A day in the life of Marcus

Oct. 28 2010

Today I participated in a psychological study!
For this particular study involved an EEG. for those not in the know, EEG stands for electroencephalogram. Not being proficient in greek (or is it latin?) I looked it up and was surprised to find it means exactly what I expected: A tool that records and measures the electrical activity in the brain through carefully placed electrodes.
Despite how it looks, the EEG cap is, in fact, not very comfortable. In order for the electrodes to detect the minute, split-second actions of your synapses, a specialized goo is placed between the electrode and where it contacts your head. After having my head thoroughly slathered with dielectric grease, I got to sit in front of a computer monitor and be recorded as I "played" some "games." I mean to use ironic quotes, because the "games" consisted of counting  and "played" refers to typing one of four keys. But thats not important.

I hardly felt much during the test, though at times I felt ...lightheaded? no, like when you get a whole bunch of hair cut off after having a shaggy do for awhile. A lightness around my scalp but offset by the presence of the cap. It was how imagined it would feel to have your mind read. A numb probe at the threshold of your perception like an evasive thought playing hide-n-seek in your mind.

Later, after the tests, the researcher took me to a place where I could shampoo the gel out. A nice young lady. thick brown curls peeking out from her red knit Cyclone hat.  She wants to study Biological Psychology which she attempted to explain to me in too short a time in too brief a conversation. While we walked and talked I felt the presence of the gel more. To me, I felt like my cognitive abilities, my thoughts where more subdued than usual. A short, if you will. Perhaps it is my active imagination, but I think that gel was interfering with my thinking. I cleaned my head and walked home (actually I biked, but walking sounds better). Once cleared of goo, I felt normalized.

...until this evening. You see, I made the mistake of scheduling this participation on the same day as my Psych Exam. Fortunately, the two events were, like, 10 hours apart so... no worries. I only mention this because during my exam I felt a familiar pang. The jab of electrodes. This time hot like a fresh bruise. These pangs weren't accompanied with that numb, airy feeling. No. Now separated from the grease, the ghostly electrodes pushed tangibly against my cranium. It was very distracting.

thanks for reading
-W. Marcus Miranti

Sunday morning

here I am Writing this blog I sit in early morning hour.
The station echoes with it's endless broadcast.
It is mute with noise.

SeeSaw

what goes up and down and up and down and up and down and up?

That's, right, my blog posts.
If you guessed a teeter totter, you get partial credit.

I really wanted to scribble a tall tale. I started, and that was great; but I've pick this habit of editing and revising while working and that is slowing me down greatly. As such, I've been working off and on and off this story for, like a week now. Anyway, I left the older, unedited unfinished version up. For those interested, I posted the finalized story here.

Thank you, for your patience. I've been struggling with focus recently more than normal. Planning is hard. even harder is acting.

A Tale So Possible It's True

I have been melancholy of late. In an effort of affect my blues, I'd like to speak today of something close to my heart. wine.

Yes, wine. It may surprise you, but my familiarity with the beverage dates to my earliest adventures. I am credited with saving an entire year's vintage from ruination as a youth. In actuality, it was my prodigious steed who saved that year's wine. she was a beautiful creature. the color of ash and spotted snow-white, like the granite topped mountains of New England. She was just old enough to saddle and I was just aged enough to ride. It was a sparkling spring in the American colonies. Talk of taxes and governance pursed everyone's lips. But not us. Concord and I rode blissfully up and down mountainous passes, too youth too care for politics, too naive to think about rebellion.  Mr. Delacroix, to whom I was employed, a rotund man cheerfully mustachioed was the premier viner of New France (I'm told, today it's called Vermont). 

A brawny voice boomed over the rows of vines, "Foutre! The day, she is beautiful! Abruti, boy where are you?" Mr. Delcrioux's English warbled heavily with french slurs, "Le vin, we must check the wine!" 

I, as I was most often at dawn, was in the barn collecting eggs from the chickens when I heard  Delacroix shouts. I saddled Concord and, with the eggs in hand rode to meet him near the cellar. 

"He's always like this in the spring." I reasurred Concord as I dismounted.

The viner wobbled about the the cellar with a taster of tokay in one hand and a sloshing glass of his prized chardonnay in the other. his night gown swirled about his short legs. I tiptoed down the cold, stone stairs. He whirled about and i gave a starteld cry. Delacroix's excited face was wreathed in an wild corna of thick, black hair. The egg basket tumbled from my hands.

"Merde boy! don't frighten a man like that!" he cried, "le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage! eggs in the cellar? to the house with you." Delacroix sipped the tokay. "you have that horse of yours with?" he smiled. "hurry, quick for some breakfest, I have an important task for you, mon grand."

I found Delacroix on the porch after a quick meal of croissant and preserve. Delacriox sent me on errand to Newport. I was to find a group of exotic traders and give them a sealed letter and directions to the farm. giddily, we set our sights to Newport.

The trip to was hardly adventureous. But to an eager lad and best freind in hoof, it was a trail forged beyond tale. I spun tall fables and epic poems of my heroic consqest through the hills of New France. the bards would caterwaul my deeds was they did for ledgends past. 'Lo!' they would sing 'hear now the tale of the boy- no the man -  who carried the message for Delacroix Vinery!' High above, my daydreams soars in a cloudless sky. Beneath bows spurting youthful leafs Concord's trot drew a hyonotic beat. The midday sun painted green the rocky path.

We reached Newport late in the day without incident. The tavern was easy to find, it's lanterns already lit in the reddening light of dust. 

...

"to die, to sleep, perchance to dream"


Hamlet stayed his hand.
I did not.
so quick. so terrifyingly quick.
cold, tired, then numb, then nothing.
a finite gasp of in a finite world filled with finite things so unchangible
drifted away in a final thought
I know not what. like a birthday wish, it shall never shared.