Dominik Pucek

mMMMmmmmm bass lunges like a flying whale frantic metal dances in front inside behind and through fills the lungs with time and always flying slapping snares snap synapses contract and collapse spheres of atomic impressions sutble melodies swim within around and spin pitches bend chromatic syllabic currents somatic schematics comatonic cataclysmic pitch shifts again and atmospherics sigh away to sleep

whales return

frentic metallics

b b u u u i i l l l l l ll d dd dd

BREAK

drummed and bassed again

Earlier in the semester I went on a bit of a tangent or rant on Jessica's blog on Language and Consciousness that led to the following. The original comment can be found here

From that comment I developed 2 questions to be addressed in this blog: (1) How does the limit of language affect the potential, conception and understanding of consciousness? (2) Does becoming attuned to language in a way limit or expand the experience of consciousness?

These are the sorts of questions that cognitive science and language and thought production specialists are assuredly still working on. It's the old chicken and the egg truism. I decided to tackle this here before Professor Tougaw gives us something to read that blows anything I say away. Join me.

Hey guys! Ok, so here's my review. Things to keep in mind: I am talking specifically about the reprinted editon by HarperCollins which dropped back in August 2003. I'm using the review format that you see on SciFi weekly, which is a website associated with the SciFi channel (you can check it out here.). The reason why I took something less literary (though not entirely non-literary) is because I think it is an interesting format and affords me the opportunity to talk about the work in relation to the current state of affairs for this piece, which is roughly December 2003. Looking over it now, it seems I've lost track a bit. Please help!

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The following is in response to a blog by Olga M. Nikelshpur. I'm unfamiliar with both pieces she mentions, but she hits on something interesting about memory. I'm attempting to entertain some thoughts on how it relates to Damasio's patient who had a similar disorder.

Ah, reading Mrs. Dalloway. I've encountered this book at least three times. This book has a way of growing on you. The first time I read it I just did not understand why anyone, any writer, would ever want to put themselves in the position of commentator on an entire community. Just knowing one intimately is quite a challenge. The language was tough to navigate with all its temporal and perspective shifting even within sentence. The more I read the book, however, the more I began to truly appreciate what Woolf accomplished.

Had a terrifying experience the other night. I woke up from a dream to find that I was still dreaming. Literally.

Generally, Zunshine's book is easy to read. Her matter of fact and down to earth tone makes what could have been horrifically dense analysis and critique actually a pleasure to read. It's important that any new idea brought to the table, especially when dealing with cognitive science, is accessible, and Zunshine has a very direct and consistent viewpoint. Speaking specifically, however, is another story.

After workshopping Jennifer's piece, I thought Cognitive Daily's article on whether the color red impairs performance was a timely piece for me to read. I have always wondered why people always seem to be uncomfortable with the color. What does it signify to them? Threat? Lust? Blood? It always seems to be associated with being direct and primal. I used to use red on people's workshops and would usually get a similar reaction: "not only were you brutally honest, you wrote all your comments in RED," the emphasis as if I had caused them further injury than my critique and analysis of their work.

Somehow I managed to pre-empt the entry into Sacks' accounting of and ruminations on memory loss and nostalgia. My earlier blog "Watch for the Changes" connects and responds with a blog from Psych 801 that mentions Clive, a man who has lost his short term memory, and Proust's "In the Search of Time", whose narrator lusts for the past. I also had an experience (in "Fairly Terrified") parallel to Franco Mangani's presumed temporal epileptic revelations. So what the hell do I talk about now?

Nostalgia? Like how I used to feel about Columbus, and his day?

The Lathe of Heaven

Ursula Le Guin

Trade Paper

176 Pages

ISBN 0-06-051274-1

MSRP: $12.95