When I went to purchase the new Disturbed album, Asylum, I was disturbed to find it hidden in the rock section of the record store. After listening to the whole CD, I was relieved to find that this was clearly an error; Disturbed is very much still a metal band.
Disturbed is most famous for their groundbreaking single “Down With The Sickness,” from their first studio album The Sickness, released in 2000. The intense drum beats provided by Mike Wengren and provocative, guttural vocals of David Draiman immediately captivated American metal fans. Ten years and five studio albums later, the band has not abandoned their original gritty style.
As with most metal, the lyrical content found in Disturbed albums deals with larger than life themes including war, violence, relationships, and the concepts of Heaven, Hell, and redemption. The lyrics in Asylum are not as meaningful as those in their last album, Indestructible, which featured the single “Inside the Fire,” a song about Draiman standing over the body of his ex-girlfriend following her suicide while the Devil whispers in his ear to join her in the fires of Hell. Some tracks on Asylum deal with other personal issues from the signer's life, but many lack depth and meaning.
While lyrical content is decidedly less inspirational in Asylum than in their other albums, Draiman's voice has never sounded better. He puts so much feeling into every note he hits, flawlessly switching between smooth singing and the rough, throaty style that first made Disturbed famous. The fourth track on Asylum entitled “Another Way To Die,” is about pollution of the environment, a long reach for any metal band, but Draiman pulls it off making environmentalism metal with his unique style.
The guitar work of Dan Donegan has grown increasingly impressive with each album release, culminating in wailing metal solos on almost every track on Asylum. Traditional metal techniques such as pinch harmonics, tremolo picking, and sweep arpeggios adorn most of these solos. While the style is very much Donegan's own, one can't help but think of the metal gods when listening to these solos. There is definitely a taste of Pantera's Dimebag Darrel, Metallica's Kirk Hammett, and Megadeth's Dave Mustaine in every riff and solo on the album. Chordal progressions rarely appear in Disturbed songs, as Donegan prefers to craft constantly shifting riffs which move up and down the scale endlessly.
As with their previous albums, Asylum starts off with the heaviest tracks and progresses into touching originals fueled by Draiman's personal emotions. The ninth track, “Serpentine,” is a slower song about being betrayed by someone you have trusted. The chorus is features some of the best lyrics on the album: “I was caught up in the moment / We were alone and you seemed to harness the light / Even though I felt cold inside / When you told me it would be alright.”
Disturbed has released a cover of a non-metal song on each of their odd numbered albums, and Asylum, their fifth album, does not disappoint. The unlisted 13th track on the album is entitled “ISHFWILF” a stunning metal rendition of U2's “I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.” On previous albums Disturbed released covers of Tears For Fears's “Shout,” and Genesis's “Land Of Confusion,” proving that any song can be made metal if the right feeling is put into it.
The Sickness and Believe, Disturbed's first two albums were released with parental advisory warnings, but their past three albums were not. While some fans are disappointed with this, saying that it is proof that the band has “sold out,” the lack of “mature content” which leads to the parental advisory means that Disturbed singles are more widely played on the radio. Disturbed fits into a very specific genre which I like to call gateway metal. Many parents do not mind their children listening to Disturbed because they no longer produce albums with the mature content warning. Children, or even adults who do not typically listen to metal, are often enthralled by the band's in-your-face attitude and as a result, end up listening to harder metal.
Asylum is absolutely not Disturbed's best album, but it definitely conveys the in-your-face attitude that all metal strives for. After all, metal is not about lyrical content or even technical instrumental skill, its about the discharge of emotions which society usually demands we to keep to ourselves. Disturbed may not be the hardest metal out there, but they are certainly still their own unique brand of metal, and they still rock.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Right Cure
Flu season is rapidly approaching and after last year's H1N1 pandemic, every minor symptom of sickness results in a visit to the doctor. But when the doctor's give you the good news that all you have is the common cold, what's the best course of action? It used to be the age-old remedy of cough syrup and rest, but now doctors hand out antibiotics to adults like they do candy and stickers to children. For viruses such as the flu or the common cold, these antibiotics are about as effective as the stickers.
Antibiotics are a marvel of modern medicine, having been discovered accidentally by Alexander Flemming in 1928. They are actually natural chemicals released by certain bacteria and fungi as a defensive mechanism. The antibiotics kill other bacteria which they perceive as their natural competitors. However, antibiotics are not effective against viruses.
Bacteria are single-celled organisms which have been found living in some of the most extreme environments on Earth. Some live in extreme temperatures such as inside volcanoes or glaciers. The human digestive system uses almost a thousand different types of friendly bacteria to help absorb maximum nutritional value from foods and to prevent the spread of harmful bacteria. Many people may feel nauseous after taking antibiotics because the pills kill many of these helpful digestive bacteria.
Viruses, on the other hand, are single celled parasites, found only living within other organisms. They require a host to survive and reproduce, and destroy the host's cells in order to do so. Because they invade and alter a cells in order to reproduce and cannot do so on their own, they are not considered organisms, unlike bacteria. Since antibiotics are designed to target only bacteria (and not all bacteria at that) rather than the patient's own cells, they are completely ineffective in treating viral infections.
You might think that it won't hurt to take antibiotics for viral infections just to be safe, because after all, sometimes it can be hard to determine whether an infection is viral or bacterial. You'd be wrong. Because of our widespread use of antibiotics and the wonders of natural selection, many types of bacteria are rapidly becoming resistant to the most commonly used antibiotics. While this process of antibiotic resistance has existed naturally for thousands of years, invasive bacteria in humans are developing resistances at a much faster rate than those in other animals. Every time antibiotics are taken, there is a chance that some bacteria will resist it and produce resistant offspring.
The rate at which antibiotics are prescribed for viral symptoms has significantly decreased in the past 20 years, due largely to to changes in CDC policy and increased patient awareness. Unfortunately, the rate is still high enough to be deemed “alarming” by the researchers who conducted the most recent antibiotic study, which will be released in next month's Infection Control and Hospital Epidemiology.
So why do doctors continue prescribing antibiotics for viral infections? Data from a 2007 study published in the Journal of Antimicrobial Chemotherapy suggests that doctors continue prescribing antibiotics because we want them. Patients who have been prescribed antibiotics in the past and show similar symptoms are open to the suggestion of more antibiotics, and sometimes even ask for them. But patient ignorance of proper antibiotic use goes further.
Antibiotics are prescribed in cycles in order to kill the maximum number of bacteria that are resistant, reducing the rate of antibiotic resistance. While doctors emphasize that antibiotic cycles must be completed, many patients are left with some leftover pills. If these are taken to extend the recommended cycle, it harms only the patient's friendly bacteria. If saved and taken to relieve symptoms of a separate infection, the cycle can not be completed and any bacteria the patient may harbor are actually more likely to become resistant than if no antibiotics had been taken at all.
As consumers with invested interest in our own well-beings, we need to be informed about what we put in our bodies. When you visit the doctor, don't ask them for medicines, wait for them to prescribe them to you. If you are prescribed antibiotics, ask your doctor if they think you may have a bacterial infection. This is information you will want to know anyway, since bacterial infections often last more than two weeks while the virus which causes the common cold typically only lasts up to ten days. If you have extra antibiotics at the end of your cycle and your prescribed cycle and your symptoms have gone away, throw them out. They will not come in handy at a later time, if you need antibiotics in the future, your doctor can write you another prescription.
As always, the best way to prevent the flu is to get a flu shot. Cold and flu symptoms are often signs of viral rather than bacterial infections Vaccines build up your immune system, making you less likely to contract the virus, while unnecessary antibiotics only strengthen harmful bacteria.
Antibiotics are a marvel of modern medicine, having been discovered accidentally by Alexander Flemming in 1928. They are actually natural chemicals released by certain bacteria and fungi as a defensive mechanism. The antibiotics kill other bacteria which they perceive as their natural competitors. However, antibiotics are not effective against viruses.
Bacteria are single-celled organisms which have been found living in some of the most extreme environments on Earth. Some live in extreme temperatures such as inside volcanoes or glaciers. The human digestive system uses almost a thousand different types of friendly bacteria to help absorb maximum nutritional value from foods and to prevent the spread of harmful bacteria. Many people may feel nauseous after taking antibiotics because the pills kill many of these helpful digestive bacteria.
Viruses, on the other hand, are single celled parasites, found only living within other organisms. They require a host to survive and reproduce, and destroy the host's cells in order to do so. Because they invade and alter a cells in order to reproduce and cannot do so on their own, they are not considered organisms, unlike bacteria. Since antibiotics are designed to target only bacteria (and not all bacteria at that) rather than the patient's own cells, they are completely ineffective in treating viral infections.
You might think that it won't hurt to take antibiotics for viral infections just to be safe, because after all, sometimes it can be hard to determine whether an infection is viral or bacterial. You'd be wrong. Because of our widespread use of antibiotics and the wonders of natural selection, many types of bacteria are rapidly becoming resistant to the most commonly used antibiotics. While this process of antibiotic resistance has existed naturally for thousands of years, invasive bacteria in humans are developing resistances at a much faster rate than those in other animals. Every time antibiotics are taken, there is a chance that some bacteria will resist it and produce resistant offspring.
The rate at which antibiotics are prescribed for viral symptoms has significantly decreased in the past 20 years, due largely to to changes in CDC policy and increased patient awareness. Unfortunately, the rate is still high enough to be deemed “alarming” by the researchers who conducted the most recent antibiotic study, which will be released in next month's Infection Control and Hospital Epidemiology.
So why do doctors continue prescribing antibiotics for viral infections? Data from a 2007 study published in the Journal of Antimicrobial Chemotherapy suggests that doctors continue prescribing antibiotics because we want them. Patients who have been prescribed antibiotics in the past and show similar symptoms are open to the suggestion of more antibiotics, and sometimes even ask for them. But patient ignorance of proper antibiotic use goes further.
Antibiotics are prescribed in cycles in order to kill the maximum number of bacteria that are resistant, reducing the rate of antibiotic resistance. While doctors emphasize that antibiotic cycles must be completed, many patients are left with some leftover pills. If these are taken to extend the recommended cycle, it harms only the patient's friendly bacteria. If saved and taken to relieve symptoms of a separate infection, the cycle can not be completed and any bacteria the patient may harbor are actually more likely to become resistant than if no antibiotics had been taken at all.
As consumers with invested interest in our own well-beings, we need to be informed about what we put in our bodies. When you visit the doctor, don't ask them for medicines, wait for them to prescribe them to you. If you are prescribed antibiotics, ask your doctor if they think you may have a bacterial infection. This is information you will want to know anyway, since bacterial infections often last more than two weeks while the virus which causes the common cold typically only lasts up to ten days. If you have extra antibiotics at the end of your cycle and your prescribed cycle and your symptoms have gone away, throw them out. They will not come in handy at a later time, if you need antibiotics in the future, your doctor can write you another prescription.
As always, the best way to prevent the flu is to get a flu shot. Cold and flu symptoms are often signs of viral rather than bacterial infections Vaccines build up your immune system, making you less likely to contract the virus, while unnecessary antibiotics only strengthen harmful bacteria.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Good IDEA Gone Wrong
This was an editorial I wrote for a Writing Workshop class. It's the first editorial I've ever attempted to write, and unfortunately it came out sounding more like a scholarly research paper.
Special needs education is a rapidly growing field of study as every day more children are diagnosed as special needs. Some parents will simply seek a prescription from their doctors as a quick fix to their child's inattentiveness, but for the vast majority of Americans whose children have been diagnosed, special needs goes far beyond anything a pill can cure. These parents depend on the staff of their child's schools to make sure they are being educated in a manner that will allow them to reach their maximum potential. The Massachusetts Department of Education (MASSDE), however, has repeatedly violated the rights of special needs children to the appropriate educational accommodations they need in order to learn.
Under federal law, students with disabilities are entitled to “free appropriate public education . . . and related services designed to meet their unique needs.” This was established in 1975 under the Education of All Handicapped Children Act (EHA), which was reauthorized and renamed to the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) in 1990. The underlying principle of IDEA is often swept aside by Massachusetts's additional Effective Progress standard. Effective Progress grants special education only to students diagnosed with learning or developmental disorders which are a hindrance to the effective progress of their learning. While this seems like a reasonable addition to ensure the proper distribution of funds, it has been egregiously abused to deny struggling children the special education they need.
One major complaint with the special education system in Massachusetts is that, because of low funding, only those who are diagnosed as disabled are entitled to the benefits provided by the system. School staff evaluate a child's diagnosis and discuss the creation of an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), which is created based on the student's evaluation results and expectations of both the staff and parents. In many cases, the school's staff disagrees with the diagnoses provided by physicians, psychologists, and neurologists, insisting that children are either misdiagnosed or that their diagnosis does not prevent Effective Progress. It is extremely common for parents and teachers to disagree on the terms of an IEP as many schools do not offer programs that accommodate specific learning disabilities.
The lack of qualified special needs professionals in public schools often leads to the creation of IEPs based on what is available rather than what is best for the child. Parents who can afford to do so may hire educational consultants to work with their children in school, but this method is costly and difficult to coordinate with the school. Many frustrated parents feel that the special education system is minimally helpful to students with disabilities.
The overwhelming failure of the special education program in Massachusetts is a direct result of poor funding for public schools. In a 2008 study done by the New American Foundation based on data from both the U.S. Census Bureau and the U.S. Department of Education, Massachusetts ranked 24th in federal IDEA funding per disabled student, despite having the 2nd largest percentage of disabled students in the country. The full report shows that funds are allocated based more on student poverty than disability. Federal funding of IDEA has been a disgrace from its origins, never covering the 40 percent of excess costs promised under EHA. This leaves the state and local government to pay for the majority of special education costs, as they are required by federal law to provide for these students once they accept any amount of federal funding.
Many argue that since the creation of EHA and the start of federal special education funding there has been no noticeable improvement in the overall effectiveness of the education system. This is a common myth which does not hold up to examination, as the U.S. Census Bureau claims a more than 10 percent increase in high school graduation rates since 1970. If funds were properly allocated and put to use, this figure could be increased even more.
The general lack of funding for special education both in Massachusetts and across the country stems from the avarice of the average American taxpayer. There are many citizens who feel that it is unjust that they must give up a small portion of their money to pay for the education of another family's children. But is it not far more unjust to deny these children the educational standards provided to “normal” children? If denied the special education they need, today's children will develop in a world in which they cannot properly function, surrounded by a society which has cruelly cast them out for a small price. As congress stated when EHA was first passed, “With proper education services, many would be able to become productive citizens, contributing to society instead of being forced to remain burdens.” If our society values the prospect of minor luxuries over that of a proper education for our children, than we have truly abandoned the future for our own hedonism.
Special needs education is a rapidly growing field of study as every day more children are diagnosed as special needs. Some parents will simply seek a prescription from their doctors as a quick fix to their child's inattentiveness, but for the vast majority of Americans whose children have been diagnosed, special needs goes far beyond anything a pill can cure. These parents depend on the staff of their child's schools to make sure they are being educated in a manner that will allow them to reach their maximum potential. The Massachusetts Department of Education (MASSDE), however, has repeatedly violated the rights of special needs children to the appropriate educational accommodations they need in order to learn.
Under federal law, students with disabilities are entitled to “free appropriate public education . . . and related services designed to meet their unique needs.” This was established in 1975 under the Education of All Handicapped Children Act (EHA), which was reauthorized and renamed to the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) in 1990. The underlying principle of IDEA is often swept aside by Massachusetts's additional Effective Progress standard. Effective Progress grants special education only to students diagnosed with learning or developmental disorders which are a hindrance to the effective progress of their learning. While this seems like a reasonable addition to ensure the proper distribution of funds, it has been egregiously abused to deny struggling children the special education they need.
One major complaint with the special education system in Massachusetts is that, because of low funding, only those who are diagnosed as disabled are entitled to the benefits provided by the system. School staff evaluate a child's diagnosis and discuss the creation of an Individualized Education Plan (IEP), which is created based on the student's evaluation results and expectations of both the staff and parents. In many cases, the school's staff disagrees with the diagnoses provided by physicians, psychologists, and neurologists, insisting that children are either misdiagnosed or that their diagnosis does not prevent Effective Progress. It is extremely common for parents and teachers to disagree on the terms of an IEP as many schools do not offer programs that accommodate specific learning disabilities.
The lack of qualified special needs professionals in public schools often leads to the creation of IEPs based on what is available rather than what is best for the child. Parents who can afford to do so may hire educational consultants to work with their children in school, but this method is costly and difficult to coordinate with the school. Many frustrated parents feel that the special education system is minimally helpful to students with disabilities.
The overwhelming failure of the special education program in Massachusetts is a direct result of poor funding for public schools. In a 2008 study done by the New American Foundation based on data from both the U.S. Census Bureau and the U.S. Department of Education, Massachusetts ranked 24th in federal IDEA funding per disabled student, despite having the 2nd largest percentage of disabled students in the country. The full report shows that funds are allocated based more on student poverty than disability. Federal funding of IDEA has been a disgrace from its origins, never covering the 40 percent of excess costs promised under EHA. This leaves the state and local government to pay for the majority of special education costs, as they are required by federal law to provide for these students once they accept any amount of federal funding.
Many argue that since the creation of EHA and the start of federal special education funding there has been no noticeable improvement in the overall effectiveness of the education system. This is a common myth which does not hold up to examination, as the U.S. Census Bureau claims a more than 10 percent increase in high school graduation rates since 1970. If funds were properly allocated and put to use, this figure could be increased even more.
The general lack of funding for special education both in Massachusetts and across the country stems from the avarice of the average American taxpayer. There are many citizens who feel that it is unjust that they must give up a small portion of their money to pay for the education of another family's children. But is it not far more unjust to deny these children the educational standards provided to “normal” children? If denied the special education they need, today's children will develop in a world in which they cannot properly function, surrounded by a society which has cruelly cast them out for a small price. As congress stated when EHA was first passed, “With proper education services, many would be able to become productive citizens, contributing to society instead of being forced to remain burdens.” If our society values the prospect of minor luxuries over that of a proper education for our children, than we have truly abandoned the future for our own hedonism.
The Town Review
The Town, written by Peter Craig and Ben Affleck, directed by Ben Aflleck, and starring Ben Affleck, is exactly what one would expect from Ben Affleck. It is full of gunfights, car chases, fist fights, and of course romantic tension.
Affleck's character, Doug MacRay, has lived his whole life in the slums of Charlestown, MA, the supposed “bank robbery capital of America.” When robbing a bank with his best friends Jim Coughlin (Jeremy Renner), Albert “Gloansy” Magloan (Slaine), and Desmond Elden (Owen Burke), the silent alarm is pressed, and they are forced to take the bank manager Claire Kessey (Rebecca Hall) as a hostage to escape. Though they all wear masks during the robbery and destroy anything that could be used as evidence, the robbers decide to send Doug to check on Claire and make sure she did not see anything that could be used against them. After talking with her, Doug quickly falls in love with Claire, who never suspects he was one of the men who held her hostage.
Meanwhile, FBI Agent Adam Frawley (Jon Hamm) is determined to catch the four robbers at any cost. While busting drug dealers he suspects may be used to launder the bank robbery money, he discovers the identities of Doug and his friends, but does not have enough evidence to convict them. We learn that Doug was drafted into the NHL, but was kicked out for excessive fighting. Throughout the movie Doug is portrayed as the only Charlestown native with potential, which his friends and family destroy by constantly dragging him into crime. Jim is portrayed as Doug's worst influence, a friend who prefers to shoot first and ask questions later. Jim's family adopted Doug when he was six,after Doug's father (Chris Cooper) was imprisoned and his mother ran away.
This movie, while not overly terrible, has many failings, which prevented it from fully captivating me, the first of which is its overwhelming predictability. Affleck's character is meant to be such a nice bank robber that he gets to know the woman they took hostage while he is supposed to be making sure she has no evidence. Then after learning she knows nothing, he continues to see her, building a relationship which should never have existed in the first place. Despite the obvious problems in their relationship, Doug soon falls madly in love with Claire and decides he wants to change his life, by escaping the criminal world.
Even though the major aspects of the plot are predictable, there were details throughout the movie that I was left wondering about by the end. The four friends seem to have an inexhaustible arsenal of weapons (though they seem to favor assault rifles) and ammo, though where these all come from is never explained. Their robberies are carried out with the tactical precision of a swat team, though none mention having any sort of training. Before one robbery scene they are shown disinfecting everything they use, from guns and ammo to the gear they wear. Similarly they are shown dumping bleach at the crime scenes to destroy DNA, and destroying cameras and computer hard drives. This attention to detail befits master criminals, yet these are four Boston natives with criminal records who are easily identified.
For those who like action movies, I would recommend this as a rental rather than seeing it in theaters. If you do not like violence and vulgarity this movie is not for you because it is essentially two hours of shooting and swearing in heavy Boston accents.
Affleck's character, Doug MacRay, has lived his whole life in the slums of Charlestown, MA, the supposed “bank robbery capital of America.” When robbing a bank with his best friends Jim Coughlin (Jeremy Renner), Albert “Gloansy” Magloan (Slaine), and Desmond Elden (Owen Burke), the silent alarm is pressed, and they are forced to take the bank manager Claire Kessey (Rebecca Hall) as a hostage to escape. Though they all wear masks during the robbery and destroy anything that could be used as evidence, the robbers decide to send Doug to check on Claire and make sure she did not see anything that could be used against them. After talking with her, Doug quickly falls in love with Claire, who never suspects he was one of the men who held her hostage.
Meanwhile, FBI Agent Adam Frawley (Jon Hamm) is determined to catch the four robbers at any cost. While busting drug dealers he suspects may be used to launder the bank robbery money, he discovers the identities of Doug and his friends, but does not have enough evidence to convict them. We learn that Doug was drafted into the NHL, but was kicked out for excessive fighting. Throughout the movie Doug is portrayed as the only Charlestown native with potential, which his friends and family destroy by constantly dragging him into crime. Jim is portrayed as Doug's worst influence, a friend who prefers to shoot first and ask questions later. Jim's family adopted Doug when he was six,after Doug's father (Chris Cooper) was imprisoned and his mother ran away.
This movie, while not overly terrible, has many failings, which prevented it from fully captivating me, the first of which is its overwhelming predictability. Affleck's character is meant to be such a nice bank robber that he gets to know the woman they took hostage while he is supposed to be making sure she has no evidence. Then after learning she knows nothing, he continues to see her, building a relationship which should never have existed in the first place. Despite the obvious problems in their relationship, Doug soon falls madly in love with Claire and decides he wants to change his life, by escaping the criminal world.
Even though the major aspects of the plot are predictable, there were details throughout the movie that I was left wondering about by the end. The four friends seem to have an inexhaustible arsenal of weapons (though they seem to favor assault rifles) and ammo, though where these all come from is never explained. Their robberies are carried out with the tactical precision of a swat team, though none mention having any sort of training. Before one robbery scene they are shown disinfecting everything they use, from guns and ammo to the gear they wear. Similarly they are shown dumping bleach at the crime scenes to destroy DNA, and destroying cameras and computer hard drives. This attention to detail befits master criminals, yet these are four Boston natives with criminal records who are easily identified.
For those who like action movies, I would recommend this as a rental rather than seeing it in theaters. If you do not like violence and vulgarity this movie is not for you because it is essentially two hours of shooting and swearing in heavy Boston accents.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Imprisonment of the Mind
He could feel his headache grow as he walked down the crowded city street to his cheap apartment. They always started like a cloud of smoke in the very back of his head. When he felt them coming on he would do every mental exercise Dr. Thornston taught him. When these failed, as they always did, he would change to the tactic he had grown up with: unleashing a stream of threats and curses that made every person turn his way as he walked past.
The Cloud of pain was reaching his temples, where he knew it would soon evolve into stabbing needles of pain. He kept walking: had to make it back to the apartment where he could lie down and sleep it off. They said there would probably be some minor headaches when he signed up, but for Christ's sake, this pain was unbearable. It was not the standard headache borne of stress and weariness. It felt as if his brain was growing while his head remained the same size.
He had already taken 4 patches of aspirin, twice the recommended dosage, but he stopped briefly on the dirty corner and pulled the box out of his jacket pocket. Rolling up the faded brown sleeve of his polyester jacket, he slapped two more patches onto his left arm. Thousands of tiny needles sank into his pale flesh, each delivering a miniscule dose of weak painkiller.
The Cloud, seeming threatened by the medicine, advanced its position. From his cerebellum it crept around the perimeter of his cerebral hemisphere, oozing into the very center of his mind.
The doctors had pointed at the charts and diagrams of the brain, explaining the procedure in a language that required at least ten years of higher education to understand. All this was meant to assure him that they knew what they were doing. In theory at least.
Of course, this procedure had never been performed on a human before.
The government had hired some of the world's best neurosurgeons to attempt what they called the greatest breakthrough in the study of the human mind. And of course West himself was being very well compensated for the use of his brain.
The goal was theoretically simple: connect the consciousness of one person into the sensory input of another. This would allow the person who's consciousness had been transferred to experience everything their host experienced, but not be able to control the body. The government was funding the program because they had high hopes that it could reduce the severely high prison population. If a convicted criminal could simply have their consciousness transferred out of their body, the government could drastically cut back on prison funding, as the criminal's physical bodies could be piled into a single room and fed intravenously. With this method there was no risk of riots, breakouts, or fights among the inmates, and therefore no need to hire guards to risk their lives taking care of society's worst.
But, the operation had failed. The doctors claimed that while the transfer was unsuccessful, no permanent damage was done to West's brain.
The prisoner's consciousness was irrecoverable, however, since the surgeons had removed the section of the prisoner's brain which contained his consciousness and rudely shoved it into West's own head. Room was made to accommodate for this, there were apparently many parts of his brain that West never used and were therefore completely expendable.
It had been a week since the surgery and West felt no different, aside from the headaches. Though he had returned to the doctors after the first one had passed, they assured him that they were only temporary and would soon fade away. Much like with other transplants, it takes time for the host's body to fully accept the alien tissue. In this case they claimed, his body had accepted the transfer willingly, but his delicate mind was still struggling to deal with the shock of having the additional, unused processing power of an entire new consciousness. They said this all with sad expressions, as if telling a sick puppy that it would get better even though you know it can't understand you.
His body had closed the distance to his apartment while he had been thinking, and now he keyed into the building and walked down the long, poorly lit hallway towards his room, all the while holding the sides of his head in an attempt to keep it from exploding. As he staggered into his room he noticed the blinking red light on his phone, new messages. Ignoring it, he stumbled to the bathroom and opened the mirror, revealing a large collection of pills, patches, syrups, and sprays.
Most were legal over-the-counter medicines. Some were given out only on prescriptions which he did not have. A few lurking in the back were downright illegal. Things which the FDA had deemed unsafe after a short trial period, or which never even made it past experimental stages. It was a bottle of this sort that he reached for, knocking over several others with his trembling hands. This particular pill had promised to be the cure for insomnia, the perfect sleeping pill. It was too perfect, actually, as a short time on the market revealed. Taking it with any amount of alcohol quickly induced an almost coma-like sleep.
Freeing a pill from the bottle, and opening a flask of whiskey, he moved to his bedroom, prepared to sleep off the headache. He popped the pill in is mouth, took a swig of the whiskey and collapsed before he could so much as remove his jacket.
When he awoke, the headache had disappeared entirely. He felt incredibly groggy though, almost unwilling to wake up. Wondering how long he had slept, he turned to look at the LED clock on the nightstand next to his bed.
His body did not respond.
West panicked. He tried to open his eyes, but the world remained dark. He tried to yell but no sound came from his mouth.
The pills, he thought. That's what happens when you take black market medicine for the side effects. He was wondering how long his body could survive by itself in a coma when his thoughts were interrupted by an eruption of light.
As his vision adjusted, he recognized the blurry scene of his room. Yawning and stretching his arms, his body sat up and cleared its throat, mumbling sleep half-dream thoughts.
He watched all this with horror, as he realized someone else now had control of his body.
Eyes still only half open, he walked to the bathroom and emptied his bladder. On his way out, whoever was in control of his body noticed the open cabinet and the bottles of pills scattered about. He inspected every bottle, carefully reading the labels, sometimes smirking at the names or effects of the various drugs. Whenever he came across an interesting looking one he would place it in one of the jacket's many pockets, for later recreational use West could only assume. When the ones he decided not to take were all safely back on the shelves, he closed the cabinet door and jumped at West's reflection in the mirror.
Staring at the mirror, his body soon began to run his hands over his face to confirm the reflection. The pointy chin and sunken gray eyes that were West's most notable features. Sparse freckles on either side of his crooked nose were the only physical manifestations of his Irish ancestry. The hands brushed over the thin, black fuzz that was the remnants of his hair after the surgery. When they found the scar, his head tipped down to angle the area at the mirror. West could see the hideous purple horseshoe shape where his scalp had been peeled back then sewn back together.
“Transfer,” the man in control of his voice whispered, and the sound of West's voice snapped the man out of his thoughts. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, experimenting with the range his new vocal chords allowed him.
After this warmup he returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed.
“What happened?” West's voice was awkward sounding, and a long, uncomfortable silence followed. That was directed at you. The voice West heard in his head was not at all like his own. It was a low raspy drone of a man just entering the decline of his life. Though he had no image of the man who now controlled his body, he felt the knowing smirk that would be on the man's face if he had the one that matched the voice.
Damned if I know, West thought , but the man seemed not to be able to hear this. You in there? Call was for two of us in here, I believe. Think... forward. Like, push the thought out.
Damned if I know, West thought, following the voice's directions for communitcation. There was no reply, but West could tell it was a calculated silence designed to make him give an explanation, so he told him all he knew.
The operation didn't work. It was a weak explanation, and he knew it as soon as he sent it, but it was all he had. The voice laughed, a cold slimy laugh that gave West the feeling of goosebumps crawling across his skin, though of course his skin did not respond.
Clearly. How come you didn't know how to talk to me? They teach you what to do bout all this?
They said they'd be right there with me if it was successful. But since it failed they didn't wanna tell me anything more than they had to.
So they're done with you know? Cast ya out into the world?
West tried to send an image of himself nodding his head and the man seemed to get it because that laugh came again, grating. Well I'll tell ya what kid, I don't normally do well with commitment but I think it's safe to say that Vin Maloney is gonna be staying here for a LONG time. West's world went black once more as Vin effectively ended the conversation.
West came to several hours later, and from the glimpses he caught out of Vin's half-lidded eyes, he could see the former prisoner had been busy. Used cans of Warp littered the apartment's living room where he now sat, half sleeping with the television blaring.
West had tried Warp once while he was in high school. The popular recreational drug was originally a market fluke which many took advantage of. Spray cans of a newly developed air freshener were found to emit an incredibly high-pitched frequency that would temporarily alter one's brain if held up to an ear. The air freshener was soon removed from the market, but the cans were studied and reproduced illegally for their bizarre side effect.
The Warp high was the strangest sensation he had ever felt, and not entirely pleasant which is why he had only tried it once. The can's frequency altered brainwaves, making the user feel like they were experiencing something other than what was around them. Many people believe they are seeing or hearing things from another dimension or parallel universe while on Warp.
Assuming he now had some time to think about his current predicament due to Vin's state of mind, West compiled the little information he had. The prisoner had seized his mind somehow, and could apparently knock West out at will. He was clearly better informed on what to expect in this scenario than West, likely having had some mental training in prison before discarding his body. But, if he could grab the controls from the back seat, West at least knew it was possible for him to do the same.
It shouldn't have been possible, though. That was the one worry West had had before signing up for the program, and the doctors had all assured him he would always be in control.
So what went wrong?
There were the headaches, he thought at first. The doctors thought his mind was still trying to reject the transplant, but they also thought Vin didn't make it in. Vin must have been lurking in the back of West's head the whole time, maybe even causing the headaches to weaken West so he could gain control.
Suddenly, West remembered the pill he had taken to relieve his headache. Somehow, he thought, that pill was the key to the whole problem. When he took the pill with alcohol, it must have knocked him out on enough levels to allow Vin to take over. Which meant that if he could get Vin to take one, he could regain control.
West didn't know if Vin had purposely caused the headache he had had earlier, but he was sure as hell going to try to repay the ex-prisoner for his hospitality.
Conjuring up every image of pain and suffering he could think of, West threw them one at a a time towards Vin like they had been communicating before. Fire, sharks, needles, voodoo dolls, knives, guns, stun-guns, poison darts, poison dart frogs, snakes, lasers, searing metal shrapnel raining down with hurricane force. Drowning, a solid kick to the nuts, killer bees, grizzly bears, boiling oil, acid, a plague of locusts devouring Vin's flesh one miniscule bite at a time. Vin did not stir enough from his Warp trip to respond to any of these, though West could have sworn he felt a faint stirring at the locusts.
He had to keep trying, but West's imagination was rapidly failing him. He moved into more obscure realms, digging deep within himself for concepts he found particularly horrifying. Murder, rape, slavery. Genocide, or worse yet, the annihilation of an entire group of people based on unobservable personal belief systems. Rampant famine and easily prevented diseases in impoverished areas while the elite few live a lavish lifestyle of wastefulness. The knowledge that all humans had evolved and would forever continue to evolve around a corrupt system based on greed and personal gain rather than the advancement of the species and the societies which it creates.
West found this last image particularly disturbing, and he could think of no worse thought to use against the trespasser of his mind. Receding to a dark corner of his own mind, he prepared to temporarily surrender to the intruder's way of life.
He was feeling the same hopelessness he had at being pushed through the public school system. Tireless, monotonous, information recited in a never ending litany he could never hope to remember. Different types of math and history, none of which he would ever use after the tests while none of the practical information he craved was ever mentioned. All part of a larger system designed to mold him into an unthinking servant of the majority's will.
Vin more than stirred at West's personal brooding, even though he was not thinking it in the forceful manner they used to communicate. Their shared eyes opened wide, and with a gasping intake of breath, Vin sucked West into the foreign depths of the Warp trip.
Warp gets its name from the rude mental transportation that brings users to their hallucinated destination. West shot pat stars, planets, galaxies at impossible speeds, turning his whole perceived universe into a never-ending blur. Colors and shapes all morphed into a single streak of energy as he continued to accelerate. Soon he was moving fast enough to exit the realm of physical energy and enter the higher order of conception and perception.
West finally found himself on alien territory populated by the chaos of the thoughts he had used against Vin. Bees, sharks, and grizzly bears fought for control of land and population, never realizing that their war was meaningless entertainment to the man who oversaw the whole thing.
The face that hung in the sky was god-like. Penetrating dark brown eyes shadowed by graying bushy eyebrows. A large, bulbous nose hung out over a mouth with an ever present smirk, safely cushioned in a landscape of brown facial hair. Short, dark hair with a streak of gray arcing back from the left temple. Vin's face was exactly how West had pictured it upon first hearing his voice.
The god-face vanished suddenly, and the man himself was soon standing in front of West, close enough to be threatening, but far enough away that he did not immediately provoke physical conflict. “The muse meets his creations and frowns upon them,” he said gesturing to the war raging around them, the smirk never faltering. “I was growing bored with my own creations in here, but you made things very interesting, I must say.”
West said nothing, but simply stared defiantly at his captor. Any doubt he had before regarding Vin's sanity was now removed. The man was surely mad to be enjoying such chaotic dystopia.
“Math class though?” The smirk briefly gave way to a slight frown, every bit as mocking. “Not quite as thrilling a toy as the rest of them.” He casually touched his left temple where the streak of gray seemed to appear. As he did this, West could see the creases in his face tighten, and with a start he realized there was a twinge of pain in that gesture.
“Not toys,” he said, grasping for anything that might upset the convict. “Much as I hated it, there was one thing I learned from history class all those years ago. Education and the trial and error process are the only things which will someday relieve us of the constant repetition of humanity's worst crimes. The cycle can be ended, if not for men like you who perpetuate the errors of the past.” West could see that despite his brave facade, Vin was certainly losing patience with him. The criminal lowered his head for a moment, and West could see the gray streak was wrapping around the base of Vin's skull to curve around to the other temple.
The Cloud, West realized. This was his chance to knock his captor off-balance. As a criminal with apparent psychotic tendencies, Vin delighted in the things West had considered torment, but the knowledge of greater issues pained him.
“Communication is the problem,” West quickly continued, drawing on a lecture from a particularly unexciting sociology class he had taken. “Instead of communicating your wants to others, you have taken it upon yourself to seize the things you want from those who lack the power to do anything about it.” The streak was definitely growing, creeping up around Vin's right ear like a vine. He raised his head to glare at West, and the animals in the background paused their fighting for a moment to study their creators before halfheartedly resuming the strife.
“Enough,” grunted Vin. “I get it. The world would be such a nice perfect place if not for people like myself.” He waved his hand and the whole scene grew fuzzy, dissipating into a bright light while the buzzing of the killer bees was magnified a thousand times over. All this happened in a moment, but not before West saw that the Cloud had completed its circuit around the perimeter of Vin's brain. The gray was rapidly becoming a shocking bright white which now climbed steadily to the crown of the man's head. West knew that soon enough it would begin the piercing dive into every level of his captor's consciousness.
The two men found themselves back in their body in West's apartment. Vin reached up with West's hand to massage his temples and knuckle his forehead. He finally got up off the couch to down the remainder of West's supply of cheap whiskey. Finding this equally ineffective in dealing with the headache, he stumbled to the bathroom and the mirror cabinet which held West's stash of drugs.
He tried every headache relief and pain killer he could find before finally reaching for the bottle that would put him to sleep. West's heart would have been pounding in anticipation if it were properly responding to him. But it wasn't, and therefore there were nothing to give away his plan.
Not knowing what to expect, and having consumed a great deal more alcohol before taking the pill than West had, Vin did not even make it out of the bathroom before being knocked unconscious.
It was terribly easy for West to probe his way into his own nervous system. First he could smell the alcohol on his own breath, then taste it in the back of his mouth. Vision was somewhat harder to obtain because his eye were closed and he could not yet open them. Finally he discerned that he had wormed his way into sight when he noted the reappearance of the floating spots that plagued the corners of his vision. He heard the water running in the sink, and finally could feel the cold tiles of the bathroom floor pressed against his face.
Upon regaining control of his nervous system, West was swept up in the thunderstorm of blackness which was the pill's terrifying power.
When he awoke after two days of unconsciousness, the first thing he did was walk back to the doctor's office where the surgery had been performed. He told the doctors his story, all the while they took notes and muttered “Of course!” at inappropriate times. Finally they performed another surgery on him, this one designed to undo the damage they had done.
As they gassed him for the surgery West could hear the mad ramblings of his tormenter's last thoughts.
Perpetuating cycle of error. Consequences of the past mean nothing to those who look only to the future. Communication does not truly exist without trust, and human greed dissolves trust. Societies are built on lies and greed, and everyday the corruption is introduced as necessary to the next generation. Our subservience to chaos and dystopia are the only factors which differentiate us from animals.
You're wrong. West thought back at him as the cold blackness of sleeping gas crept around the edges of his vision. Every day of human history moves the species further. Animals wait for the future and accept the changes it will bring. Humans reach into the future to alter the present and leave accounts of their lives so that future generations may learn from their mistakes. Every success and every failure in human history is one step closer to utopia.
As his hate for the monster who had taken over his body was replaced with pity, West embraced the world and the people who inhabited it. He embraced the doctors who had messed up the operation. He embraced the government who funded the program, another failed solution to a problem that humans would not give up on. Finally, for the last time, he embraced the gas's blackness, not knowing where it would take him, but knowing that somehow humanity would find a way to learn from his experiences.
The Cloud of pain was reaching his temples, where he knew it would soon evolve into stabbing needles of pain. He kept walking: had to make it back to the apartment where he could lie down and sleep it off. They said there would probably be some minor headaches when he signed up, but for Christ's sake, this pain was unbearable. It was not the standard headache borne of stress and weariness. It felt as if his brain was growing while his head remained the same size.
He had already taken 4 patches of aspirin, twice the recommended dosage, but he stopped briefly on the dirty corner and pulled the box out of his jacket pocket. Rolling up the faded brown sleeve of his polyester jacket, he slapped two more patches onto his left arm. Thousands of tiny needles sank into his pale flesh, each delivering a miniscule dose of weak painkiller.
The Cloud, seeming threatened by the medicine, advanced its position. From his cerebellum it crept around the perimeter of his cerebral hemisphere, oozing into the very center of his mind.
The doctors had pointed at the charts and diagrams of the brain, explaining the procedure in a language that required at least ten years of higher education to understand. All this was meant to assure him that they knew what they were doing. In theory at least.
Of course, this procedure had never been performed on a human before.
The government had hired some of the world's best neurosurgeons to attempt what they called the greatest breakthrough in the study of the human mind. And of course West himself was being very well compensated for the use of his brain.
The goal was theoretically simple: connect the consciousness of one person into the sensory input of another. This would allow the person who's consciousness had been transferred to experience everything their host experienced, but not be able to control the body. The government was funding the program because they had high hopes that it could reduce the severely high prison population. If a convicted criminal could simply have their consciousness transferred out of their body, the government could drastically cut back on prison funding, as the criminal's physical bodies could be piled into a single room and fed intravenously. With this method there was no risk of riots, breakouts, or fights among the inmates, and therefore no need to hire guards to risk their lives taking care of society's worst.
But, the operation had failed. The doctors claimed that while the transfer was unsuccessful, no permanent damage was done to West's brain.
The prisoner's consciousness was irrecoverable, however, since the surgeons had removed the section of the prisoner's brain which contained his consciousness and rudely shoved it into West's own head. Room was made to accommodate for this, there were apparently many parts of his brain that West never used and were therefore completely expendable.
It had been a week since the surgery and West felt no different, aside from the headaches. Though he had returned to the doctors after the first one had passed, they assured him that they were only temporary and would soon fade away. Much like with other transplants, it takes time for the host's body to fully accept the alien tissue. In this case they claimed, his body had accepted the transfer willingly, but his delicate mind was still struggling to deal with the shock of having the additional, unused processing power of an entire new consciousness. They said this all with sad expressions, as if telling a sick puppy that it would get better even though you know it can't understand you.
His body had closed the distance to his apartment while he had been thinking, and now he keyed into the building and walked down the long, poorly lit hallway towards his room, all the while holding the sides of his head in an attempt to keep it from exploding. As he staggered into his room he noticed the blinking red light on his phone, new messages. Ignoring it, he stumbled to the bathroom and opened the mirror, revealing a large collection of pills, patches, syrups, and sprays.
Most were legal over-the-counter medicines. Some were given out only on prescriptions which he did not have. A few lurking in the back were downright illegal. Things which the FDA had deemed unsafe after a short trial period, or which never even made it past experimental stages. It was a bottle of this sort that he reached for, knocking over several others with his trembling hands. This particular pill had promised to be the cure for insomnia, the perfect sleeping pill. It was too perfect, actually, as a short time on the market revealed. Taking it with any amount of alcohol quickly induced an almost coma-like sleep.
Freeing a pill from the bottle, and opening a flask of whiskey, he moved to his bedroom, prepared to sleep off the headache. He popped the pill in is mouth, took a swig of the whiskey and collapsed before he could so much as remove his jacket.
* * *
When he awoke, the headache had disappeared entirely. He felt incredibly groggy though, almost unwilling to wake up. Wondering how long he had slept, he turned to look at the LED clock on the nightstand next to his bed.
His body did not respond.
West panicked. He tried to open his eyes, but the world remained dark. He tried to yell but no sound came from his mouth.
The pills, he thought. That's what happens when you take black market medicine for the side effects. He was wondering how long his body could survive by itself in a coma when his thoughts were interrupted by an eruption of light.
As his vision adjusted, he recognized the blurry scene of his room. Yawning and stretching his arms, his body sat up and cleared its throat, mumbling sleep half-dream thoughts.
He watched all this with horror, as he realized someone else now had control of his body.
Eyes still only half open, he walked to the bathroom and emptied his bladder. On his way out, whoever was in control of his body noticed the open cabinet and the bottles of pills scattered about. He inspected every bottle, carefully reading the labels, sometimes smirking at the names or effects of the various drugs. Whenever he came across an interesting looking one he would place it in one of the jacket's many pockets, for later recreational use West could only assume. When the ones he decided not to take were all safely back on the shelves, he closed the cabinet door and jumped at West's reflection in the mirror.
Staring at the mirror, his body soon began to run his hands over his face to confirm the reflection. The pointy chin and sunken gray eyes that were West's most notable features. Sparse freckles on either side of his crooked nose were the only physical manifestations of his Irish ancestry. The hands brushed over the thin, black fuzz that was the remnants of his hair after the surgery. When they found the scar, his head tipped down to angle the area at the mirror. West could see the hideous purple horseshoe shape where his scalp had been peeled back then sewn back together.
“Transfer,” the man in control of his voice whispered, and the sound of West's voice snapped the man out of his thoughts. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, experimenting with the range his new vocal chords allowed him.
After this warmup he returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed.
“What happened?” West's voice was awkward sounding, and a long, uncomfortable silence followed. That was directed at you. The voice West heard in his head was not at all like his own. It was a low raspy drone of a man just entering the decline of his life. Though he had no image of the man who now controlled his body, he felt the knowing smirk that would be on the man's face if he had the one that matched the voice.
Damned if I know, West thought , but the man seemed not to be able to hear this. You in there? Call was for two of us in here, I believe. Think... forward. Like, push the thought out.
Damned if I know, West thought, following the voice's directions for communitcation. There was no reply, but West could tell it was a calculated silence designed to make him give an explanation, so he told him all he knew.
The operation didn't work. It was a weak explanation, and he knew it as soon as he sent it, but it was all he had. The voice laughed, a cold slimy laugh that gave West the feeling of goosebumps crawling across his skin, though of course his skin did not respond.
Clearly. How come you didn't know how to talk to me? They teach you what to do bout all this?
They said they'd be right there with me if it was successful. But since it failed they didn't wanna tell me anything more than they had to.
So they're done with you know? Cast ya out into the world?
West tried to send an image of himself nodding his head and the man seemed to get it because that laugh came again, grating. Well I'll tell ya what kid, I don't normally do well with commitment but I think it's safe to say that Vin Maloney is gonna be staying here for a LONG time. West's world went black once more as Vin effectively ended the conversation.
* * *
West came to several hours later, and from the glimpses he caught out of Vin's half-lidded eyes, he could see the former prisoner had been busy. Used cans of Warp littered the apartment's living room where he now sat, half sleeping with the television blaring.
West had tried Warp once while he was in high school. The popular recreational drug was originally a market fluke which many took advantage of. Spray cans of a newly developed air freshener were found to emit an incredibly high-pitched frequency that would temporarily alter one's brain if held up to an ear. The air freshener was soon removed from the market, but the cans were studied and reproduced illegally for their bizarre side effect.
The Warp high was the strangest sensation he had ever felt, and not entirely pleasant which is why he had only tried it once. The can's frequency altered brainwaves, making the user feel like they were experiencing something other than what was around them. Many people believe they are seeing or hearing things from another dimension or parallel universe while on Warp.
Assuming he now had some time to think about his current predicament due to Vin's state of mind, West compiled the little information he had. The prisoner had seized his mind somehow, and could apparently knock West out at will. He was clearly better informed on what to expect in this scenario than West, likely having had some mental training in prison before discarding his body. But, if he could grab the controls from the back seat, West at least knew it was possible for him to do the same.
It shouldn't have been possible, though. That was the one worry West had had before signing up for the program, and the doctors had all assured him he would always be in control.
So what went wrong?
There were the headaches, he thought at first. The doctors thought his mind was still trying to reject the transplant, but they also thought Vin didn't make it in. Vin must have been lurking in the back of West's head the whole time, maybe even causing the headaches to weaken West so he could gain control.
Suddenly, West remembered the pill he had taken to relieve his headache. Somehow, he thought, that pill was the key to the whole problem. When he took the pill with alcohol, it must have knocked him out on enough levels to allow Vin to take over. Which meant that if he could get Vin to take one, he could regain control.
West didn't know if Vin had purposely caused the headache he had had earlier, but he was sure as hell going to try to repay the ex-prisoner for his hospitality.
Conjuring up every image of pain and suffering he could think of, West threw them one at a a time towards Vin like they had been communicating before. Fire, sharks, needles, voodoo dolls, knives, guns, stun-guns, poison darts, poison dart frogs, snakes, lasers, searing metal shrapnel raining down with hurricane force. Drowning, a solid kick to the nuts, killer bees, grizzly bears, boiling oil, acid, a plague of locusts devouring Vin's flesh one miniscule bite at a time. Vin did not stir enough from his Warp trip to respond to any of these, though West could have sworn he felt a faint stirring at the locusts.
He had to keep trying, but West's imagination was rapidly failing him. He moved into more obscure realms, digging deep within himself for concepts he found particularly horrifying. Murder, rape, slavery. Genocide, or worse yet, the annihilation of an entire group of people based on unobservable personal belief systems. Rampant famine and easily prevented diseases in impoverished areas while the elite few live a lavish lifestyle of wastefulness. The knowledge that all humans had evolved and would forever continue to evolve around a corrupt system based on greed and personal gain rather than the advancement of the species and the societies which it creates.
West found this last image particularly disturbing, and he could think of no worse thought to use against the trespasser of his mind. Receding to a dark corner of his own mind, he prepared to temporarily surrender to the intruder's way of life.
He was feeling the same hopelessness he had at being pushed through the public school system. Tireless, monotonous, information recited in a never ending litany he could never hope to remember. Different types of math and history, none of which he would ever use after the tests while none of the practical information he craved was ever mentioned. All part of a larger system designed to mold him into an unthinking servant of the majority's will.
Vin more than stirred at West's personal brooding, even though he was not thinking it in the forceful manner they used to communicate. Their shared eyes opened wide, and with a gasping intake of breath, Vin sucked West into the foreign depths of the Warp trip.
Warp gets its name from the rude mental transportation that brings users to their hallucinated destination. West shot pat stars, planets, galaxies at impossible speeds, turning his whole perceived universe into a never-ending blur. Colors and shapes all morphed into a single streak of energy as he continued to accelerate. Soon he was moving fast enough to exit the realm of physical energy and enter the higher order of conception and perception.
West finally found himself on alien territory populated by the chaos of the thoughts he had used against Vin. Bees, sharks, and grizzly bears fought for control of land and population, never realizing that their war was meaningless entertainment to the man who oversaw the whole thing.
The face that hung in the sky was god-like. Penetrating dark brown eyes shadowed by graying bushy eyebrows. A large, bulbous nose hung out over a mouth with an ever present smirk, safely cushioned in a landscape of brown facial hair. Short, dark hair with a streak of gray arcing back from the left temple. Vin's face was exactly how West had pictured it upon first hearing his voice.
The god-face vanished suddenly, and the man himself was soon standing in front of West, close enough to be threatening, but far enough away that he did not immediately provoke physical conflict. “The muse meets his creations and frowns upon them,” he said gesturing to the war raging around them, the smirk never faltering. “I was growing bored with my own creations in here, but you made things very interesting, I must say.”
West said nothing, but simply stared defiantly at his captor. Any doubt he had before regarding Vin's sanity was now removed. The man was surely mad to be enjoying such chaotic dystopia.
“Math class though?” The smirk briefly gave way to a slight frown, every bit as mocking. “Not quite as thrilling a toy as the rest of them.” He casually touched his left temple where the streak of gray seemed to appear. As he did this, West could see the creases in his face tighten, and with a start he realized there was a twinge of pain in that gesture.
“Not toys,” he said, grasping for anything that might upset the convict. “Much as I hated it, there was one thing I learned from history class all those years ago. Education and the trial and error process are the only things which will someday relieve us of the constant repetition of humanity's worst crimes. The cycle can be ended, if not for men like you who perpetuate the errors of the past.” West could see that despite his brave facade, Vin was certainly losing patience with him. The criminal lowered his head for a moment, and West could see the gray streak was wrapping around the base of Vin's skull to curve around to the other temple.
The Cloud, West realized. This was his chance to knock his captor off-balance. As a criminal with apparent psychotic tendencies, Vin delighted in the things West had considered torment, but the knowledge of greater issues pained him.
“Communication is the problem,” West quickly continued, drawing on a lecture from a particularly unexciting sociology class he had taken. “Instead of communicating your wants to others, you have taken it upon yourself to seize the things you want from those who lack the power to do anything about it.” The streak was definitely growing, creeping up around Vin's right ear like a vine. He raised his head to glare at West, and the animals in the background paused their fighting for a moment to study their creators before halfheartedly resuming the strife.
“Enough,” grunted Vin. “I get it. The world would be such a nice perfect place if not for people like myself.” He waved his hand and the whole scene grew fuzzy, dissipating into a bright light while the buzzing of the killer bees was magnified a thousand times over. All this happened in a moment, but not before West saw that the Cloud had completed its circuit around the perimeter of Vin's brain. The gray was rapidly becoming a shocking bright white which now climbed steadily to the crown of the man's head. West knew that soon enough it would begin the piercing dive into every level of his captor's consciousness.
The two men found themselves back in their body in West's apartment. Vin reached up with West's hand to massage his temples and knuckle his forehead. He finally got up off the couch to down the remainder of West's supply of cheap whiskey. Finding this equally ineffective in dealing with the headache, he stumbled to the bathroom and the mirror cabinet which held West's stash of drugs.
He tried every headache relief and pain killer he could find before finally reaching for the bottle that would put him to sleep. West's heart would have been pounding in anticipation if it were properly responding to him. But it wasn't, and therefore there were nothing to give away his plan.
Not knowing what to expect, and having consumed a great deal more alcohol before taking the pill than West had, Vin did not even make it out of the bathroom before being knocked unconscious.
It was terribly easy for West to probe his way into his own nervous system. First he could smell the alcohol on his own breath, then taste it in the back of his mouth. Vision was somewhat harder to obtain because his eye were closed and he could not yet open them. Finally he discerned that he had wormed his way into sight when he noted the reappearance of the floating spots that plagued the corners of his vision. He heard the water running in the sink, and finally could feel the cold tiles of the bathroom floor pressed against his face.
Upon regaining control of his nervous system, West was swept up in the thunderstorm of blackness which was the pill's terrifying power.
* * *
When he awoke after two days of unconsciousness, the first thing he did was walk back to the doctor's office where the surgery had been performed. He told the doctors his story, all the while they took notes and muttered “Of course!” at inappropriate times. Finally they performed another surgery on him, this one designed to undo the damage they had done.
As they gassed him for the surgery West could hear the mad ramblings of his tormenter's last thoughts.
Perpetuating cycle of error. Consequences of the past mean nothing to those who look only to the future. Communication does not truly exist without trust, and human greed dissolves trust. Societies are built on lies and greed, and everyday the corruption is introduced as necessary to the next generation. Our subservience to chaos and dystopia are the only factors which differentiate us from animals.
You're wrong. West thought back at him as the cold blackness of sleeping gas crept around the edges of his vision. Every day of human history moves the species further. Animals wait for the future and accept the changes it will bring. Humans reach into the future to alter the present and leave accounts of their lives so that future generations may learn from their mistakes. Every success and every failure in human history is one step closer to utopia.
As his hate for the monster who had taken over his body was replaced with pity, West embraced the world and the people who inhabited it. He embraced the doctors who had messed up the operation. He embraced the government who funded the program, another failed solution to a problem that humans would not give up on. Finally, for the last time, he embraced the gas's blackness, not knowing where it would take him, but knowing that somehow humanity would find a way to learn from his experiences.
Fringe: J.J. Abrams No Longer Lost
Renowned writer and executive producer, J.J. Abrams left many fans disappointed when he decided to end “Lost” earlier this year, but he continues to write and produce the best, if not the most popular, show on TV.
Although Abrams's “Fringe” follows FBI agent Olivia Dunham, (Anna Torv) it goes far beyond the typical “NCIS,” “CSI,” “Law and Order” crime drama genre. Agent Duham works for the FBI's Fringe Division, a department which tracks and solves bizarre “Twilight Zone” style cases. Throughout the first two seasons “Fringe” dealt mainly with Olivia's cases and the personal lives of her assistants, the insane Dr. Walter Bishop (John Noble) and his genius son, Peter (Joshua Jackson). Much like with “Lost,” Abrams has masterfully woven together the events of the beginning seasons to reveal a much larger picture.
The third season finds Agent Dunham and her world (presumably our world) at war with a parallel universe which contains an alternate version of every character, though their technology is far more advanced. This war is the direct result of Dr. Bishop's acts during his illustrious career as a top government scientist. Dr. Bishop, who was the original discoverer of the alternate universe, faithfully introduced much of their technology to the military (cellphones, advanced computers, etc.) after observing them through a device which he created. Walter's son was dying of disease, however, and he worked endlessly trying to develop a cure. Observing the efforts of his other universe doppelganger, Walter finally devised a cure, but by this time his son had already died. Not wanting his counterpart on the other side to experience the same loss, Walter sets out to cure the alternate version of his son. Upon seeing what appears to be their son, alive and well, Walter and his wife are unable to return him to his real parents.
25 years later, the Walter from the other side has become a massive political force, while Olivia's Walter has deteriorated into a state of semi-functional madness from his own guilt and science experiments. The other side's Walter, deemed WalterNet by Peter because of his vast influence, has launched several attacks on Olivia's universe to claim revenge for the theft of his son. WalterNet, though still a recently introduced character, has proven himself to be ruthless and methodical in his revenge. In the most recently aired episode he gives a quote which sums up his unstoppable attitude. When asked by a scientist if he misses his old career in the laboratory, the doctor turned politician replies “I'm still a scientist, Brandon; I just have a much larger laboratory.”
“Fringe's” characters are all expertly developed, each having a unique background which makes their choices and personalities entirely believable. While Anna Torv and Joshua Jackson play their parts notably well, John Noble's role as Walter Bishop is Emmy deserving. Though Noble's character is a scientist driven mad by his own grief, using himself as a test subject for many of his experiments has given him an almost child-like view of the world, making him the show's prime source of comedy. Since he is a good-natured genius, his childish humor is often far beyond the other characters, and relieves tension in what is otherwise an action/drama. In the second episode of this season, Walter is removing brains from corpses for study when he notices a red stain on his tie. To the horror of his colleagues, he licks it, only to discover it is just raspberry jam from breakfast.
Excellent acting and writing make every scene memorable, but “Fringe's” success comes from its unique blend of genres. Every episode contains elements of comedy, drama, action, horror, mystery, and science fiction, which leaves the viewer guessing outcomes at every commercial break. Conflicts are resolved by the end of every episode, but the process of resolution always reveals something about the characters or larger chain of events that builds just enough suspense to make the viewer want more information. Of all the shows on the air right now, “Fringe” is truly the most original. It tests the very limits of human ingenuity by weaving technology and the paranormal together. The show's underlying premise is that nothing is impossible or unexplainable, and Abrams is the perfect writer to test the limits of our believability.
Although Abrams's “Fringe” follows FBI agent Olivia Dunham, (Anna Torv) it goes far beyond the typical “NCIS,” “CSI,” “Law and Order” crime drama genre. Agent Duham works for the FBI's Fringe Division, a department which tracks and solves bizarre “Twilight Zone” style cases. Throughout the first two seasons “Fringe” dealt mainly with Olivia's cases and the personal lives of her assistants, the insane Dr. Walter Bishop (John Noble) and his genius son, Peter (Joshua Jackson). Much like with “Lost,” Abrams has masterfully woven together the events of the beginning seasons to reveal a much larger picture.
The third season finds Agent Dunham and her world (presumably our world) at war with a parallel universe which contains an alternate version of every character, though their technology is far more advanced. This war is the direct result of Dr. Bishop's acts during his illustrious career as a top government scientist. Dr. Bishop, who was the original discoverer of the alternate universe, faithfully introduced much of their technology to the military (cellphones, advanced computers, etc.) after observing them through a device which he created. Walter's son was dying of disease, however, and he worked endlessly trying to develop a cure. Observing the efforts of his other universe doppelganger, Walter finally devised a cure, but by this time his son had already died. Not wanting his counterpart on the other side to experience the same loss, Walter sets out to cure the alternate version of his son. Upon seeing what appears to be their son, alive and well, Walter and his wife are unable to return him to his real parents.
25 years later, the Walter from the other side has become a massive political force, while Olivia's Walter has deteriorated into a state of semi-functional madness from his own guilt and science experiments. The other side's Walter, deemed WalterNet by Peter because of his vast influence, has launched several attacks on Olivia's universe to claim revenge for the theft of his son. WalterNet, though still a recently introduced character, has proven himself to be ruthless and methodical in his revenge. In the most recently aired episode he gives a quote which sums up his unstoppable attitude. When asked by a scientist if he misses his old career in the laboratory, the doctor turned politician replies “I'm still a scientist, Brandon; I just have a much larger laboratory.”
“Fringe's” characters are all expertly developed, each having a unique background which makes their choices and personalities entirely believable. While Anna Torv and Joshua Jackson play their parts notably well, John Noble's role as Walter Bishop is Emmy deserving. Though Noble's character is a scientist driven mad by his own grief, using himself as a test subject for many of his experiments has given him an almost child-like view of the world, making him the show's prime source of comedy. Since he is a good-natured genius, his childish humor is often far beyond the other characters, and relieves tension in what is otherwise an action/drama. In the second episode of this season, Walter is removing brains from corpses for study when he notices a red stain on his tie. To the horror of his colleagues, he licks it, only to discover it is just raspberry jam from breakfast.
Excellent acting and writing make every scene memorable, but “Fringe's” success comes from its unique blend of genres. Every episode contains elements of comedy, drama, action, horror, mystery, and science fiction, which leaves the viewer guessing outcomes at every commercial break. Conflicts are resolved by the end of every episode, but the process of resolution always reveals something about the characters or larger chain of events that builds just enough suspense to make the viewer want more information. Of all the shows on the air right now, “Fringe” is truly the most original. It tests the very limits of human ingenuity by weaving technology and the paranormal together. The show's underlying premise is that nothing is impossible or unexplainable, and Abrams is the perfect writer to test the limits of our believability.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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