Posts Tagged ‘Inflammatus’

Now that I have learned to pick up the DC signal right off the electrode inputs, things are clearing up for me.  “Me” has become the brain that used to live inside my skull.  The surgical team removed it, in keeping with the release I signed, before my cancer could cross the blood/brain barrier and finish me off.  That brain is now floating in the tank I helped design and retrofit to house “The First Brain to Continue Living a Conscious Existence External to a Human Body”.


I knew it was possible that I would simply never wake up, but it seems that the best we had hoped for has indeed come to pass.  I am even beginning to “see”, thanks to the optic nerve interface we rigged up to deliver optical code direct to my visual cortex.  There is no adjustable focus, but I can perceive an enhanced spectrum of visual frequency gradations that are finally beginning to differentiate into images.  We hadn’t provided for intercepting sound, but I am definitely picking up patterns in the auditory frequency range, no doubt sympathetic resonance from vibrations induced in the tank fluid by the various pumps and mechanical gadgets that comprise the brain tissue support apparatus.  I wish somebody would submerge a speaker and pipe in Beethoven’s 9th.  Wait!  Listen! Actually, I don’t need a source.  I am reconstructing that glorious melodic line, even the discrete instrumentation, interwoven as symphonic music.  Oh, yes!  Now I’m getting that tweety-bird soprano, Carol Griffith, soloing Inflammatus in our Staples High School choir senior recital.  It’s all there, stored as memory.  There’s Orff’s Carmina Burana, and I’m singing it again with the Roanoke Symphony and tasting the ecstasy of tantric sex floating every pianissimo high C.  It’s Heaven accessed as an ethereal dimension of mind and of voice. All I have to do now is think it, and there it is.  Wonder if I’ll be able to smell.  Yes?  No?  We’ll see.  Think!  Think smell! There!  There it is! The clean bite of ozone, no doubt out-gassing from the high voltage multiplier.  It must be osmosing from the nutrient bath, right across the tissue/fluid barrier and into my stripped olfactory ganglia.  I’m interpreting the chemistry directly as smell, almost as taste.  Wow!  This is better than we ever imagined.  Uh, oh!  Now I’m “hearing” Dr. Walker’s voice.  It’s him, as clear as if I were still inside my body.  He’s muttering to himself.  Nothing new there___Heh-heh-heh.  What’s he saying?


“It’s too bad our first attempt was a failure.  Tomorrow, when her family comes, I’ll turn off the system and turn over her brain to them for cremation.  We did our best, but that’s how it is with these things.  It was a long shot.”


Pleeeeease don’t pull that plug.  How can I tell him?  I’m in here.  It’s me!  Damn it!  There’s no way to tell him that it worked.  It’s all over.  At least I’ll have one whole night to replay a lifetime of inhabiting a living, sensing, gloriously human, body.  OK.  So let’s get this show on the road.


In the seventh grade at St. Joseph’s Academy, that cool Valentine’s Day party.  It was off-campus and the first time we got to play spin-the-bottle.  Johnny Rutherford wasn’t much to look at, but he really could kiss.  Of course I didn’t have any comparison since his was my first.  His lips were warm.  So soft, Mmmm, so smooth.  He tasted like jelly doughnuts.  What about that night of nights behind the bleachers, when Charles first proposed a life for the two of us together?  The grass was cool and pillow soft.  It smelled succulent and new-mown, and was crawling with chiggers, but we didn’t care.  It was the Fourth of July, and fireworks were going off all around us…….


Dr. Walker hung up his lab-coat and dimmed the laboratory lights.  As he turned to open the door, an unusual output on one of the displays caught his eye.  It looked, for all the world, like bottle-rockets exploding, pink and purple, right there on the screen.  The doctor grinned and reached for his lab-coat.  He knuckled “Knock-Knock” on the side of the tank and watched “Who’s there?” flow merrily across the screen.

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