Creation Speaks Latin

By Silver Williams

Creation speaks Latin. My medium is calling, my tools are shaking with tremor. The brushes and pens, themselves subjects, each one a brush stroke reflection. En tongues. Magnetic fields coaxing them to swirl in clinking motions.
The suspense of the unhinged, the actions waiting to be dropped into the next divet. I’m nervous too


We’re Hurried So We Butcher Our Own Names

Make no bones about it
I’m just eyeballing this because I’m sure it fits in to my pupil filter
It drips down into my morning coffee
It rumbles out a complaint like everyone else rumbling and mumbling and complaining because their bodies ache and age
And cataracts make everything diluted even in foresight the small premonitions brewed into brackish wishes. You really must get that clock fixed. Jot it into a neon list, a sticky note adhered to the fridge screaming green. Do you hear me?! Tick Tock drip drip! Fuck-a-grrr-rumble

Neuroethics Society Meeting: Ethical Consumer Neurotechnologies

Dana Foundation

KK_INSblog Karola Kreitmair

The capabilities of neurotechnologies are revolutionizing the path of treatment and prevention for certain illnesses. As they continue to evolve, it’s become necessary for doctors and patients to consider the ethical quandaries that arise with the use of brain-interfacing devices.

“We are at a place where we are unlocking more and more data about peoples’ brains and behaviors, and developing more ways of affecting our brains,” neuroethicist Karola Kreitmair said in an interview with the International Neuroethics Society (INS) back in August. “It’s important that we have an ethical actor at the table to shape that future.”

Kreitmair was this year’s Rising Star Plenary Lecturer at the INS meeting, following a panel presentation on the ethics of neuroscience and neurotechnology. She addressed shared concerns brought up by the three panelists in her lecture, “The Seven Requirements for Ethical Consumer Neurotechnologies.”

View original post 660 more words

Closed Eye Visualizations

It’s immediate upon closing my eyes and they are moving, they were already there, a movie playing in the background. I see a painting being created, yellow brush strokes, the thick wet texture. I hover up close to it, examining it. I open my eyes and it’s gone to the daylit room. As I close my eyes it has continued and I’ve missed a bit of the exploration. I see a new area with purples and thinner strokes.

Sometimes they feel more real than what I see with my eyes open and I’m sucked into that world. I’m compelled to close my eyes. It’s often textures, up close paintings, rain on stones, metal violin strings vibrating. I saw a violin vibrating until it melted crimson wood to the floor, the strings snaking into a rattling nest.

Sometimes it’s disturbing, vivid blood, gore, dead white skin, when I’m trying to sleep. I try to transform the images into something less disturbing. The less vivid the images the easier this is.

Hyper real imagery is impossible to transform and seems burned so deeply that I have to open my eyes and give up on sleep. I try not to blink and see the image strobing in the blinks. It’s exhausting.

The more delicate the image and the more it moves on its own the easier it is to transform, it helps to be relaxed but it usually reverts back to its original form within minutes. It’s tiring but it can be interesting.

There have been times where it’s been worse than not being able to close your eyes because the images were more vivid and brighter than the reality of open eyes. It’s lasted days at a time where I could hardly rest. I’d be jolted by colors when I drifted off a bit and my eyelids grew heavy.

The phosphenes in your eyes can be overactive when your on psychedelics or when manic or psychotic and basically be lit up so bright that you might as well have lacey eyelids

The themes often resemble what I’ve done recently such as painting but I haven’t played violin in years and some of the imagery has no familiarity whatsoever. I see spinning objects that seem almost mechanical. I often see lit tunnels that open onto horizons and landscapes.

I often wonder what would happen if I did psychedelics since I’m already prone to this phenomena. No medications have helped so far so I’m just living with it.

Seafoam Sleep

When his head is tilted toward mine we enclose the sounds of the ocean

My cochlea is an iridescent snail that shimmers, the tide swells it up and the sun gleams along the bodywork. What has been tossed into the splashed glaze?

A fossil embedded in my temple

Going to bed on a pillowtop over the ocean, I sink in and sip beer foam. I believe this is the feat of a saint in white robes

The mouthfuls of salted cocktails seized up from the liquid as a luscious froth. Expansive fizz, tossing and turning into new drinks

Legs dangle down, toes tipping the noses of fish, every fleeting contact eliciting an image of them in the mind’s eye. The angelic koi slipping through their colors, raising kanji symbolism in cryptic beauty, raising a clash of phonemes from a bobbing sleepyhead

Zippy tetras flit between toes, bright bloodfins, silver tips, the ballistics of bullets in the guesswork of dreams

A Cave’s Call

She sat in the shadow of the towering cave of bone, in the looming concave shard of a tremendous broken skull the size of a temple. It had a human shape with brows that formed like awnings over the eye sockets. She sat within the opening, cross-legged, sifting through red hot coals with sooty hands, tossing them and revealing the orange-red hot marks like runes with black sides. She skipped out patterns atop patterns in successive waves of heat. Then she flew up to her feet to stomp them out and dance them into white ash.

Filthy, she could feel the warmth leave. She could still see the marks heave heat as they died. Fitting to impart hot life onto the bleached bone of jagged death. Sheltered here in the empty space a mind once occupied she couldn’t help but think of herself as a ghost lighting the windows of an old home.

She wondered what it was like here when the creature was alive. She felt the pangs of hunger as she laid back into the soft dust.

As night splayed across the heavens above the skull ceiling became more and more translucent, it became cracked foggy glass imbued with breathe. She gazed at it as it transformed slowly. Over the course of hours the white fog dissipated until the skull seemed to be made of pure glass. She wondered at how all the calcium seemed to have left it. As she gazed upward images crept across the concave skull ceiling like shooting stars.

She saw herds of antelope bounding across a dusky landscape. She saw one antelope fall with an arrow imbedded in it’s ribs. Men surrounded it as dust rose into the air. She saw humans painting animals on cave walls, she saw their colorful fingers dipped in pigments carefully curving along the animal’s likeness. The flat paintings came to life and sprinted across the concave wall.

She saw sand castles made of gold sand being patted into existence alongside the sunny sea. Shining wet fingers forming grooves into towers. They used their nails to scratch out wood slats on the door. They formed moats while they daydreamed of the beasts they would trap there.

A group of boys ran up to admire it and then laughed as they kicked it over. A heap of gold remained and waited for a gentle tide. The boys ran out into the water to wash their feet.

She saw the ocean smooth the sand in long lapping brush strokes as the sun set.

Towering glass cities emerged and the imagery panned across skylines, smoke and steam plumes snaked into the sky from industrial chimneys while the glass skyscrapers shone glinting reflections. The skull became warm as if heated by memory.

She had a feeling of Deja Vu. She could see small vibrations in the glass skull as if it were becoming liquid, the undulating waves left linework to flow across the curving atmosphere. She began to wonder if the skull was even there. She could see the night sky through the moving waves.

The warmth made her look around, the coals lay dead, there was no fire. It was as if the bone was giving off heat. She felt electric as she watched the waves vibrate, and they began to give off sound, she watched as they vibrated and heard the sound of light harp music. Notes were struck seemingly at random in soft muffled waves.

She felt like she might just try walking through the walls of vibration, out into the night.

In a crescendo the notes gathered momentum and took on a peculiar quality. She jolted as she realized that whispers were resounding all around, unintelligible whispers that sped up the linework into cramped bars. The vibrations were all encompassing, covering every opening.

There was no leaving now.

The visions of cities crept upward, growing all around the periphery of the great theater while sound waves whipped at the dome. In the center, at the very top she saw satellites glinting, their mirrored panels hovering in the starry sky.

She heard the waves whip into a frenzied wind that pummeled the skull as if it were a flimsy tent. The overwhelming wind of whispers gusted like a hurricane and the cities grew impossibly tall. The air filled with smog occluding the towers. The vibrations filled every millimeter of space, they became nearly impossible to withstand. She covered her ears but they vibrated within her.

When the entire scene was filled with smog the deathly hum finally gave out. The skull was once again calcified and silent, dead.

The warmth was utterly sapped by the wind. She lay enervated as the rose of dawn on the horizon could be seen through the openings. She was exhausted but felt the need to move on.