I’ve been wanting to do a lot of things lately, and had the energy to do absolutely zilch. I think this somewhat imposed transition phase and the sheer monstrosity of college and career debates have forced an ephemeral psychological bubble where time does not exist. Numb is the word, and in the nothingness there is surprising nicety. In retrospect, I would have killed for the luxury of being able to sit there and not have to do a thing in the world a couple of months ago, that should be satisfying enough.
I was watching a documentary earlier on Einstein’s brain, suggesting how the neurons have nothing to do with the actual intelligence, the name escapes me since I was never well-versed in the science department, bringing in some sort of an interactive fiber cell that seemingly wears off with time to be the true catalyst of his intelligence, annulling the entire research and putting forward the possibility that he may have been autistic, and the result of his intelligence was because of a peculiar ability of intense concentration that bred his mathematical section of the brain like a muscle, causing it to enlarge to 15% more than the usual human’s. I could be wrong, the scientific terms were confusing translated, but the idea couldn’t be that far off. The interesting part about that documentary was a couple of fleeting remarks on completely irrelevant matters to the actual dissection and reassembling of Einstein’s brain though.
I was having a conversation a couple of days ago about music interpretation and how some people are able to visualize a plot being told through the music, intensifying their enjoyment with the musical piece, and how it sometimes is advanced with certain people to render the timeline into actual sentences. That is how ballets and operas are made, how stories are told through music and driven into an obstacle course to direct your cognitive abilities to the predetermined plot in the brochure. I was wondering if that actually existed as some sort of a rare ability to a certain select, considering that some people are completely oblivious to the mechanism and only hear music, just music, without an intangible story formulating simultaneously, and frustrated by how my friend didn’t hear the poppy freshman’s distracted first day in the piece I was showing him, suppressing my piano monster shortly afterwards and petting it with a Shostakovich cookie.
Apparently, in my limited understanding of all things biological, there is something called a Sylvian fissure, that generally exists in every person’s brain, following two paths on the lateral right side and forming a miniscule island that is not connected to any other part of the brain. Amongst the many biological disparities that they found in Einstein’s brain, one of which were the non-existence of that Sylvian fissure. Scientists suggested that it may have caused a certain connection between the different factions of he brain, resulting in his having a more wholesome web than most people’s head network, so to speak. On further researching that genetic anomaly, it was found that people with a similar case are able to link auditory and visual stimuli, meaning that they would actively imagine a picture or an event on hearing a certain tune. They interviewed a pianist who claimed that her Wednesdays were yellow and had choppy edges, and reacted to a momentary composition in G major by picturing flowing gold. Not only does this phenomenon exist and is scientifically explained on the basis of neuroscience, but on my quest to figure out whether I am actually insane, I’ve found tangible evidence that my brain may be slightly deformed to hear a divorce in Yann Tiersen’s La Traversée, a blissful amnesiac’s struggle in La Noyée, the Kubler-ross model in Rue des Cascades and an old couple reminiscing in Schubert’s Serenade, but not enough to make me a virtuoso, which is a whole new level of unfortunate, but enough to be joined by a few others who are endowed with the guilty pleasure of hearing something that is not really there.
Another giggle-inducing discovery was that Einstein had a theory that the regular human’s perception of time could be altered while working on his relativity theory, suggesting that time and place form some sort of a four-dimensional world that could be manipulated, hence all the efforts put into making time travel possible. The elaboration of which included a man lying in the middle of a highway facing immediate death which explained why time seems to slow down when bad things are happening and speed up when we’re having fun. Up till the age of 9 I thought it was because Santa’s helpers stole time to make it possible to deliver all those gifts around the world and putting them randomly back in the form of minute deposits in your dentist appointments and school days.
Most of you wouldn’t rejoice at the discovery like I did – I nearly jumped off the couch when I linked the dots – but then again the occasional musical post isn’t meant for everybody, which shouldn’t offend you since most posts aren’t meant for anybody to begin with. If the child in you hasn’t been sufficiently murdered by now, you’ll find a way to amuse yourself with these recounts. Now if you’ll excuse me, the National Geographic channel is covering dolphins’ self-consciousness levels by their reaction to mirrors. Toodles.
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