Sentences with phrase «seen on human skin»

Ringworm derives its name from the classic red, round «worm - like» lesion seen on human skin that is infected.

Whereas Sully's fur was a genius achievement back in the day, here we have essentially «hairless» characters that actually feature the almost invisible down that you see on human skin.

Not exact matches

This is great, but if you really want to see what what God's love looks like, look to Jesus dying on a cross for the sins of the world, including the sins of those who are whipping his back and legs until his skin is gone and then laying that back on a rough and splintery wooden cross to crucify him, and continuing the torture until he's unrecognizable as a human being.

They are the cops who brutalize minor offenders based on the color of their skin; the politicians who refuse to see the human side of their voting record, the instigators of road rage.

«This is the same trend we see on an intra-species level for human skin pigmentation around the globe.»

Funding: NIH's National Institute of Arthritis and Musculoskeletal and Skin Diseases (NIAMS), National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute (NHLBI), National Institute on Aging (NIA), National Center for Advancing Translational Sciences (NCATS), National Cancer Institute (NCI), and National Human Genome Research Institute (NHGRI); and many other funding entities (see reference paper for the full list).

In this study the team tested the patch on both pig skin, where they showed it could accurately track glucose levels across the range seen in diabetic human patients, and on healthy human volunteers, where again the patch was able to track blood sugar variations throughout the day.

Now, the team is collaborating with plastic surgeons to see how their research can be applied to human scar tissue, which often prevents skin structures from developing on the area after it's healed.

You see, many animals and birds are just like us humans in that they depend on the sun to produce vitamin D through oils that react with sunlight (UV - B rays) shining on their skin, fur, or feathers.

The Birchbox website didn't have any photos of the product on a human, and while my skin tone / natural lip color may not match that of a model wearing a makeup product, for some reason I like to see it on a human!

, you are lying on the floor of your place looking up, a small draft runs through the room, between the door and the window, and all things seem perfectly still, wind only disturbs concrete in imperceptible ways, or it may take millions of years to be noticed and, as the air runs through the space, all your plants move and all is animated and all is alive somehow, and here are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me, and that wind upon your plants is the common air that bathes the globe, and we have no ambitions of universalism, and I'm glad we don't, but the particles of air bring traces of pollen and are charged with electricity, desert sand, maybe sea water, and these particles were somewhere else before they were dragged here, and their route will not end by the door of this house, and if we tell each other stories, one can imagine that they might have been bathed by this same air, regrouped and recombined, recharged as a vehicle for sound, swirling as it moves, bringing the sound of a drum, like that Kabuki story where a fox recognizes the voice of its parents as a girl plays a drum made out of their skin, or any other event, and yet I always felt your work never tells stories, I tend to think that narrative implies a past tense, even if that past was just five seconds ago, one second ago was already the past, and human memory is irrelevant in geological time, plants and fish know not what tomorrow will bring, neither rocks nor metal do, but we all live here now, and we all need visions and we all need dreams, and as long as your metal sculptures vibrate they are always in the Present, and their past is a material truth alien to narrative, but well, maybe narrative does not imply a past tense at all and they are writing their own story while they gently move and breathe, and maybe nothing was really still before the wind came in, passing through the window as if through an irrational portal to make those plants dance, but everything was already moving and breathing in near complete silence, and if you're focused enough you can feel the pulse of a concrete wall and you can feel the tectonic movements of the earth, and you can hear the magma flowing under our feet and our bones crackling like a wild fire, and you can see the light of fireflies reflected in polished metal, and there is nothing magical about that, it is just the way things are, and sometimes we have to raise our voice because the music is too loud and let your clothes move to a powerful bass, sound waves and bright lights, powerful like the sun, blinding us if we stare for too long, but isn't it the biggest sign of love, like singing to a corn field, and all acts of kindness that are not pitiful nor utilitarian, that are truly horizontal as everything around us is impregnated with the deadliest violence, vertical and systemic, poisonous, and sometimes you just want to feel the sun burning your skin and look for life in all things declared dead, a kind of vitality that operates like corrosion, strong as the wind near the sea, transforming all things,