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Iz Mar 2023
Shut, open once more
Mortal eyes to welcome the light:
The modest ushering in of photons
who tiptoe towards the photoreceptors
dancing, gingerly between their fingertips
whispering their electrochemical messages—
tens of millions of data-bits—
bundled and strung up in between synapses
Sent to a distant place in the back of my head
Segregated, sorted
rearranged until the details emerge.
Iz Mar 2023
You look at me,
that is all it takes, and temptation tumbles towards me

Electrochemical codes stretch themselves thin
taught and winding
cooing and fluttering in axonal cornices
Echoes rush through neuronal chambers,
charged and pulsating.

My mind in harmony and fully drawn to you
synchronized by the network.
The messages reach my cortex, aesthetic appraisal follows
I know not the meticulous, miraculous mechanics of such a wonderful process but
You beauty is magnified now.
Touch receptors tell my whole body to tingle
Sensory splendor is so scary.

The cascades have commissioned the deeper circuitry:
Those ancient blueprints of visceral demands
from which wicked temptations of man are born,
the veteran fossil of primordial impulse, a buried luxury, a relic:
My reward system
permeated by your kiss.

I am dangerously, fearfully humble to the power of pleasure
It is awake in the under-structure of neurobiologically institutionalized euphoria,
ablaze in the basic backbone of bliss
It is stirring in it’s ancient wires.

I can say I am somewhat privy to the elusive nature of experience.
being a human being alone grants me this
being a scientist of the brain only dilates my sense of love’s incomprehensibility.
And so I sink into your touch, your presence unresisting.
Why?
Because
Of you
And you
And me.
Mostly me
in reaction
to the both of  you.

He's
got me locked up
Shot frozen
In the midst of worldly knowledge
And survival tactics
that I wish I could mimic
But that have me curled up
in the shower
Wondering
What if I never happened too?
Clutching the slick curtains
Wondering if I melded
into Cruella Devil?
And crying on a level that
Overpasses the physical
Because I know it should only be true.
And stuck
In the middle of my day
Questioning mid-sentence
Mid-conversation
if I am losing the sanity
I thought I regained
Over a year ago?

And now,
Because I dove in head first
into your endless pool of mixed signals
Even two years in,
I cannot figure out
Whether I am just scared
Or I am lacking in love?
That I am not sure
I have
Unless I'm hooked around his curls
And leaning into his lips
Or staring at him blankly
And when I stare
It only takes two
seconds to look
away , wonder
Is he seeing
your eyes
Through me?
Am I giving him
What you gave me?
Am I giving him anything
or did I give what little I had
to you?

Am I giving him an sweetly wrapped
Empty box for a gift?
That I may have mistakenly put
Unsatisfied lust in?

Or am I really scarred at all?
And maybe I never cared
at all
about either of you
And every tear was a child
Crying over her lost toy.

Or maybe
I am deeply sad
Because I am fussing
over boys
instead of becoming a
neuroscientist
and I let you tell me
that becoming an art teacher
wasn't enough.

Or maybe,
Neither of you were worth
my time.
But were necessary for me to find it

Or maybe,
life just is what it is.
And all stories
have at least three different sides
And maybe, sometimes
Words just don't want to get out of bed
to string together to make
my conclusion-less,
spineless
poems.
Bryce Nov 2019
The soul
Is seen beneath a face of glass
With eyes looking up
As
Beads of water from clouded skies
Dispersed across the pane.
Irate Watcher Jan 2019
You say —
it is impossible
to read
people within
your own frame
of reference.

You’re a neuroscientist,
so I should probably believe you,
because you know
more
about how
the brain processes
information.

You say —
communication is the closest thing
we have to reading someone’s thoughts.
You can't infer the type of person someone is
or what they'll do
from their actions alone —
you just need to ask them.

Evolution is a testament
to the power of speech.
It allows us to co-exist peacefully
with other human beings,
warn them of danger,
or tell them where the food is.

But evolution isn't so
intelligent, and I would premise
that communication
is just a workaround
telepathy.

First of all,
humans lie
when they want
for us to read
what is NOT in
their mind.
Rarely will one
get a straightforward answer
to the question: "Are you lying?"
And should you really expect to?

You say,
of course you can tell
when people are overtly lying.
There are biological signs
of deception
and we're hard-wired to detect
them —
the overly detailed stories
prolonged eye contact
calculated breathing,
are all indicators
of fibbing.

Ok, so there is truth-telling and lying,
but like most dichotomies
there are several somethings
in between.
Like when people don't mean
what they say,
but say it anyways — miscommunication.
Or when people genuinely
believe the words they spew
are true, but they are — mistaken.
Or when people
want so badly
for words to be true...
but they
are
just
not — denial.

For example,
someone like you
could tell me over and over again
that you're sorry,
But communicating isn't gonna help
heal the bruises, honey.

I’m so scared
you'll hit her
when you raise your voice.

I don’t know how to talk about it
because when I do,
she suffers the consequences.

I’m so nervous
I’ll have know about it
the entire time
and still have done nothing.

If I say something,
I’m so worried
she'll think I’m overreacting,
and then stop telling me stories.

What is the least about of harm
you can do
before I’m allowed to speak.
Is it a bruise?
Why must I wait
for the inevitable
just to say
I saw it coming all along.

The complete disregard for her as a partner,
your disrespect, the verbal assaults,
are known precursors of domestic violence.

As is my silence.
But I can't seem to
communicate the situation
without making it worse.

I can’t known for certain
why you treat her this way
from my frame of reference,
because the evidence neither supports or denies
my claim, and I am judge-mental if I infer it anyway...

until it is too late.
Because it wasn't a truth or a lie,
just a thing I knew deep in my bones,
but was told I have no
evidence for
from people like you.

People rarely mean what they say.
Why should I trust their displays
over my own judgement.
Yes, sometimes we are trapped in perspective
and then our perspective turns out to be wrong
about people.
But it takes someone strong,
to risk being wrong,
when she is
chastised for it.
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2020
The mystery of where our thoughts come from
That's the expression of GKC

Moving within our motion minds
Moving mysteriously

Many brain researchers
Spend billions trying to find this

But I know a man who said
Ask a philosopher
Don't ask me
I'm just a neuroscientist
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2018
Does our mind
have an underground
where our innermost secrets
are hidden
immersed in murky waters
which we would never want
to revisit?
(the door to the key
we had flung into
some faraway sea
so long ago)

there's no darkness
that's gloomier
than this
our purgatory--

don't mention
Freud--he wouldn't know
even his own mind
he struggled to understand

the brain
is not the mind
and the mind
is not the brain
(grey matter is substance
thought has no form)

don't mention
the neuroscientist
he's but a machine-reader
and all machines
have faults
where's the dwelling place
of genius
and how are thoughts born?
(it's stupid to guess-
science and technology
are in their infancy)

if one knows not
what one's own mind is
how would others?

I would not go down
the path of thinking again
let me be a child
let me escape the prison
of my own making

give me
a fresh corner
(however small)
of a distant field
let me sow
new seeds
born of pain
and suffering
this time
I know
a new plant
would grow

sprouting
into the sky
seen by all
I would have nothing
to hide

and my underground
would go away
forgotten
and vanish
for evermore.
Dr Peter Lim Dec 2017
I can't put my faith
in the neuroscientist's MRI machine
brain is not mind which is not measurable
the printout is the result of guesswork--fit for the bin!
Vika Sep 2024
Everything I’ve been is a conflict,
a constant afflict with fate.
For someone who’s been redistricted
into multiple lives,
the depiction of me is an undecided verdict.

Past houses have been abducted,
childhood friends are abstracted
and every cassette has been unloaded.
Everything that’s built this aggregation,
collapsed.  

But I am definite
on the idea of being anew.
Interview me and I’ll tell you,

My favorite color is blue.
This is like my 7th abode.
I play the guitar.
I’m gonna be a neuroscientist
so I can rip my brain out and see if I am who I say I am.

Sorry.
That last line was askew,
I’ll withdraw,
review it till it’s sewn.
Until my existence isn’t new
to me.

I must’ve misdrawned
the memories of myself.
Abbreviated, it’s all abandoned.
I’ve destroyed
every souvenir that I adopted.
conflicted,
I am starting anew.
this was for a creative writing class. Sounds good enough so Ill shove it here X3
Mike Hauser Jul 2024
The most important job in this world
Is not that of president
Nor the latest billionaire
Whom all seem to be a tad bit bent

It's not in being a doctor
Or a neuroscientist
Not the king or queen of a foreign country
If I were to make a list

It's not someone who happens upon
The greatest discovery
Or the person who, tried and true
Goes down in history

Not a star out making movies
Who recite their rehearsed lines
Out of all the ones you're thinking
You'd be hard pressed to find

A more important job in this world
That far outweighs all others
Is the one that we should all applaud
That of being a mother

— The End —