proud papa

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of two pesky pumas

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pictures, shapes and patterns <3

 

“Synesthesia” was a word that had never entered my vocabulary (or perhaps even my eyes or ears) before age 16. But the first time that the concept encroached on my consciousness it felt immediately familiar, to the point of utter, unquestioned normalcy. My sister was sitting next to me on the couch explaining that her friend at school had a bizarre tendency – an automatic habit of associating letters or numbers with colors, and quickly rattling off the sequence of colors associated with names or other words. I was struck (But Casey, you’re just blue-blue-red-green-yellow!) and a quick Wikipedia search showed both of us that I definitely had synesthesia.

2 or 3 years later during my freshman year in college I stumbled upon this documentary. If you’ve never seen it you really should- Daniel Tammet is a remarkable human being and a living window into the world of the brain. And he seems really nice too! I’d actually seen this film once in my early high school years and nearly forgotten about it. I watched this scene with Tammet’s magical description of his synesthesia on the very same day that I declared my neuroscience studies major at Macalester. It’s been 7 years and watching this still sends shivers up and down and back up my spine.

(and 7 years later, the example photo on the Wikipedia page – to roughly demonstrate the experience to non-synesthetes – is still the same! check it out below)

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≈[almost equal to]

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From September 15th – October 22nd of 2017 a fantastic play is show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, show, showing at the Pillsbury Theatre in Minneapolis. You should go. [what would it be like to do the same show 26 times in 5 weeks? whoa!]

Self-indulgence seemed to be the theme here.

It was written by Janas Hassen Khemiri and was perhaps the most creepy/dark/effective/funny/great/hedonistic/individual portrayal of money, greed, and desire I have ever witnessed. The space at the theatre was simple, and the actors – often embodying various attitudes or inner urges experienced by the actual “scripted”/”real” characters – flowed through and beyond the set with humor and ease. One single actor might represent three neighborhood goofballs over the span of 2 minutes – at another moment, 2 actors might represent 1 single goofball’s inner dialogue. Very cool work & had me scribbling on my mini-paper-pad thing excessively throughout the show.

DESIRE. This goal-oriented intoxicating desire reminded me for the entire 1 hour and 45 minutes of the nucleus accumbens and VTA. The performance felt like a clear demonstration of our inner desires for wealth and class and fancy items – walk in closets, perfume, champagne – and thus connoted the reward systems we all have in common. Of course those reward systems are best characterized as biological, as they operate on entirely passive, predictable, and commonly inherited forces. Much of the melancholy came from divisive attitudes and circumstances, and the passing of judgment. Greedy folks blaming other greedy folks for being greedy.

Are we all screwed? Maybe not. The consistency of this self-indulgence and other-blaming is what offered at least some comedic redemption for each character. If we’re all united in our humanity by greed it perhaps opens up the conversation about what to do about it. [The program offers several discussion questions, one of which is Do you identify with any of the characters? I identified with all of them, down to the yucky details.]

So what’s with greed? What’s with money? Thanks to the theatre & the playwright for getting at least my brain and a few others to keep wondering. Capitalism is our mutual problem as a society (especially in America), and maybe to be unified and identified as automata who are equally enticed by pleasure is the first step towards rewiring our nature.

 

field notes (08/11/2017)

Wow that last entry was weird. Sky is looking right this morning. It is close to 8am and my location is the living room of Selby. Beeps from a large truck cut thru the dewey air as the sink starts running with floppy droppy plops. A car goes by. Sounds are among the best experiences to document because one can write while listening. And to remember a sound is easier, like re-playing a tape. I cannot much remember the visual scene directly out of the window in front of me should I look away from it for a moment. The details will just disappear. The sights out the window I’ve seen thousands of times and as recently as a minute ago and I still couldn’t draw them for you as easily as I could describe the sounds. And, wait – while trying to write a thought about work intruded into my awareness. Off with that. Anyway it is easier to remember sounds. Outside the sun marks prominent territories: the lawn on the south end of the street split by sprinting rays (& sitting shadows) who run left-right and east-west right now. As the day continues and the sun rolls by the shadows will shrink and change their direction, until the same sitting shadows point northwards towards the house. And ongoing the street will eventually be split again, by the evening sun. Neat to think – the sun coming from east strikes out long lines, as it rises up the lines shift 90 degrees and shrink by some margin, and then shift another 90 degrees further and are drawn out again at dusk.

Lawn-mower sound or perhaps leaf-blower sound itching the earports. It seems to hear the gnashing metal engine sound – at least this morning – is more bearable than when also experiencing the sight of them. The bottom edge of the windowsill currently occludes the street beneath, and I feel like a periscope of flesh and frivolity. Yee yee haa haa. The morning clouds – which were really more of a dotted cottony haze – have been boiled off the top by the sun. A stunning scream trickles in from that screen, conjuring Alex’s voice: “As clear as an unmuddied lake, sir. As clear as an azure sky of deepest summer.”