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Scrambled EggsLife after brain injury
Issue 13 / True Stories, Well Told
East of EverythingI gained so much weight sitting in jail that my street clothes didn’t fit when they released me. I had to wear county-issue jeans and a T-shirt on the airplane I took out of California's Bay area that last time.
The Music of the Brain, the Chemistry of the LuteAll right, let’s be honest. The brain is not a lute, and the six brain chemicals we will discuss are not precisely like the six strings of the lute. But the idea I want to explore—that the chemicals of the brain may be likened to specific musical tones—is not without precedent.
ThoughtprintsMy yellow cat has epilepsy. The first time I was to witness one of its seizures, a quasihuman scream, torn from some fabric of terror and despair, startled me awake at about 3 a.m.
God, Glass, LSD: A MemoryMy brother saw the face of God. You never recover from a trauma like that. He was 14, on LSD, shouting for help in the darkness of his room in our new suburban home.
Not in Love With AAMIMight as well begin with the latest one: This morning, walking the beagle and thinking how to start this article, I began to pass the springhouse (a little shed over a cinderblock tank at the top of our hill), which I rebuilt last year in preparation for piping water to the outbuilding where I have my office.
Perspectivo Scientifico or, Where the Rays Convene, I Fix a PointGo to the pillar separating the medieval section of the museum from the gallery of Renaissance paintings and stop. If you listen carefully—very carefully—you can hear a quiet gasp as the medieval painter, after a hundred years of trial and error (give or take a few), finally grasps the notion of perspective and stumbles into enlightenment.
Gray Area: Thinking With a Damaged BrainA damaged brain corrodes the author’s mind and sense of self, a state akin to “harboring a zombie”
Issue 13 / Issue 24/25 / In Fact
What’s the Story #13“Through a strange legal fluke,” Megan Foss, one of the contributors of this issue, recently told me, “Someone sent me my medical records going back some 20 years, and there is a period of time—the best I can figure is about two-and-a-half to three years that describes events and conditions that not only do I have no memory of, but that I have always had entirely different memories of.”