Friday, November 5, 2010
All their risks are drained down antique avenues in street rhythm rivers conjealed oil, sunburned kitcschy merchandisers, alcoholic residue, squatters dandruff dreads, a pealing tattoo, or the bloody lips of a sweating street artist at high noon. A casino of rotting dice.
Ebbing away the cobwebs of thick notions, stretching them thin within my grin, I peer out this womb of a shattered window. Rickety thoughts collect on dew drops, emblazoned on prehistoric plant life. Carving into mud with my toe, spelling out adenine triphosphate radio. The string theory of energy intermediates clinging to my peach fuzz stereo. Queer in the night, sitting in a cemetary enjoying a poor mans insight. The sake of things staggered in bricks, wrought iron gates, baring the bird cage I curl within.
The truth of pain decieves more than our wrinkled smiles. Embrassed winces are cobwebs of wroughting granny smith apples, that crumbles in my asophagus as the synthetic foam on mail order grocery cakes
let's step outside look up. The stars nonsense satisfaction tickles you, giggles a harmonic river tune, creaking beats with a rocking chair of life. Humorless hermits hear the rhythm like nails on cardboard, they want gentrified enlightenment.
All I want, what I'll get, is a long, warm night.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
the harp of bullets plinking prison bars,
Of Ravenous phantasms in dogmatic silhouettes
Fabricating stitches on my shadows
Seeping tears of sex
A transparent concoction collar
Grasping my retraction
Tearing my nothings muscle
Straining away this undulating vista
To a raw downy vagabond of vanity
I’ll curl up within satiric women
Pop corn and my priceless projector
It’s a double feature… tune in
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Where do you live?
A magnetic name,
the suffix on our anonymous vow.
To abandon liability
unleash my minds crowd,
platform it on four inch heals,
gift wrap your novelty
and piss it out on your bus seat.
Just another trapeze necromance commi.
My shakra is in the car
underneath my specialized exercise garb!
It's a prias,
meters emotional exhaust.
Would you just listen to this face?
I'm choking on freedom like breathing in a strut.
Following the ultra violet gas streaks
with my rainbow gut.
Fuck your skin!
Don't penalize public nudity,
I'm just wearing mirrors in my spectacles.
Try on my tears,
go shopping for skin.
So I have testacles,
but I'll never be naked again.
Monday, May 3, 2010
A fleeting composition
as if your nostrils were interrupted for a brief message from your sponsors.
John's stretching through Stitzer's aviators
A brief light escaping between the leaves
olive green, hesitating
in a flicker of dissonant brows
waxing your face onto your mouths
rooted in sporadic photosynthesized academics,
The eye of your fast history
flipping Californian mountains, train stubs
and crazies, their roadside thumbs warring
entangled within a begger's glee,
a meditative gaze floating on my afternoon tea.
Glimpsing our duplexity
coloring my cities
pressing against the glass with a muted trombone
imagine waling in a washing machine
serenading your contented giggles
furiously haling their validity
when the sound cuts out
transition lost in transmission.
We, the bi
logical sincerity of 'peek-a-boo' and 'hide-and-go-seek',
I duck and cover in this word cellar
where I ask us to find me,
drive right through my thumb
strutting amongst a garden inflating the pride of knik knaks
washed in artistry.
We'll echo about a clearing
where deforestation didn't phase us.
There's a year of silence in all that we've given trust.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Feel the friction, turning your words to saw dust. The brain herbs ground to grain.
A shell of imposed impressions,
superimposed on the restless faces
haunting you in your lonely.
Not knowing how to shed the skin of days words,
or collapse from the embracing social sensation
Letting go, running go, collecting
The Magic Tollbooth let's you grow down with these words.
Loving anatomy not physiology,
loving your response to your reaction.
Following your footsteps walking on your hands.
As if the world can't see you blinding yourself with a table cloth, crouched in footy pajamas with that typewriter. Plinking away the stutters skidding scabs on your way.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Lighting up your stomach,
Twirling in, the guttural approach
Pondering the, cerebral lavish
That peaked an hour ago.
Making an entrance
To a rager of cultural plagiarism
See the lights rise
In false borealis
Condensed Romance descending to the fervor of underworld bliss
uh tsss uh tsss uhtsss uhtsss
The sub woofers slicing sensation
their electric knife unleashing the spikes
Impaling judgment happily we erode
Victimized by the dance floor
Beating our blood
Into our chest
Asking to tell us
what we don’t have yet.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
By any standard, it was an elementary discovery — the identification of the role of about a dozen genes in a yeast cell. But what made this finding a major breakthrough was the unlikely form of the scientist: a robot. In April, "Adam," a machine designed at Aberystwyth University in Wales, became the first robotic system to make a novel scientific discovery with virtually no human intellectual input. Robots have long been used in experiments — their vast computational power assisted in the sequencing of the human genome, for example — but Adam was the first to complete the cycle from hypothesis to experiment to reformulated hypothesis without human intervention. Interviewed after Adam's experiment appeared in Science, inventor Ross King argued that artificial intelligence had almost limitless scientific potential — and that a computer would one day make a discovery akin to Einstein's special theory of relativity. "There isn't any intrinsic reason why that wouldn't happen," he said. "A computer can make beautiful chess moves, but it'
the coordinates cognitive dissonance,
a scientific calculation
clever sadness sheds
with the precision of ambiguity.
Overcast lives give ghosts definition
while the horizon line seeps
a generation of escapees
we've found truth in confusion.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Controlling confusion -- Researchers make insight into memory, forgetting
MADISON -- Why do we forget? Do memories decay on their own, or are they harmed by interference from similar memories? Using a technique called "transcranial magnetic stimulation" (TMS), brain researchers at the University of Wisconsin-Madison may have found the answer.
Although the notion of decay makes sense, Brad Postle, assistant professor of psychology at UW-Madison, says it may be inaccurate.
"Psychologists have known for decades that the intuitive notion of decay is probably less of a factor in forgetting than is interference," he says. Interference occurs, he says, when "other remembered information disrupts, competes with or confuses the information that you want to remember."
Interference is always present, Postle says, but we don't always notice it.
"An obvious case is like yesterday, when a friend was telling me his cell phone number but actually gave me his home phone number," he says. Another scenario is equally familiar: we get most details of the story right, but misidentify the source. Or we remember that the quotation comes from Shakespeare, but we name the wrong play.
"Interference is also often to blame," says Postle, "in cases when we simply can't remember something."
If blocking interference is so important to a good memory, where - and how - does that blocking occur" In a study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences on the week of Dec. 4, 2006, Postle - together with Guilio Tononi of the UW-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health, and Eva Federoes, a researcher in the UW-Madison department of psychology - studied how part of the brain's prefrontal cortex can reduce the disruptive effects of interference. The prefrontal cortex is responsible for complex thought.
From brain scans, scientists already knew that the sub-region under study, called the inferior frontal gyrus, or IFG, is active when volunteers take memory tests while confronting interference. But was the IFG essential to controlling interference, or was it just contributing more brain horsepower to complex memory tasks" To answer that question, the researchers temporarily disrupted the IFG using TMS, a noninvasive technique that shows potential for treating depression and other disorders.
"TMS is a technique that allows the induction of a current in the brain using a magnetic field that passes through the scalp and the skull safely and painlessly," says Tononi, a pioneer in refining the technique for brain research. "TMS can be used to briefly 'scramble' neural activity in the underlying brain area for a short time, typically a second or so. This scrambling is fully reversible, and after the pulsing, the targeted brain area becomes fully functional again."
Neuroscientists have traditionally identified the roles of particular parts of the brain by studying people with brain injury. TMS allows them to do a similar study on healthy volunteers, Tononi says.
"The great advantage for researchers," he says, "is that one can test whether a given brain area is causally involved in producing a given behavior, but as soon as the current is turned off, the brain returns to normal."
In the current study, volunteers read a group of letters ("F, B, P, X"), and were asked a few seconds later whether a particular letter had appeared in the most recent group ("Did you just see a 'Z'""). In this type of test, having seen a "Z" in the string-before-last causes interference that makes the task more difficult. The subjects take longer to respond, and are more likely to incorrectly say "yes."
The research set-up was designed to be a simplified version of many everyday memory challenges, says Postle. Without a good sorting mechanism, our brains would be utterly confused by the vast amount of observations, ideas and memories that we have stored away. We might, for example, dial the phone number of the friend we just called rather than the one we intended to call.
In previous studies of interference, the IFG consistently lit up in brain scans, showing that it does something when the memory tries to deal with interference. But the IFG could simply be contributing some type of generic processing power to the task, says Postle.
However, the new study proved that the IFG is essential to blocking interference, he says, because accuracy plummeted when the IFG got a brief jolt of magnetic stimulation at the exact moment when the subject was confronting confusion.
Eventually, Postle hopes that locating the site of specific memory operations in the brain may help the millions of people with declining memories. "Understanding how the brain controls interference may be a first step to helping people with memory problems," he says.
The precise system used to target the magnetic pulse has many other applications in neuroscience research and treatment, Tononi adds. "TMS can be used not only to disrupt brain activity, but also to change it. If applied repeatedly, TMS can strengthen certain circuits that have become pathologically weak," he says.
TMS is already being tested to treat severe depression, one of the most serious psychiatric illnesses. In studying this treatment, he adds, "It is important to be able to target TMS exactly to the right area for each individual brain, just as we did in this study."
EMBARGOED FOR RELEASE AFTER 5 P.M. EST MONDAY, DEC. 4, 2006
David Tenenbaum, (608) 265-8549, email@example.com
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Why is society possessive of its' garbage?
I want to wrap myself up in the 20Th century like a blanket, crawl back in to the womb, I can't attach myself to these radical ideas begging me to pull the plug on worship of human accomplishment, because I'm proud to be human when I see Landry-mattes, hot air balloons, tattoos, Nickelodeon goo and 90's films.
there is only one middle,
medium of mind, feed the earth with our cultural quirks. Make our voices lovable, like Japanese assorted paraphernalia catalogues in the school nurses desk. Oh, we're juvenile delinquents, 'Man I need a TV when I feel like T. Rex.'
I talk to fast, I sleep to fast, I drink to fast.
Everyone is slipping through my fingers, like Sufjan Steven's voice through my ears, including me.
*************$#&@$*%@(#@2 days of sleep
My life was given a dephibulation, twining twigs of secrets in sea creatures and the nuts in nutella.
ON FUNG SHUI, ARTIFACTS AND DECORATIVE STATEMENTS
And all the things I imagine, they’re all in my room, my room is my subconscious, my imagination, the things I don’t think about, I don’t think about my room it just happens, I just walk in and its like looking into someone’s eyes and never leaving them I can stare in to my brain for hours, with no particular reason or curiosity, no problem to be solved, no question to be answered, and no fear to be squelched.
Silence is my deadliest weapon, the reason it's more deadly than my nail or some secret jujitsu class for closeted lesbians, is because I know that silence can turn on me, remind me that silence is the choice that sounds like you have no choice.