Tag Archives: Consciousness

Matheus Schurr

“It all began on a dreary night of November 1816. Whilst Mary Shelley was drawing energy from freak electrical storms and sudden weather changes to build Frankenstein at the Villa Diodati on the shores of Lake Geneva, a family in a small Black Forest village on the other side of the Alps called on Doctor Johann Tritschler to give his medical opinion on the condition of a thirteen-year-old boy named Matheus Schurr. The boy, according to Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, was tormented by dreams and physical ailments: ‘His speech was rapid and loud, his face was pale and with an expression of anxiety, he complained often of violent pains in his body, of headache, sickness, and an inclination to vomit, and he not only trembled when he attempted to move, but had constant convulsions’.”


“Medicine proved ineffective, and over the next few days the boy got much worse; he spoke with a rapidity that showed he had as little control over his tongue as over the muscles of his limbs. However, while the doctor was admonishing his patient to be more quiet and composed, by mere accident he stroked the boy’s face once or twice with his hand, and immediately the wildness in his looks vanished. To his astonishment, the boy became calm and spoke gently, and he discovered that the healing process lay not in the medicine he prescribed, but the hands, especially the movement of the hands over the body without actually touching. After several visits the boy was cured – or he recovered, which of course isn’t necessarily the same thing – and the Doctor reluctantly conceded that the cure might be the ‘existence of an imperceptible agent acting by means of magnetical influence’. Thereafter, with regard to Doctor Tritschler’s casebook, it was consigned to the medical archive.”

“1816 was a dark year. Solar events created prolonged geomagnetic storms, and it is likely they contributed to the climatic mood swings. They may also have contributed to the mood swings of a section of the world’s population: the eminent Scottish scientist, David Brewster, invented the kaleidoscope in that year, and before he even reached the patent office there was mass demand for this brief but spectacular break from the gloom – a demand met through numerous copycat versions. No doubt a coincidence, it was the year the Scottish Enlightenment dimmed and, with the death of Adam Ferguson, the year it was extinguished. It was the year of swift weather shifts from calm to chaos, of blinding bursts and deafening blasts from freak electrical storms. It was the year Frankenstein was born, though he didn’t actually toddle into the bookshops until he was two. It was the year of ‘blood or bread’ riots, of the heavy midsummer hail that flattened crops, of mass migrations and the death of tens of thousands. It was the year the volcanic eruptions of Tambora, on the island of Sumbawa in Indonesia, caused cataclysmic climate changes by draping a veil around the Earth. It was the year without a summer.”

Source:

https://www.counterpunch.org/2017/12/11/the-year-without-summer/

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Some unknown

You wake up
holding a glass jar
with a brain inside of a solution
do you stick your hand inside
to touch it slimy & beige
standing on the edge of a butte
or do you go & carry it down
to where the wildcats
are floating dry lips
invisible above the mud
go give it to the sandstone
night at the edge of the laurel
canyon with your sweaty hands
dancing by the fire after sunset
or a bird you’ve never heard before
unravels something inside of you
bringing liquid ripples
replicating sounding impossible
flies away
can you see the stars
with your eyes closed
not thru the Earth
but thru the trees
not until you’ve sweat
the infinite of last winter’s rain
from the high noon heat
lighting up the mountains
cleaning up the wastelands
of pines the beetles left behind
with wildfire awakenings
suddenly everything you thought
you owned
is either in your truck or burned
to the ground—where did the jar go—
you lose grip of the spiral
lightning flinging ’round
your wrist & can’t see
your shadow in the moonlight anymore
carve a message into it
found millions of years later
two words written
barefoot with a staff
of bone & petrified wood
a necklace of teeth
some feline, some human,
some unknown





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The seahorse

I wanna go
under there
again
fuck you & all your asphalt
take me back
beyond the shore
beneath the waves
I don’t wanna be a particle
anymore
I don’t wanna be a wave
again
I just wanna burn
burn
burn
these tetrahertz teeth
I just wanna breathe
breathe
breathe
my liquid lungs are glowing
I wanna go
underwater
again
I wanna close
my eyes right open
fuck you & all your pretty sky
take me back out
way beyond the shore
beneath the waves
I’m not gonna be a particle
anymore
I’m not gonna be a wave
ever again
I just wanna burn
burn
burn
in a circle
I just wanna breathe
breathe
breathe
the black water
where the iceberg
meets the seafloor
scraping
in the darkness
the red water
where it bursts
open to magma
exploding
in the






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Boltzmann’s wet dream

                                           In approximately ten
                                         to the power of ten
              to the power of fifty years from now
                   it’s been hypothesized
                  the entropy in what we call
                the universe will fluctuate
                                           just enough
                            for the disembodied
                brains to appear
                                                 in the vacuum
               like space ghosts
                                   roving the outskirts
of the very end of everything


                   who are these observers
                   will they even know themselves
                                   thinking, remembering
          fluctuating from above


  the iron stars collapsing
from quantum tunneling
   becoming neutron stars melting
                      into shattered black holes
                              subatomic particles
   all matter gone


you’re not supposed to make sense
                       you’re disallowed
           you’re a problem
          you’re the last sparks of phantom life
                    before it bangs like bubbles again


   you take the number of all the ways
    every subatomic particle
      can be combined
          you multiply it by ten
          to the power of ten
          to the power of ten
          to the power of fifty six
a rounding error


                              the time it will take
                              for one of the bangs
                    to start to look like this again





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