Music again at the lab yesterday. After the I.V., now I go sit in a sensory-deprivation closet lined with gray carpet. Like the back room at a research facility when you're watching focus groups through one-way glass. Only there's no glass of any kind and I'm the one being falsely and condescendingly assured that there are no wrong answers. (Of course there are wrong answers. Why else would I be here?) I rest my chin on a padded stand. (Lightly. I don't need another bruise.) Then a piece of music, about 10 seconds long maybe, comes through what appear to be car stereo speakers snugged into the carpet at eye level in front of me. The playlist is college radio random: Vivaldi, kecak, Aphex Twin. Then, from a different set of overhead speakers, somebody asks me a series of brain-damaged questions like, What makes a pet different from any other animal? Why can't brothers and sisters get married? How do you know when someone wants to have sex with you? I keep waiting for the one about the poor turtle flipped on his back in the desert. But I'm not helping him. WHY? WHY WON'T I HELP HIM? Apparently they think I'm a replicant.
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Recent Posts
But enough about you
- I'm a body. Still pink. 7 years and counting. For the next couple of months, I'm a guinea pig in a European drug trial. This could be big, boys and girls. This could be IT. So they told me to keep a journal. Didn't say where to keep it.
Who are you?
This is all incredibly... compelling.
- change.the.world.for.good@gmail.com
Posted by: Ms. Elizabeth | August 08, 2009 at 10:14 PM