I watch hour after hour of television pilots from the various networks, the blu-ray discs lay scattered around the glass coffee table of my penthouse apartment. I'm watching an extremely light detective show in which an elderly woman investigates teen crime at a local high school. I watch as she opens a door and is hit in the face with a cloud of smoke.
"Smells like my grandsons car!" she says. I scream at the television and throw a blu-ray as hard as I can at the screen. I throw it so hard it goes faster than the speed of light and momentarily, yet infinitely, exists at every point in space at the same time before recombining inches away from the camera lens on the set four weeks ago, flies another few feet before hitting the old woman in the nose. I then grab handfuls of the discs and throw them out of the window, letting it rain bullshit onto the streets.
There once was a time when teenagers were hip and every strand of marketing was directed at them. To get the 16-24 audience in a prime time slot was the dream of every television exec this side of Death Valley. Yet times were changing. Young people didn't watch television, downloaded all their favourite films and were slowly dwindling in a post-recession economic meltdown. Rather than hanging out at the hippest clubs you'd be more likely to find teens hanging out under bridges offering to sell themselves for a cup of coffee. And the people on the other end of this illicit barterdom? The elderly. They had more money than they knew what to do with and half of them didn't even remember that they had it. Kept alive with futuristic machines that turned back the clock, the vampire myth was becoming more of a reality each day, sometimes literally as children would have their blood swapped with that of centenarians in order to keep them alive.
With this in mind the future world of media has took a turn for the old. Rather than the ultra-violent non-linear post-modern slanged-up shows we're used to seeing grace our tv screens, networks are now focusing on a more slower paced form of entertainment. The shows are often populated by protagonists that are over sixty, the villains are young people, the plots amble along apparently aimlessly and climax in a snappy line delivered with a smile rather than an adrenaline roaring cliffhanger. And it's not only television that's acting old. Radio waves are now being filled with old time music, cinemas project movies twice as big for those with bad eyesight and social networks are now jammed with the elderly spewing racist nonsense every second. This problem won't go away overnight. In fact it will never go away. The population is getting increasingly old and will begin to outnumber the young. I took to the streets to find out what the public thought about it.
"It's a good thing I think, I mean, everyone gets old. Why not make more stuff for them?"
"My grandma watched Breaking Bad."
"Don't they already show repeats all the time?"
"I think it's a good idea."
So there you are. Four people said those things so therefore all public opinion must conform. Yet I couldn't help but feel as if the elderly were a growing problem. Before the decade is over, 1 in 4 people will be over the age of 80. That means one of these people will have to look after the geezer, another will have to tell them what to do and the other person will die of starvation. Is this a just world, or should we just lead the elderly to underground crypts and hope that they evolve some kind of subterranean civilization beneath our feet? Like most things, the correct answer is perhaps somewhere in the middle.
Showing posts with label primate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label primate. Show all posts
8.11.13
Forever Triangle: Uncle Jupiter
I am standing outside a school holding a giant cheque which reads one hundred and sixty thousand dollars printed in a font that resembles handwriting, designed by a team of graphic artists and distributed across the Western coast of America. It was the font of choice for these kinds of events, though there was a wide selection of fake handwriting available to charities, government bodies and the media. A flash bulb goes off in front of my face. Who uses flash bulbs any more. My mouth is dry and I gulp the back of my tongue. The woman next to me talks to the dozen or so reporters but I can't concentrate on what she is saying. The enormous cheque begins to slide down a sweaty palm and I worry I will drop it. Somebody finally takes the cheque off me and the woman puts an arm around my shoulder and we smile as more flash bulbs go off and people shout questions.
I am left alone in a hallway and hear my name called out. Fire doors open inwards for me and I walk across the auditorium floor, the applause falling as quickly as it rose. The head of the board of governers and the headteacher are stood to one side. I look around for a podium or somewhere less exposed but find none.
“Hello. Good afternoon. I hope we're all going to have a good time today. I just donated one hundred and sixty thousand dollars to your school. A hundred and sixty thousand. It's a generous donation, so generous that not many people are even able to do it. But I am, because I care. I care about the little guy, hitting the books, trying to make himself smart. I don't care if you're a jock, cheerleader, class clown or goth, everyone deserves an education that is paid for through generous donations like the one I just gave. I suppose you're asking yourself, why, why would this British guy come over to my school and give me nearly two hundred thousand dollars? But you know what? You shouldn't be asking why. You should be asking how. How do I get to be that guy?” I say. I wonder how loudly I am speaking. How do I sound, blowing air in short bursts over a wet blob in my mouth. I think about the size of my tongue.
“It's economics, Salzebury, the Gideon knot, Keynes, mythology, survivalism, trigonometry zoology, fluid dynamics, pyramid schemes, zombies, Rudolph Hess, microscopy, an excel spreadsheet, ipads, gemstones, bus tickets, viruses, environmentalism, brain transplants, pacifism, The Odyssey, facetime, gin and tonic, new shoes, the conquest of Mexico, batman, zygotes, fountain pens, mints, Sigmund Frued, Futurism, the Amazonian Rainforest, golf, Ludwig van Beethoven, buicks, childhood, pataphysics, buddhism and cell phones," I explain. "You can't just get a college education by paying for it. You have to work hard. Then you have to carry on working hard once you've graduated. The only difference is you'll be working somewhere nicer than cleaning up piles of shit in a school like this. You want everyone laugh at you? Think that you're a fucking joke? No, didn't think so. Take the easy way, drive a hyundai to work, have an affair, earn the average wage. All of it will seem terrible but at least it won't actually be terrible. That's why getting an education is important. You think I just threw one hundred sixty at this place so you could paint the corridors, put a basketball court somewhere? Hell no. I just give you the opportunity for an education. Make yourselves smart and in doing so increase the competition for jobs in the future.” I said, smiling. I looked down and shook my head before looking back up.
“You don't even know what. This is basic economics, but they don't teach that shit at high school. Don't want everyone knowing how to make mad money, who they gonna make money off? Y'all punks need to be schooled on some left wing sheeeeyit.” I say. I have grown confident as I speak. I feel strong and powerful. I pop open the top button of my collar.
“Ch'all better recognize socialism. You probably thinking of Groucho if I say Marx. But guess what. I'm talking about a guy called Karl. And he invented Communism along with this dude called Engels. Say what? Motherfucker invented communism, ain't that a Russian thing? Hell yeah homie. So's space travel. You think it's a coincidence all them dudes on the enterprise are chill?” I say.
“Anyway, I've donated almost a billion dollars to schools in Los Angeles. Y'all going to get a sweet education for gratis. Might seem fun now, but wait til you leave college. Everyone around you's gonna have been at the same college. I made this whole city totally fucked!” I say, miming smearing my hands across a dome. I laugh and walk out, starting to run through the empty corridors. It is a labyrinth of plastic, every door seems as same as the last. This is the place shootings happen. Eventually I reach the outside and have to lie in the car park, coughing. What have I done? There's no load game in real life! Everything had repercussions, from breakfast to noon. I sat up and started to run again, down streets populated by cars, veins bulging on my forehead. Nine hundred and thirty two thousand six hundred and twenty three dollars of company funds given away in the space of a day. I wondered for a moment if I would have to claim bankruptcy then laughed. Of course not. I still had things to do. I rang Bill and he picked me up.
“Take me back to the hotel.” I say.
“Sure. Are you okay?” he says. I begin to take off my clothes.
“Yes.”
I am left alone in a hallway and hear my name called out. Fire doors open inwards for me and I walk across the auditorium floor, the applause falling as quickly as it rose. The head of the board of governers and the headteacher are stood to one side. I look around for a podium or somewhere less exposed but find none.
“Hello. Good afternoon. I hope we're all going to have a good time today. I just donated one hundred and sixty thousand dollars to your school. A hundred and sixty thousand. It's a generous donation, so generous that not many people are even able to do it. But I am, because I care. I care about the little guy, hitting the books, trying to make himself smart. I don't care if you're a jock, cheerleader, class clown or goth, everyone deserves an education that is paid for through generous donations like the one I just gave. I suppose you're asking yourself, why, why would this British guy come over to my school and give me nearly two hundred thousand dollars? But you know what? You shouldn't be asking why. You should be asking how. How do I get to be that guy?” I say. I wonder how loudly I am speaking. How do I sound, blowing air in short bursts over a wet blob in my mouth. I think about the size of my tongue.
“It's economics, Salzebury, the Gideon knot, Keynes, mythology, survivalism, trigonometry zoology, fluid dynamics, pyramid schemes, zombies, Rudolph Hess, microscopy, an excel spreadsheet, ipads, gemstones, bus tickets, viruses, environmentalism, brain transplants, pacifism, The Odyssey, facetime, gin and tonic, new shoes, the conquest of Mexico, batman, zygotes, fountain pens, mints, Sigmund Frued, Futurism, the Amazonian Rainforest, golf, Ludwig van Beethoven, buicks, childhood, pataphysics, buddhism and cell phones," I explain. "You can't just get a college education by paying for it. You have to work hard. Then you have to carry on working hard once you've graduated. The only difference is you'll be working somewhere nicer than cleaning up piles of shit in a school like this. You want everyone laugh at you? Think that you're a fucking joke? No, didn't think so. Take the easy way, drive a hyundai to work, have an affair, earn the average wage. All of it will seem terrible but at least it won't actually be terrible. That's why getting an education is important. You think I just threw one hundred sixty at this place so you could paint the corridors, put a basketball court somewhere? Hell no. I just give you the opportunity for an education. Make yourselves smart and in doing so increase the competition for jobs in the future.” I said, smiling. I looked down and shook my head before looking back up.
“You don't even know what. This is basic economics, but they don't teach that shit at high school. Don't want everyone knowing how to make mad money, who they gonna make money off? Y'all punks need to be schooled on some left wing sheeeeyit.” I say. I have grown confident as I speak. I feel strong and powerful. I pop open the top button of my collar.
“Ch'all better recognize socialism. You probably thinking of Groucho if I say Marx. But guess what. I'm talking about a guy called Karl. And he invented Communism along with this dude called Engels. Say what? Motherfucker invented communism, ain't that a Russian thing? Hell yeah homie. So's space travel. You think it's a coincidence all them dudes on the enterprise are chill?” I say.
“Anyway, I've donated almost a billion dollars to schools in Los Angeles. Y'all going to get a sweet education for gratis. Might seem fun now, but wait til you leave college. Everyone around you's gonna have been at the same college. I made this whole city totally fucked!” I say, miming smearing my hands across a dome. I laugh and walk out, starting to run through the empty corridors. It is a labyrinth of plastic, every door seems as same as the last. This is the place shootings happen. Eventually I reach the outside and have to lie in the car park, coughing. What have I done? There's no load game in real life! Everything had repercussions, from breakfast to noon. I sat up and started to run again, down streets populated by cars, veins bulging on my forehead. Nine hundred and thirty two thousand six hundred and twenty three dollars of company funds given away in the space of a day. I wondered for a moment if I would have to claim bankruptcy then laughed. Of course not. I still had things to do. I rang Bill and he picked me up.
“Take me back to the hotel.” I say.
“Sure. Are you okay?” he says. I begin to take off my clothes.
“Yes.”
10.9.13
All The World's A Brain
In the operating theatre two gurneys are pulled through plastic doors, on each rests a chimp covered mostly with a white paper smock. The surgeons move about below like an orchestra preparing for a performance, checking the levels for the anaesthetic, that the surgical tools are in the correct order. Two surgeons dressed in red talk to each other before one goes over to a microphone that has been lowered into the theatre.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. My name is Dr. Aaron Blaisdell and I will be providing commentary throughout today's surgery which will be a partial brain transplant between two adult chimps. The head surgeon today is Dr. Ellen Carpenter and if anybody has any questions throughout the surgery please send us a tweet and I'll try to read out the best ones. So without further ado, doctor.” he said, gesturing towards Dr. Carpenter. The dozen doctors and nurses are in place, waiting to begin. Bill and I are sat in the observation mezzanine circling the theatre, trying to eat popcorn quietly.
The surgeons begin by standing at the top of each chimpanzee's shaved head and fastening them both into a 3-pin skull fixation device. This has a series of rings around it with measurements on, co-ordinates similar to what you'd see on globe of the Earth so that the surgeons know where they are poking around. Dr. Blaisdell begins to talk.
“Craniotomy is one of the more complex subjects in surgery. We can make guesses as to what certain areas of the brain do, though it's similar to guessing the purpose and structure of internal organs of something you haven't seen the inside of. Still, we know more now than we did last week, and this particular surgery could be very valuable in the future.
The patients chosen are a pair of identical twins, the ideal candidates for any kind of organ transplant. Today we will be excising the left hemisphere of each chimpanzee and fitting in it's twins. We'll be leaving the brain stem intact, just as you would when grafting a plant cutting onto a larger plant, though everything else will be moved.” he said. We continue to watch as the surgeons begin to make the first skin incision around each chimp's head.
“I dunno if I can watch this.” says Bill. He's looking a little pale.
“Relax, you've seen the Saw films, right?”
“But...but this is for real.”
“Exactly. Relax.”
Next comes the drilling of small burrs all the way around the skull, followed by the craniotome sawing neatly the precise line needed to lift off the cranium lid.
“Just as identical twins have nonidentical fingerprints, they also don't share the patterns of sulci and gyrus.” said Dr. Blaisdell. High above the operating theatre a screen is turned on, showing the view from a head-mounted camera Dr. Carpenter was wearing. She cut open the dura matter with a pair of surgical scissors to reveal surface of the neocortex, labyrinth-like in it's many folds of grey matter. I begin to sketch, partly what is going on beneath me, partly some political cartoons satirizing the response to the Syrian gas attack.
“In the 1940s a procedure was invented that cut the corpus callosum in order to treat epileptic patients. It improved their epilepsy but patients were otherwise mentally stable, which is surprising to say they severed some 300 million nerve fibres. We've had to manufacture an artificial corpus callosum for this procedure in order to link both hemispheres once the transplant is done. Though the patients can survive with a split brain, we think it's best to get the procedure as accurate as possible.” he said, holding up what looked like two CD's. On the operating table meanwhile the left hemisphere of one of the chimpanzee's was removed and quickly placed into a chemical bath whilst Dr. Carpenter quickly used an ultrasonic aspirator on the brain of it's twin.
“We just got a tweet asking us why only transplant one hemisphere. Perhaps you'd like to answer that Dr. Carpenter?” said Blaisdell as he moved towards the surgeon and held a microphone close to her face. Her voice was slightly muffled through the surgical mask.
“To start with we are attempting one hemisphere, if successful, we'll transplant the right hemisphere in a few weeks time. I hypothesise that a brain transplant is extensively traumatic to both the nervous system and the psychology of the patient. This way the brain has a way of synchronizing itself in it's new environment, getting used to it's endocrine system, body image and so on.”
“Thank you. Dr. Carpenter just mentioned the psychology of undergoing a brain transplant, which in itself will be an entirely new field of study. Through this operation we are splitting the mind, inducing schizophrenia literally.” he said. There were a few laughs from the psychologists in the mezzanine.
“The patients have both been given a course of immunosuppressants in order to combat graft-versus-host, whilst also being administered a series of psychoactive drugs to encourage a state of temporary dissociation, mainly ketamine. Think of it similar to how you might change the furniture around in somebodies house. If you simply did it whilst they slept, they would quickly notice upon waking up. Whilst if you had been giving them a course of drugs in the previous and following weeks, they may be less inclined to either notice or become anxious about it.”
I watch as they attach the artificial corpus callosum onto the right hemisphere before sliding the rest of the brain into the empty half of the skull. The dura matter is fastened back into place followed by the top of the skull.
“And there you have it. They'll be a short intermission but we encourage viewers to stay behind to watch the patients wake up.” said Dr. Blaisdell. There is an applause and we make our way out of the operating theatre.
Bill and I are eating small triangles of toast with prawns on them, looking at the throng of people standing in the atrium.
“So the monkey's gonna think they're each other?”
“Yep. And also themselves. I wonder what it must feel like, part of yourself in one body, part of yourself in the other.”
“Must be fucked up.”
“Would you have your brain transplanted into another body?”
“Nope.”
“What about if you were really old, would you put your brain in the body of a teenager?” I ask. Bill thinks for a moment, munching thoughtfully on the appetizer.
“Well, maybe I'd do that. Wouldn't I be an old guy in my head though? What if my body starts growing old, like that Robin Williams film?”
“Benjamin Button?”
“No, he wasn't in that. The other one.”
“Hook? He was Peter Pan in that, that's an old man acting like a kid. He wore tights.”
“Whatever. I dunno about letting Frankenstein poke round in my head is all.” said Bill. I nod. Dr. Blaisdell comes up to us.
“Did you enjoy observing the operation?”
“Yeah, thanks. Ground breaking stuff.” I say.
“It is. Next week we're grafting a nose onto a chimp to see if it would look more human.”
“Chimp with a nose?” said Bill.
“Yeah. We use quite a lot of chimpanzee's for our experiments. All ethical of course.”
“Would you put your brain in a chimp's body?” I ask. Dr. Blaisdell laughs, showing row after row of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe one day. Anyway, I'll see you later. Take care.” he said, walking off. I doubted he would volunteer himself for a human/chimpanzee brain transplant, though maybe he would under the right circumstances. I make a note to pay Dr. Blaisdell a visit later on in the week.
A few hours later we watch the twins slowly wake up.
“Well, they're alive at least.” said Bill.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the second part of the afternoon. We will do some basic motor tests and check both hemispheres.” announced Dr. Blaisdell. Assistants helped the chimpanzee's out of their cots and they held hands. A couple of people went 'aww'. Over the next hour we watched the chimpanzee's watch lights flick on or off on either side of their heads.
“They were trained beforehand to press a button when they see a light. This test was first designed by Roger Sperry, though is particularly useful for seeing if the operation was a success with these non-verbal patients.” he said. Up until that point both primates had been separated, though after it was shown both hemispheres appeared to be working correctly they were reintroduced to each other. Or themselves. Everyone was silent as they slowly walked up to each other, making quiet hooting noises.
“Another positive point about using identical twins is that you're used to seeing yourself. They are unaware that their twin is now sharing their skull with them.” said Dr. Blaisdell. The two chimps held each other, making little cooing noises. More people began to fawn and smile. I awaited the point where they would snap, perhaps attacking each other and everyone else. But it didn't come. I signalled to Bill that we should leave and we made our way back onto the Los Angeles street.
“That was nice wasn't it.”
“Yeah, it was alright.” said Bill, getting into the car. I examine his head as we drive back towards my motel, wondering if I would swap brains for a time.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for coming today. My name is Dr. Aaron Blaisdell and I will be providing commentary throughout today's surgery which will be a partial brain transplant between two adult chimps. The head surgeon today is Dr. Ellen Carpenter and if anybody has any questions throughout the surgery please send us a tweet and I'll try to read out the best ones. So without further ado, doctor.” he said, gesturing towards Dr. Carpenter. The dozen doctors and nurses are in place, waiting to begin. Bill and I are sat in the observation mezzanine circling the theatre, trying to eat popcorn quietly.
The surgeons begin by standing at the top of each chimpanzee's shaved head and fastening them both into a 3-pin skull fixation device. This has a series of rings around it with measurements on, co-ordinates similar to what you'd see on globe of the Earth so that the surgeons know where they are poking around. Dr. Blaisdell begins to talk.
“Craniotomy is one of the more complex subjects in surgery. We can make guesses as to what certain areas of the brain do, though it's similar to guessing the purpose and structure of internal organs of something you haven't seen the inside of. Still, we know more now than we did last week, and this particular surgery could be very valuable in the future.
The patients chosen are a pair of identical twins, the ideal candidates for any kind of organ transplant. Today we will be excising the left hemisphere of each chimpanzee and fitting in it's twins. We'll be leaving the brain stem intact, just as you would when grafting a plant cutting onto a larger plant, though everything else will be moved.” he said. We continue to watch as the surgeons begin to make the first skin incision around each chimp's head.
“I dunno if I can watch this.” says Bill. He's looking a little pale.
“Relax, you've seen the Saw films, right?”
“But...but this is for real.”
“Exactly. Relax.”
Next comes the drilling of small burrs all the way around the skull, followed by the craniotome sawing neatly the precise line needed to lift off the cranium lid.
“Just as identical twins have nonidentical fingerprints, they also don't share the patterns of sulci and gyrus.” said Dr. Blaisdell. High above the operating theatre a screen is turned on, showing the view from a head-mounted camera Dr. Carpenter was wearing. She cut open the dura matter with a pair of surgical scissors to reveal surface of the neocortex, labyrinth-like in it's many folds of grey matter. I begin to sketch, partly what is going on beneath me, partly some political cartoons satirizing the response to the Syrian gas attack.
“In the 1940s a procedure was invented that cut the corpus callosum in order to treat epileptic patients. It improved their epilepsy but patients were otherwise mentally stable, which is surprising to say they severed some 300 million nerve fibres. We've had to manufacture an artificial corpus callosum for this procedure in order to link both hemispheres once the transplant is done. Though the patients can survive with a split brain, we think it's best to get the procedure as accurate as possible.” he said, holding up what looked like two CD's. On the operating table meanwhile the left hemisphere of one of the chimpanzee's was removed and quickly placed into a chemical bath whilst Dr. Carpenter quickly used an ultrasonic aspirator on the brain of it's twin.
“We just got a tweet asking us why only transplant one hemisphere. Perhaps you'd like to answer that Dr. Carpenter?” said Blaisdell as he moved towards the surgeon and held a microphone close to her face. Her voice was slightly muffled through the surgical mask.
“To start with we are attempting one hemisphere, if successful, we'll transplant the right hemisphere in a few weeks time. I hypothesise that a brain transplant is extensively traumatic to both the nervous system and the psychology of the patient. This way the brain has a way of synchronizing itself in it's new environment, getting used to it's endocrine system, body image and so on.”
“Thank you. Dr. Carpenter just mentioned the psychology of undergoing a brain transplant, which in itself will be an entirely new field of study. Through this operation we are splitting the mind, inducing schizophrenia literally.” he said. There were a few laughs from the psychologists in the mezzanine.
“The patients have both been given a course of immunosuppressants in order to combat graft-versus-host, whilst also being administered a series of psychoactive drugs to encourage a state of temporary dissociation, mainly ketamine. Think of it similar to how you might change the furniture around in somebodies house. If you simply did it whilst they slept, they would quickly notice upon waking up. Whilst if you had been giving them a course of drugs in the previous and following weeks, they may be less inclined to either notice or become anxious about it.”
I watch as they attach the artificial corpus callosum onto the right hemisphere before sliding the rest of the brain into the empty half of the skull. The dura matter is fastened back into place followed by the top of the skull.
“And there you have it. They'll be a short intermission but we encourage viewers to stay behind to watch the patients wake up.” said Dr. Blaisdell. There is an applause and we make our way out of the operating theatre.
Bill and I are eating small triangles of toast with prawns on them, looking at the throng of people standing in the atrium.
“So the monkey's gonna think they're each other?”
“Yep. And also themselves. I wonder what it must feel like, part of yourself in one body, part of yourself in the other.”
“Must be fucked up.”
“Would you have your brain transplanted into another body?”
“Nope.”
“What about if you were really old, would you put your brain in the body of a teenager?” I ask. Bill thinks for a moment, munching thoughtfully on the appetizer.
“Well, maybe I'd do that. Wouldn't I be an old guy in my head though? What if my body starts growing old, like that Robin Williams film?”
“Benjamin Button?”
“No, he wasn't in that. The other one.”
“Hook? He was Peter Pan in that, that's an old man acting like a kid. He wore tights.”
“Whatever. I dunno about letting Frankenstein poke round in my head is all.” said Bill. I nod. Dr. Blaisdell comes up to us.
“Did you enjoy observing the operation?”
“Yeah, thanks. Ground breaking stuff.” I say.
“It is. Next week we're grafting a nose onto a chimp to see if it would look more human.”
“Chimp with a nose?” said Bill.
“Yeah. We use quite a lot of chimpanzee's for our experiments. All ethical of course.”
“Would you put your brain in a chimp's body?” I ask. Dr. Blaisdell laughs, showing row after row of pearly white teeth.
“Maybe one day. Anyway, I'll see you later. Take care.” he said, walking off. I doubted he would volunteer himself for a human/chimpanzee brain transplant, though maybe he would under the right circumstances. I make a note to pay Dr. Blaisdell a visit later on in the week.
A few hours later we watch the twins slowly wake up.
“Well, they're alive at least.” said Bill.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the second part of the afternoon. We will do some basic motor tests and check both hemispheres.” announced Dr. Blaisdell. Assistants helped the chimpanzee's out of their cots and they held hands. A couple of people went 'aww'. Over the next hour we watched the chimpanzee's watch lights flick on or off on either side of their heads.
“They were trained beforehand to press a button when they see a light. This test was first designed by Roger Sperry, though is particularly useful for seeing if the operation was a success with these non-verbal patients.” he said. Up until that point both primates had been separated, though after it was shown both hemispheres appeared to be working correctly they were reintroduced to each other. Or themselves. Everyone was silent as they slowly walked up to each other, making quiet hooting noises.
“Another positive point about using identical twins is that you're used to seeing yourself. They are unaware that their twin is now sharing their skull with them.” said Dr. Blaisdell. The two chimps held each other, making little cooing noises. More people began to fawn and smile. I awaited the point where they would snap, perhaps attacking each other and everyone else. But it didn't come. I signalled to Bill that we should leave and we made our way back onto the Los Angeles street.
“That was nice wasn't it.”
“Yeah, it was alright.” said Bill, getting into the car. I examine his head as we drive back towards my motel, wondering if I would swap brains for a time.
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