreams the Melancholy Head:
Or, when the Midnight Hour is told,
And drooping Lids thou still dost waking hold,
[Page 89]
Thy fond Delusions cheat the Eyes,
Before them antick Spectres dance,
Unusual Fires their pointed Heads advance,
And airy Phantoms rise.
Such was the monstrous Vision seen,
When Brutus (now beneath his Cares opprest,
And all Rome's Fortunes rolling in his Breast,
Before Philippi's latest Field,
Before his Fate did to Octavius lead)
Was vanquish'd by the Spleen. {3}
Falsly, the Mortal Part we blame
Of our deprest, and pond'rous Frame,
Which, till the First degrading Sin {4}
Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in,
Still with the Other did comply,
Nor clogg'd the Active Soul, dispos'd to fly,
And range the Mansions of it's native Sky.
[Page 90]
Nor, whilst in his own Heaven he dwelt,
Whilst Man his Paradice possest,
His fertile Garden in the fragrant East, {5}
And all united Odours smelt,
No armed Sweets, until thy Reign,
Cou'd shock the Sense, or in the Face
A flusht, unhandsom Colour place.
Now the Jonquille o'ercomes the feeble Brain;
We faint beneath the Aromatick Pain, {6}
Till some offensive Scent thy Pow'rs appease,
And Pleasure we resign for short, and nauseous Ease.
In ev'ry One thou dost possess,
New are thy Motions, and thy Dress:
Now in some Grove a list'ning Friend
Thy false Suggestions must attend,
Thy whisper'd Griefs, thy fancy'd Sorrows hear,
Breath'd in a Sigh, and witness'd by a Tear;
[Page 91]
Whilst in the light, and vulgar Croud,
Thy Slaves, more clamorous and loud,
By Laughters unprovok'd, thy Influence too confess.
In the Imperious Wife thou Vapours art,
Which from o'erheated Passions rise
In Clouds to the attractive Brain,
Until descending thence again,
Thro' the o'er-cast, and show'ring Eyes,
Upon her Husband's soften'd Heart,
He the disputed Point must yield,
Something resign of the contested Field;
Til Lordly Man, born to Imperial Sway,
Compounds for Peace, to make that Right away,
And Woman, arm'd with Spleen, do's servilely Obey.
The Fool, to imitate the Wits,
Complains of thy pretended Fits,
And Dulness, born with him, wou'd lay
Upon thy accidental Sway;
[Page 92]
Because, sometimes, thou dost presume
Into the ablest Heads to come:
That, often, Men of Thoughts refin'd,
Impatient of unequal Sence,
Such slow Returns, where they so much dispense,
Retiring from the Croud, are to thy Shades inclin'd.
O'er me, alas! thou dost too much prevail:
I feel thy Force, whilst I against thee rail;
I feel my Verse decay, and my crampt Numbers fail.
Thro' thy black Jaundice I all Objects see,
As Dark, and Terrible as Thee,
My Lines decry'd, and my Employment thought
An useless Folly, or presumptuous Fault:
Whilst in the Muses Paths I stray, {7}
Whilst in their Groves, and by their secret Springs
My Hand delights to trace unusual Things,
And deviates from the known, and common way;
Nor will in fading Silks compose
Faintly th' inimitable Rose,
[Page 93]
Fill up an ill-drawn Bird, or paint on Glass {8}
The Sov'reign's blurr'd and undistinguish'd Face, {9}
The threatning Angel, and the speaking Ass. {10}
Patron thou art to ev'ry gross Abuse,
The sullen Husband's feign'd Excuse,
When the ill Humour with his Wife he spends,
And bears recruited Wit, and Spirits to his Friends.
The Son of Bacchus pleads thy Pow'r, {11}
As to the Glass he still repairs,
Pretends but to remove thy Cares,
Snatch from thy Shades one gay, and smiling Hour,
And drown thy Kingdom in a purple Show'r.
When the Coquette, whom ev'ry Fool admires,
Wou'd in Variety be Fair,
And, changing hastily the Scene
From Light, Impertinent, and Vain,
Assumes a soft, a melancholy Air,
[Page 94]
And of her Eyes rebates the wand'ring Fires,
The careless Posture, and the Head reclin'd,
The thoughtful, and composed Face,
Proclaiming the withdrawn, the absent Mind,
Allows the Fop more liberty to gaze,
Who gently for the tender Cause inquires;
The Cause, indeed, is a Defect in Sense,
Yet is the Spleen alleg'd, and still the dull Pretence.
But these are thy fantastic Harms,
The Tricks of thy pernicious Stage,
Which do the weaker Sort engage;
Worse are the dire Effects of thy more pow'rful Charms.
By Thee Religion, all we know,
That shou'd enlighten here below,
Is veil'd in Darkness, and perplext
With anxious Doubts, with endless Scruples vext,
And some Restraint imply'd from each perverted Text.
[Page 95]
Whilst Touch not, Taste not, what is freely giv'n,
Is but thy niggard Voice, disgracing bounteous Heav'n.
From Speech restrain'd, by thy Deceits abus'd,
To Desarts banish'd, or in Cells reclus'd,
Mistaken Vot'ries to the Pow'rs Divine, {12}
Whilst they a purer Sacrifice design,
Do but the Spleen obey, and worship at thy Shrine.
In vain to chase thee ev'ry Art we try,
In vain all Remedies apply,
In vain the Indian Leaf infuse,
Or the parch'd Eastern Berry bruise;
Some pass, in vain, those Bounds, and nobler Liquors use.
Now Harmony, in vain, we bring,
Inspire the Flute, and touch the String.
From Harmony no help is had;
Musick but soothes thee, if too sweetly sad,
And if too light, but turns thee gayly Mad.
[Page 96]
Tho' the Physicians greatest Gains,
Altho' his growing Wealth he sees
Daily increas'd by Ladies Fees,
Yet dost thou baffle all his studious Pains.
Not skilful Lower thy Source cou'd find,
Or thro' the well-dissected Body trace
The secret, the mysterious ways,
By which thou dost surprize, and prey upon the Mind.
Tho' in the Search, too deep for Humane Thought,
With unsuccessful Toil he wrought,
'Til thinking Thee to've catch'd, Himself by thee was caught,
Retain'd thy Pris'ner, thy acknowleg'd Slave,
And sunk beneath thy Chain to a lamented Grave.
(She must have been a Scorpio)
10. The spleen is not as fun as people might think. For instance, I could really only come up with nine spleen fun facts.
Sources: Wikipedia; Merck Online Medical Library; Medicine.net; Comedy-Zone.net; Upenn Digital Library
So, spleens have come up recently for me in another context, because let's face it, there's just something funny about the spleen. It's hard to take seriously, and referring to it helps to lighten tense situations. What started out as humor has left me intrigued, so I did some quick web research on this most remarkable organ. Without further ado I give you:
Ten Fun Spleen Facts!!
1. For a long time the purpose of the spleen wasn't known, but now it is thought to fight certain kinds of infection. (this, by the way, lends credence to my Scorpio theory).
2. In the Talmud, the spleen is thought to be the organ of laughter. (Since I often use spleens to humorous effect, I find this very fitting)
3. For dogs and horses the spleen can act as a secondary repository for blood, and will inject "super-powered blood" (extra viscous with extra oxygen) into the animal's bloodstreem when it is exerting itself (human athletes trying the same thing synthetically have killed themselves)
4. "Spleenal" is a common misspelling for spleen (what, are people idiots?)
5. Accessory spleens occur in approximately 10% of the population (dude, I want an accessory spleen!)
6. Number 8 of the top ten things you don't want to hear in surgery is: "Whoa, wait a minute, if this is his spleen, then what's that?"
7. It is possible to congenitally lack a spleen, although there is no evidence of anyone born in November suffering from this tragic lack.
8. Splenomegaly is a disorder that is characterized by an enlarged spleen (yeouch! Better vent that thing!)
9. Anne Finch, the Countess of Winchelsea, wrote an entire poem dedicated to her spleen!
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? {1}
Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, {2}
Who never yet thy real Cause cou'd find,
Or fix thee to remain in one continued Shape.
Still varying thy perplexing Form,
Now a Dead Sea thou'lt represent,
A Calm of stupid Discontent,
Then, dashing on the Rocks wilt rage into a Storm.
Trembling sometimes thou dost appear,
Dissolv'd into a Panick Fear;
On Sleep intruding dost thy Shadows spread,
Thy gloomy Terrours round the silent Bed,
And croud with boading Dreams the Melancholy Head:
Or, when the Midnight Hour is told,
And drooping Lids thou still dost waking hold,
[Page 89]
Thy fond Delusions cheat the Eyes,
Before them antick Spectres dance,
Unusual Fires their pointed Heads advance,
And airy Phantoms rise.
Such was the monstrous Vision seen,
When Brutus (now beneath his Cares opprest,
And all Rome's Fortunes rolling in his Breast,
Before Philippi's latest Field,
Before his Fate did to Octavius lead)
Was vanquish'd by the Spleen. {3}
Falsly, the Mortal Part we blame
Of our deprest, and pond'rous Frame,
Which, till the First degrading Sin {4}
Let Thee, its dull Attendant, in,
Still with the Other did comply,
Nor clogg'd the Active Soul, dispos'd to fly,
And range the Mansions of it's native Sky.
[Page 90]
Nor, whilst in his own Heaven he dwelt,
Whilst Man his Paradice possest,
His fertile Garden in the fragrant East, {5}
And all united Odours smelt,
No armed Sweets, until thy Reign,
Cou'd shock the Sense, or in the Face
A flusht, unhandsom Colour place.
Now the Jonquille o'ercomes the feeble Brain;
We faint beneath the Aromatick Pain, {6}
Till some offensive Scent thy Pow'rs appease,
And Pleasure we resign for short, and nauseous Ease.
In ev'ry One thou dost possess,
New are thy Motions, and thy Dress:
Now in some Grove a list'ning Friend
Thy false Suggestions must attend,
Thy whisper'd Griefs, thy fancy'd Sorrows hear,
Breath'd in a Sigh, and witness'd by a Tear;
[Page 91]
Whilst in the light, and vulgar Croud,
Thy Slaves, more clamorous and loud,
By Laughters unprovok'd, thy Influence too confess.
In the Imperious Wife thou Vapours art,
Which from o'erheated Passions rise
In Clouds to the attractive Brain,
Until descending thence again,
Thro' the o'er-cast, and show'ring Eyes,
Upon her Husband's soften'd Heart,
He the disputed Point must yield,
Something resign of the contested Field;
Til Lordly Man, born to Imperial Sway,
Compounds for Peace, to make that Right away,
And Woman, arm'd with Spleen, do's servilely Obey.
The Fool, to imitate the Wits,
Complains of thy pretended Fits,
And Dulness, born with him, wou'd lay
Upon thy accidental Sway;
[Page 92]
Because, sometimes, thou dost presume
Into the ablest Heads to come:
That, often, Men of Thoughts refin'd,
Impatient of unequal Sence,
Such slow Returns, where they so much dispense,
Retiring from the Croud, are to thy Shades inclin'd.
O'er me, alas! thou dost too much prevail:
I feel thy Force, whilst I against thee rail;
I feel my Verse decay, and my crampt Numbers fail.
Thro' thy black Jaundice I all Objects see,
As Dark, and Terrible as Thee,
My Lines decry'd, and my Employment thought
An useless Folly, or presumptuous Fault:
Whilst in the Muses Paths I stray, {7}
Whilst in their Groves, and by their secret Springs
My Hand delights to trace unusual Things,
And deviates from the known, and common way;
Nor will in fading Silks compose
Faintly th' inimitable Rose,
[Page 93]
Fill up an ill-drawn Bird, or paint on Glass {8}
The Sov'reign's blurr'd and undistinguish'd Face, {9}
The threatning Angel, and the speaking Ass. {10}
Patron thou art to ev'ry gross Abuse,
The sullen Husband's feign'd Excuse,
When the ill Humour with his Wife he spends,
And bears recruited Wit, and Spirits to his Friends.
The Son of Bacchus pleads thy Pow'r, {11}
As to the Glass he still repairs,
Pretends but to remove thy Cares,
Snatch from thy Shades one gay, and smiling Hour,
And drown thy Kingdom in a purple Show'r.
When the Coquette, whom ev'ry Fool admires,
Wou'd in Variety be Fair,
And, changing hastily the Scene
From Light, Impertinent, and Vain,
Assumes a soft, a melancholy Air,
[Page 94]
And of her Eyes rebates the wand'ring Fires,
The careless Posture, and the Head reclin'd,
The thoughtful, and composed Face,
Proclaiming the withdrawn, the absent Mind,
Allows the Fop more liberty to gaze,
Who gently for the tender Cause inquires;
The Cause, indeed, is a Defect in Sense,
Yet is the Spleen alleg'd, and still the dull Pretence.
But these are thy fantastic Harms,
The Tricks of thy pernicious Stage,
Which do the weaker Sort engage;
Worse are the dire Effects of thy more pow'rful Charms.
By Thee Religion, all we know,
That shou'd enlighten here below,
Is veil'd in Darkness, and perplext
With anxious Doubts, with endless Scruples vext,
And some Restraint imply'd from each perverted Text.
[Page 95]
Whilst Touch not, Taste not, what is freely giv'n,
Is but thy niggard Voice, disgracing bounteous Heav'n.
From Speech restrain'd, by thy Deceits abus'd,
To Desarts banish'd, or in Cells reclus'd,
Mistaken Vot'ries to the Pow'rs Divine, {12}
Whilst they a purer Sacrifice design,
Do but the Spleen obey, and worship at thy Shrine.
In vain to chase thee ev'ry Art we try,
In vain all Remedies apply,
In vain the Indian Leaf infuse,
Or the parch'd Eastern Berry bruise;
Some pass, in vain, those Bounds, and nobler Liquors use.
Now Harmony, in vain, we bring,
Inspire the Flute, and touch the String.
From Harmony no help is had;
Musick but soothes thee, if too sweetly sad,
And if too light, but turns thee gayly Mad.
[Page 96]
Tho' the Physicians greatest Gains,
Altho' his growing Wealth he sees
Daily increas'd by Ladies Fees,
Yet dost thou baffle all his studious Pains.
Not skilful Lower thy Source cou'd find,
Or thro' the well-dissected Body trace
The secret, the mysterious ways,
By which thou dost surprize, and prey upon the Mind.
Tho' in the Search, too deep for Humane Thought,
With unsuccessful Toil he wrought,
'Til thinking Thee to've catch'd, Himself by thee was caught,
Retain'd thy Pris'ner, thy acknowleg'd Slave,
And sunk beneath thy Chain to a lamented Grave.
(She must have been a Scorpio)
10. The spleen is not as fun as people might think. For instance, I could really only come up with nine spleen fun facts.
Sources: Wikipedia; Merck Online Medical Library; Medicine.net; Comedy-Zone.net; Upenn Digital Library
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:24 pm (UTC)Even more fun, in very rare instances the spleen can spontaneously rupture, usually due to anticoagulant therapy or some previous injury causing blood to build up under the capsule until the pressure gets too high. I'm fairly sure that that's *not* the way to go about venting your spleen, and could in fact be taken as caution that if you don't vent your spleen, it might vent itself for you.
Source: http://www.cumc.columbia.edu/news/review/archives/medrev_v1n1_0003.html
no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:26 pm (UTC)And woman, I have so vented my spleen in the past. Which does lead to an interesting visual of a vent put into your body so you could vent spleen gases.
now I'm going to go and laugh.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 07:40 pm (UTC)Fan facts on the nature & conjecture of Spleens and Scorpios!!!
Having been recently stung by one (a scorpio, not a spleen), i found this amusing and insightful.
thanks
no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 08:34 pm (UTC)AND!!!
Date: 2006-10-11 08:36 pm (UTC)Perhaps not happy, but then again it was not a happy movie and thus, symbolically at least, the spleen, had to go.
Hmmmm.... movie review through body parts. I think I'm on to something....
AND!!!
Perhaps not happy, but then again it was not a happy movie and thus, symbolically at least, the spleen, had to go.
Hmmmm.... movie review through body parts. I think I'm on to something....
Re: AND!!!
Date: 2006-10-11 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 08:52 pm (UTC)-RC
Appendicitis for Poland?
Date: 2006-10-11 11:19 pm (UTC)by Allan Wolf, Greg Clarke
no subject
Date: 2006-10-11 11:39 pm (UTC)a filter's at work filling blood cells with dread:
The red blood cell graveyard! It's not Halloween.
I'm talking about that blood basher, the spleen.
from the book I mentioned in my last comment!
I missed being a scorpio by less than 12 hours
Date: 2006-10-12 11:05 am (UTC)Nifty horse physiology article:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/12648465/
no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 11:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-12 11:40 am (UTC)So THAT'S what that is!!!!
Thanks, Kitsune_Zen!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-14 01:59 pm (UTC)Of course, oftentimes, it's preferable that the person be cut open.