“The mind is the gateway to the body. The mind dictates the
reception that the body will feel. When you sensed happiness, its channel by
the mind to your smile. You will then be smiling when the synapse triggered the
facial muscles. We used more muscles in a smile than your walk with the legs.
It’s a matter which area of the mind to trigger the correct synapses.” I had
attached the final electrode probes at the forehead.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I heard the plea.
“Pardon me, I am not doing it. It’s your mind that is triggering me to perform these tests on you.” I checked the wires were connected to the correct ports. I do not want them tangled and it may give me the wrong responses. I am not any other scientist; I don’t work on possible results but I am the scientist and perfect results are mine to achieve.
“Pardon me, I am not doing it. It’s your mind that is triggering me to perform these tests on you.” I checked the wires were connected to the correct ports. I do not want them tangled and it may give me the wrong responses. I am not any other scientist; I don’t work on possible results but I am the scientist and perfect results are mine to achieve.
Or none at all.
“Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” I heard the desperation.
“Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” I heard the desperation.
“Oh, you can’t for this work here involves only you and me.
No one must know. It's our …. Personal secret.” I checked the dials. I have to
be precise. With digital advancement, I am able to adjust my requirements to
precisely a fraction of the digits. It’s not perfect but it will suffice. To
this date, the Pi Equation or the 3.1419 …. To infinity have never been
determined its’ final decimal. I am alike the Pi Equation, I am infinite.
Or rather my mind.
Picture this.
The mind is like the myriad of colours in the mosaic of the face. When you thought that green belonged to a section there, it may not for it have moved like the flow of the stream. Not every molecule is the same and not every molecule held the same atoms. Not all the atoms held the same number of sub-atomic levels and its vibrations could vary and create differing results.
“Are you listening? I am talking to you.”
Voice is the result of the sound emitted by the mind to the voice box, and the mind translates it into words or noise that resembles understandable vocals. I have attributed the voice to be a discerning factor for the hearing. Just like the taste triggered the mind from the tongue.
“Hello….”
I called them a series of irritants. I pictured them like a combination of colours that distorts the real picture. I am like a painter; I could override it with a new coat. I pressed the switch to inject in the signals to the synapse. Viola, it worked. Silence helped me to work better. My hearing had been impaired so was my voice box. I needed not them but my visual sights. I need only to see what is needed for my mind. My sense of feeling I still retained to allow me to explore the reactions.
Alas, I am ready.
Let me turn on the triggers.
Ye, God. I can see the mind. The myriad of colours.
The flow of the emotions.
The channel of the senses.
I am a genius.
I am the best.
Yes, I am me.
Who else can I experiment on if not myself?
I can see myself.
Wait, there is fire. It's spreading.
Help, I am in a fire.
No, I can’t shout.
I have no voice.
I can feel the pain.
The colours are changing.
Oh, God. It's all red.
Before I die, God. Can pain be finite in itself?
I don’t like the pain.
God! I am screaming.
Can you hear me?
Or rather my mind.
Picture this.
The mind is like the myriad of colours in the mosaic of the face. When you thought that green belonged to a section there, it may not for it have moved like the flow of the stream. Not every molecule is the same and not every molecule held the same atoms. Not all the atoms held the same number of sub-atomic levels and its vibrations could vary and create differing results.
“Are you listening? I am talking to you.”
Voice is the result of the sound emitted by the mind to the voice box, and the mind translates it into words or noise that resembles understandable vocals. I have attributed the voice to be a discerning factor for the hearing. Just like the taste triggered the mind from the tongue.
“Hello….”
I called them a series of irritants. I pictured them like a combination of colours that distorts the real picture. I am like a painter; I could override it with a new coat. I pressed the switch to inject in the signals to the synapse. Viola, it worked. Silence helped me to work better. My hearing had been impaired so was my voice box. I needed not them but my visual sights. I need only to see what is needed for my mind. My sense of feeling I still retained to allow me to explore the reactions.
Alas, I am ready.
Let me turn on the triggers.
Ye, God. I can see the mind. The myriad of colours.
The flow of the emotions.
The channel of the senses.
I am a genius.
I am the best.
Yes, I am me.
Who else can I experiment on if not myself?
I can see myself.
Wait, there is fire. It's spreading.
Help, I am in a fire.
No, I can’t shout.
I have no voice.
I can feel the pain.
The colours are changing.
Oh, God. It's all red.
Before I die, God. Can pain be finite in itself?
I don’t like the pain.
God! I am screaming.
Can you hear me?
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