My Brain.

Finishing ‘The Hard Sci-Fi Renaissance’, I came across a story by Ted Chiang, called ‘Understand’. The main character suffers brain damage in an auto accident, and is given an experimental drug that not only regrows neurons, but with many more dendrites, resulting in hyper-intelligence.

Chiang’s description of the character’s evolution is detailed, and made me jealous. I, too, would like to look at any mass of data or objects, and immediately form a gestalt that reveals all patterns in the set with a minimum of mental effort. I, too, would like to be able to make a quick ten million by easily perceiving stock market patterns and corporate trends. I, too, would like to create new music and write in new languages that reach far beyond common human endeavour, expressing universal ideas in forms that are akin to artificial intelligence, forms that reshape themselves entirely with each new phrase I contribute. I, too, would like to be able to control my autonomic bodily functions for shaped purpose, winning friends and influencing people without their consent or knowledge by projecting tailored pheromones. Although I would never use this ability. I Promise.

The story made me re-commit to certain unresolved resolutions I have made — for instance, I have pledged to master Medical Science by my fifty-fifth birthday. I have no access to brain-regrowth drugs, so I suppose I will have to find the intellectual strength in other methods – Meditation. Massive doses of Vitamin C. Better marijuana. Nude Backpacking at High Altitude.

What’s that? I — can — feel your mind — what are you saying? Delete? Delete? You sound like Robot B-9 from Lost In Space — but there’s no Danger, Will Robinson. Here, I’m sending you a wave of calming pheromones. Relax. Everything will be fine.

Now give me your wallet.

When can we meet?

Blue Angel -- I only thought that because of your name. Sounds like a diamond thief or something.

You're pretty much asking for it.

worn down by depression. Those people who try SSRIs and go into a renaissance - well it it very obvious. And obvious when they are taken off them. Working memory returns to nil in a matter of days (1/2 life) but especially over a month. You cannot negotiate a paper bag when you have no working memory.

What you talk about in your first paragraph - it happens every day. Not to everyone who tries SSRIs. But some people - stress shuts down their hippocampus to practically nil. Imagine not having the ability to place memories as you dream. Then imagine how great it is to "wake up". I did at 25. Then SSRIs didn't seem to be working from 35 to 39. Back to working great. What joy.

This is not so far fetched.

Flowers for Algernon

that comes to mind.

ouch, but not the title...

dp