White Sperm
🛑 ALL INFORMATION CLICK HERE 👈🏻👈🏻👈🏻
White Sperm
Medically reviewed by Stacy Sampson, D.O. — Written by James Roland — Updated on October 2, 2018
Medically reviewed by Suzanne Falck, MD
Medically reviewed by Suzanne Falck, MD
Medically reviewed by Daniel Murrell, M.D.
© 2005-2021 Healthline Media a Red Ventures Company. All rights reserved. Our website services, content, and products are for informational purposes only. Healthline Media does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. See additional information .
Semen is the fluid released through the male urethra during ejaculation. It carries sperm and fluids from the prostate gland and other male reproductive organs. Normally, semen is a thick, whitish liquid. However, several conditions can change the color and consistency of semen.
Watery semen can be a sign of low sperm count, indicating possible fertility problems. Ejaculating thin, clear semen may also be a temporary condition with no serious health concerns.
Read on to learn more about watery semen.
There are several possible causes for watery semen. Most are treatable or preventable.
One of the most common causes of watery semen is low sperm count. This is also known as oligospermia . If you have low sperm count, it means your semen contains fewer sperm than normal. A sperm count of fewer than 15 million sperm per milliliter of semen is considered below normal.
Some causes of oligospermia include:
Other potential causes of a low sperm count include:
Frequent ejaculation may also lead to the production of watery semen. If you masturbate several times a day, the quality of semen after the first ejaculation is likely to become thin and watery. Your body may require at least a few hours to produce a normal, healthy amount of semen.
Another possible cause of watery semen is a zinc deficiency . Research has shown that men who have adequate levels of zinc or men who are deficient in zinc and take zinc sulfate supplements can better fight off the effects of anti-sperm antibodies. These antibodies are produced by the immune system, which mistakenly responds to sperm as a foreign body.
If you have semen that appears watery, it’s important to note if some color is present or if it’s clear. Very clear semen may actually be pre-ejaculation fluid that’s released during foreplay. It typically contains few sperm.
If you notice that your semen is discolored, the color may indicate a health problem.
Pink or reddish brown could mean your prostate is inflamed or bleeding, or there could be bleeding or inflammation in the seminal vesicle(s). The seminal vesicles are a pair of glands that help produce a significant liquid part of semen. These are usually treatable conditions.
Yellow semen could indicate small amounts of urine or unusually high levels of white blood cells in your semen.
Yellowish-green semen could mean you have a prostate infection .
If you notice that your semen is consistently watery or discolored, tell your primary care doctor or see a urologist. If you and your partner have been trying unsuccessfully to conceive, consult a fertility specialist.
One of the first tests that will be done is a semen analysis . This is used to check the health of your sperm and semen. The test will check for, among other things:
Your doctor will also ask questions about your medical history and perform a physical exam. You’ll also be asked some lifestyle questions as well, such as about tobacco smoking and alcohol consumption.
Other tests may be necessary if your doctor suspects there are issues with your hormone levels or the physical health of your testicles and neighboring reproductive organs.
Watery semen caused by a low sperm count doesn’t necessarily require treatment. Having a low sperm count doesn’t automatically mean you can’t conceive. It may take additional attempts, or you may have something like an infection that has temporarily caused the low sperm count.
Treatment for infection may include antibiotic therapy. Hormone treatments may be advised if a hormone imbalance is determined to be the cause of your low sperm count. If a varicocele is discovered, surgery can usually treat it safely.
In some cases, a change in lifestyle may help boost your sperm count and improve the quality of your semen . Positive changes include:
Your doctor may also advise you to abstain from sexual intercourse for a period of time so you ejaculate less frequently. Doing this can help see if it changes the consistency of your semen.
In many instances, changes to the consistency of your semen are temporary and treatable. If the cause for watery semen is low sperm count and you’re trying to conceive, there are many treatments available. Speak with a fertility specialist about the best options for you.
Before you make any major decisions, talk with your doctor and go through the testing needed to make a proper diagnosis.
Last medically reviewed on January 3, 2018
Difference Between White Sperm and Clear Sperm – Difference Wiki
Watery Semen: Causes, Effects on Fertility, Treatment, and More
Эдгар Аллан По, 3 books to know Sea Stories – читать онлайн полностью...
Videos about “ sperm ” on Vimeo
White sperm whale Stock Photos, Royalty Free White sperm ... | Depositphotos
Используя ЛитРес, вы соглашаетесь с условиями обслуживания
Объем: 1560 стр. 7 иллюстраций Жанр: л итературоведение Редактировать
Мы используем куки-файлы , чтобы вы могли быстрее и удобнее пользоваться сайтом. Подробнее
Chapter 29. Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb.
Chapter 42. The Whiteness of The Whale.
Chapter 50. Ahab's Boat and Crew. Fedallah.
Chapter 55. Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales.
Chapter 56. Of the Less Erroneous Pictures of Whales, and the True
Chapter 57. Of Whales in Paint; in Teeth; in Wood; in Sheet-Iron; in Stone; in Mountains; in Stars.
Chapter 73. Stubb and Flask Kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk
Chapter 74. The Sperm Whale's Head—Contrasted View.
Chapter 75. The Right Whale's Head—Contrasted View.
Chapter 77. The Great Heidelburgh Tun.
Chapter 81. The Pequod Meets The Virgin.
Chapter 82. The Honour and Glory of Whaling.
Chapter 83. Jonah Historically Regarded.
Chapter 88. Schools and Schoolmasters.
Chapter 89. Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish.
Chapter 91. The Pequod Meets The Rose-Bud.
Chapter 98. Stowing Down and Clearing Up.
Chapter 102. A Bower in the Arsacides.
Chapter 103. Measurement of The Whale's Skeleton.
Chapter 105. Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish?—Will He Perish?
Chapter 108. Ahab and the Carpenter.
Chapter 109. Ahab and Starbuck in the Cabin.
Chapter 110. Queequeg in His Coffin.
Chapter 115. The Pequod Meets The Bachelor.
Chapter 120. The Deck Towards the End of the First Night Watch.
Chapter 121. Midnight.—The Forecastle Bulwarks.
Chapter 122. Midnight Aloft.—Thunder and Lightning.
Chapter 128. The Pequod Meets The Rachel.
Chapter 131. The Pequod Meets The Delight.
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket
Welcome to the 3 Books To Know series, our idea is to help readers learn about fascinating topics through three essential and relevant books.
These carefully selected works can be fiction, non-fiction, historical documents or even biographies.
We will always select for you three great works to instigate your mind, this time the topic is: Sea Stories.
The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea by James Fenimore Cooper
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket by Edgar Allan Poe
Moby-Dick; or, The Whale is an 1851 novel by American writer Herman Melville. The book is sailor Ishmael's narrative of the obsessive quest of Ahab, captain of the whaling ship Pequod, for revenge on Moby Dick, the giant white sperm whale that on the ship's previous voyage bit off Ahab's leg at the knee. A contribution to the literature of the American Renaissance, the work's genre classifications range from late Romantic to early Symbolist. Moby-Dick was published to mixed reviews, was a commercial failure, and was out of print at the time of the author's death in 1891. Its reputation as a "Great American Novel" was established only in the 20th century, after the centennial of its author's birth. William Faulkner confessed he wished he had written the book himself, and D. H. Lawrence called it "one of the strangest and most wonderful books in the world" and "the greatest book of the sea ever written". Its opening sentence, "Call me Ishmael", is among world literature's most famous
The Pilot, in full The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea, novel by James Fenimore Cooper, published in two volumes in 1823. The work, which was admired by Herman Melville and Joseph Conrad for its authentic portrayal of a seafaring life and takes place during the American Revolution, launched a whole genre of maritime fiction. It features a mysterious and almost superhuman American sea pilot (based on the American hero John Paul Jones) who fights battles off the coast of England against the British and American loyalists. One of the book’s themes is the ambiguous nature of loyalty. Although often bogged down by complicated nautical terminology and intrusive philosophical dialogue, the novel is nevertheless noted for its spiritual and moral dimensions.
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (1838) is the only complete novel written by American writer Edgar Allan Poe. The work relates the tale of the young Arthur Gordon Pym, who stows away aboard a whaling ship called the Grampus. Various adventures and misadventures befall Pym, including shipwreck, mutiny, and cannibalism, before he is saved by the crew of the Jane Guy. Aboard this vessel, Pym and a sailor named Dirk Peters continue their adventures farther south. Docking on land, they encounter hostile black-skinned natives before escaping back to the ocean. The novel ends abruptly as Pym and Peters continue toward the South Pole.
The story starts out as a fairly conventional adventure at sea, but it becomes increasingly strange and hard to classify. Poe, who intended to present a realistic story, was inspired by several real-life accounts of sea voyages, and drew heavily from Jeremiah N. Reynolds and referenced the Hollow Earth theory. He also drew from his own experiences at sea. Analyses of the novel often focus on the potential autobiographical elements as well as its portrayal of race and the symbolism in the final lines of the work.
This is one of many books in the series 3 Books To Know. If you liked this book, look for the other titles in the series, we are sure you will like some of the topics
Herman Melville was born in New York City in 1819. He worked as a crew member on several vessels beginning in 1839, his experiences spawning his successful early novels Typee (1846) and Omoo (1847). Subsequent books, including his masterpiece Moby-Dick (1851), sold poorly, and by the 1860s Melville had turned to poetry. Following his death in New York City in 1891, he posthumously came to be regarded as one of the great American writers.
James Fenimore Cooper, (born September 15, 1789, Burlington, New Jersey, U.S.—died September 14, 1851, Cooperstown, New York), first major American novelist, author of the novels of frontier adventure known as the Leatherstocking Tales, featuring the wilderness scout called Natty Bumppo, or Hawkeye. They include The Pioneers (1823), The Last of the Mohicans (1826), The Prairie (1827), The Pathfinder (1840), and The Deerslayer (1841).
Edgar Allan Poe, (born January 19, 1809, Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.—died October 7, 1849, Baltimore, Maryland), American short-story writer, poet, critic, and editor who is famous for his cultivation of mystery and the macabre. His tale “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) initiated the modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of horror is unrivaled in American fiction. His “The Raven” (1845) numbers among the best-known poems in the national literature.
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.
Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?
But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?
Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.
But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow quarrelsome—don't sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves much, as a general thing;—no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to those who like them. For my part, I abominate all honourable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is quite as much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, barques, brigs, schooners, and what not. And as for going as cook,—though I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;—though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the pyramids.
No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough. It touches one's sense of honour, particularly if you come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if just previous to putting your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it. But even this wears off in time.
What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other's shoulder-blades, and be content.
Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. And there is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard thieves entailed upon us. But being paid,—what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it. But wherefore it was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:
"Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States.
Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating judgment.
Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one lodges in.
By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air.
Naira Marley Soapy
Txxx Ru
Porn Sexy Girl Solo
Tv Future Outdoor
Pee Little Boy Naked
