Thought Experiment 3

~~~~ The Worms of Babel ~~~~

~1~

It slithered off her plate and up into her mouth.
“Disgusting,” Rufus said, his nose wrinkled.
She looked up at him from her plate. “It is a local dish dear. It is just noodles in a squid sauce.” She smiled and slurped up another mouthful of noodles.
“I don’t know how I am going to survive a whole week here.” He sighed and looked out the restaurant window. “I can’t even find any decent food around here.”
“Cheer up Ruffy.” She wiped some sauce from her lips with a paper napkin. The restaurant was empty except for them and the owner who sat behind the counter watching a small portable TV. She scooted her plastic chair closer to Rufus and squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry Bri, I’m just a little on edge. Didn’t get much sleep last night. The bed in our hotel isn’t exactly four star quality.” She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
“Your breath smells like squid.”
The TV buzzed with static as the restaurant owner hit it a couple times, trying to pick up a better picture. “Kuma a nan!” he cursed in the native island language. Sun from outside streamed in, and the fan in the restaurant did little besides blow warm air around the room.
“How about a swim Bri?” Rufus said pulling at his shirt, “At least the water’s nice here.”
“Too full.” She said, “But I’ll watch from the beach.”
They left the restaurant and walked back out onto the street. The sun highlighted their pink skin, making them stand out even more to the rest of the island natives. They walked past the island’s only hotel and onto its public beach. The beach was the local swimming spot, where everyone went to escape the heat.
“See you in a few,” he said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

~2~

“What’s wrong Ruffy?”
Rufus leaned to his right, shaking his head up and down.
“Water,” he grunted, “It’s stuck in my ear.” He jammed his pinky into his ear.
“Oh, I hate that,” Bri said as she returned to her book.
Rufus dried off and laid down on the sand next to her.
“Did you know that chimpanzee communication activates the same regions of the brain as human communication?” Bri said from behind her book.
“No, that’s interesting,” He replied, his voice muffled through the shirt he had put over his face to block the sun.
“I know, I can’t wait to meet Dr. Farsa tomorrow. I’ve already learned so much from his book, just think of what I could learn from meeting him in person.”
“Yeah, it’s exciting. What time is that at?”
“One O’clock. I’ve arranged a taxi to pick us up in front of the hotel.”
“Sounds good.” Rufus yawned, “I’m going to catch a couple Z’s Bri.”



~3~

Rufus woke up and put his hand to his forehead. He blinked his eyes a couple times and winced in pain.
“My head.” He moaned
“Headache?” Bri asked, “Maybe your dehydrated.”
“Yeah, and there is still water in my ear too. I’m going to head back to the hotel and get some aspirin.”
He walked back up the path towards the hotel. On his way back, he passed the restaurant they were at earlier. He bobbed his head a few times, trying to dislodge the water still stuck in his ear. ‘Maybe I just need some food’ he thought. The buzz of the small portable TV greeted him as he entered. The owner sat watching the local island news program. A woman on the television was reporting from the island market. Rufus couldn’t make out the report though, as it was in the island’s language of Babelian. The language was only spoken on the island, and sounded like a mixture of Spanish and Greek.
“Two orders of the, pan-zan-itas.” He struggled to pronounce the name of the food.
“De pan’zenitaz?” the owner corrected him, “Corte flore.”
“How much?” Rufus asked.
The owner held up four fingers, “Corte.”
Rufus handed over the blue bills and took a seat outside. After the first bite, his eyes widened. He quickly finished the two plates of food and went back to order another.

~4~

“Ruffy, wake up.”
Rufus slowly sat up in bed. “I overslept? This is the first night of good sleep I’ve had.”
“Yes, well the taxi will be here in ten minutes.”
“Oh right, your meeting with that doctor.”
“Get dressed and let’s go.”
Rufus stood up and threw on a shirt. “I’ve still got that water stuck in my ear.”
“No time for that Ruffy, let’s go.”

They stood outside the hotel and a green jeep with the words Cochena/Taxi written on the side pulled up. The driver leaned out the window, “De Farsa con’tecca?” He asked.
“Yes, that’s us,” Bri said. “Come on Ruffy.”
They hopped in and the taxi sped them down the island’s only road. The driver had a pair of sunglasses that sat a little crooked on his face. He turned the radio down, “Te pur Americas?” he smiled and looked back through the rear view mirror.
“Yes, we’re American” Bri said, “I’ve come to meet Dr. Farsa. He is a primatologist like I am.”
“Aye,” The driver nodded, “De primatas.”
‘The monkeys’ the words clicked in Rufus’s head.
“You know Dr. Farsa?” Bri asked.
“Aye, kay’nan Farsas. Hoi er un quen’dav.”
‘Yes, I know Farsa. He is a strange one.’ Rufus understood.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Babelian.” Bri said
Rufus turned to Bri, a confused look on his face, “He said Farsa is a strange man.” Rufus told her.
“What, Ruffy, you don’t speak Babelian. How would you know?”
“I don’t know, ask him something else.”
“You say Farsa is a strange man? How so?” Bri asked the driver and then looked at Rufus.
“Hoi er yoke’ ave de come’tecca. Pet’un a de primata’tecca.”
Rufus translated, “He’s never at the marketplace. Always in the monkey house.”
Bri laughed at Rufus, “Ruffy is this some kind of joke? Did you plan this out with the driver?”
“No, how could I have?”
“Well then speak some Babelian back.” She smiled.
“I can’t, I don’t know what is happening?” Bri could tell by the stress in his voice that he wasn’t joking.
“You’re serious,” she said, “well you didn’t understand Babelian yesterday did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” Rufus tried to explain it, “The language just seems to click all of a sudden. I just, get it.”
Bri looked skeptical, “Driver, could you turn up the radio?” She made a twisting motion with her hand.
“Aye,” the driver turned up the radio and the local news babbled out through the mono-speaker.
‘—corle de come ol’ er massikanto. De porkan’o vi de habit’antes moce’ olipatica’as. Come’tecca ol’ alvico’se mate come’ a baso tre’kas—’
“What did it say?” Bri questioned him.
“There is a food shortage on the island. Officials don’t know why, but food is selling off the shelves of the marketplace much faster than usual.”
“How is this possible? To understand a language out of the blue?”
“I am just as shocked as you are.” Rufus said, “I can’t speak it, but somehow I understand it.”
The taxi suddenly turned onto a bumpy dirt road. Above the trees, the top of a large glass building could be seen. Its dome top gleamed in the light of the sun and reflected the green of the trees surrounding it.
“De primata’tecca,” the driver grinned when he saw them staring at it through the window.

~5~

A short man in a Hawaiian shirt walked out of the building as the taxi pulled up, behind him an even shorter man followed. The man in the Hawaiian shirt had a red face and a bushy grey mustache. He beamed as he walked up to the taxi.
“Welcome to The Babel Island Primate Research Facility, or as the natives like to call it, the monkey house.” He held out his hand to Bri in a greeting, “I am Dr. Finnegan Farsa, and you must be Brianne Holdings?”
“Yes, call me Bri, it is such an honor to finally meet you. I’ve read your book on primate communication too many times to count.”
“Ahh yes, well I’ve read some of your research papers as well, it is a pleasure to have you here. I’m always thrilled to share my research with an eager ear.”
“And this is my husband, Rufus.”
“Ah Rufus, nice to meet you.” The shorter man behind Dr. Farsa coughed. “Oh yes, this is my assistant D’jango.” Dr. Farsa stepped aside, “One of the only natives on the island that can speak a lick of English.” The man gave a short bow.
“D’jango, could you take car of the taxi here while I give our friends a tour.”
“Yis,” D’jango walked over to the jeep and began talking to the driver.
“Shall we begin the tour?” Dr. Farsa motioned to the building.
The facility had an all tinted glass exterior. The right side of the building housed the tall dome that could be seen from the road. The green metal doors made the complex look like it could have just as easily been underwater. Large generators hummed as they supplied the power to the facility.
“This is an amazing research facility you have here.” Bri commented as they entered the door.
“Yes, I am very proud of it. It is obviously not funded by Babel Island though. I have numerous private investors that support my research.”
They walked down the main hallway past a number of labs on either side. The sun lit the hallway from a skylight above. They came to a display case at the end of the hall of a primate skeleton.
“And this is the primate we work with,” Dr. Farsa pointed, “the chimpanzee, Pan troglodytes.”
Rufus examined the chimpanzee’s display.
“But,” Dr. Farsa held up a finger and looked at Bri. “You may be wondering why we go through all the trouble to be on this tiny island.”
“Yes, I’ve been wondering that since I first contacted you and you told me you were on Babel Island. The chimpanzee, Pan troglodytes, isn’t native to these parts”
“Exactly right,” Dr. Farsa grinned, “We actually had to ship all our chimpanzees here by boat. The reason we are located on Babel Island actually has nothing to do with primates at all. It is because of worms.”
“Worms?” Rufus asked confused.
“That’s right, earworms to be exact. The island supports a rare native species of earworm, Mal mealias.”
“But Doctor, I thought your research was on primate communication?” Bri asked.
“Oh I assure you it is, let us continue and I will explain.”
Dr. Farsa pushed through a double door on their right and led them down another hallway. Large glass windows on the right viewed an indoor forest covered by the tall glass dome. “To the right you will see our chimp habitat.” Dr. Farsa continued to walk as he pointed out the exhibit. A single chimpanzee stood in front of the glass eating a pink fish. A pile of bones lay at its feet.
“You see Bri, as you know from the book I wrote, seven years ago I was studying chimpanzee communication in Africa. I tried, without success, to teach a chimpanzee sign language.”
“Well you certainly made a lot of progress. Almost nothing was known about primate communication before your work.”
“Yes, well, I came to the conclusion years later that it was very unlikely chimpanzees would ever be able to learn any kind of human communication. The simple fact of the matter is, the language centers of their brains just aren’t developed enough.”
Dr. Farsa pulled a keycard off of his belt and swiped it through a door on the left. Inside, tanks of water lined the walls. They appeared empty except for some sand on the bottoms. Bright red lights illuminated the tanks.
“Which is what brought me to Babel Island.” He pointed to the tanks, “The pride of our research facility.”

~6~

“I don’t see anything,” Rufus said as he squinted into the tanks.
“Of course you don’t,” Dr. Farsa took a few steps over to a microscope, “Earworms are slightly too small to see with the naked eye. Here, a little magnification will help.”
Dr. Farsa adjusted the microscope and Rufus looked through it. A few small worms wriggled in the plane of view. They were long slender creatures that appeared almost clear in color.
“Bri come look at this.” She looked through the microscope.
“Fascinating, but I still don’t see what this has to do with primate communication?”
“I’m getting there,” Dr. Farsa smiled and brushed his mustache with a finger, “After my stay in Africa, I decided I wanted to take my research to the next level. Trying to teach a normal chimpanzee to communicate was getting me nowhere, so I decided instead to apply the field of genetics. Genetic modification is no easy task though, and there is no single set of genes that can make a chimpanzee smarter. This is where the earworm comes in. The earworm, Mal mealias, attaches deep inside the ear of mammals where it feeds off its host. By genetic transformation here at our facility, we were able to modify the worm. From the ear, it now attaches to the language center of the brain, the inferior frontal gyrus. Once there, it stimulates the neurons and accelerates growth in that area. At least that is what happens in theory.” The smile on Dr. Farsa’s face faded.
“What do you mean ‘in theory’.” Bri asked.
“Well so far the results have not been exactly successful. At first, when the earworms were inserted into the chimpanzees, it was only a week or so before the chimps died. We modified the DNA plasmids inserted into the worms though, and have since seen some promising results. Just last week, one of our chimps tested positive for communication cognition. We were thrilled and did a scan on his brain. He showed definitive signs of neuronal development in the language center of the brain.”
“That’s incredible,” Bri exclaimed, “well have you—”
“There were side effects,” Dr. Farsa interrupted, “His brain showed signs of neuronal development in another region of the brain that wasn’t part of the language regions. We think we have an idea of the behavior this region of the brain affects but we’re—”
The doctor stopped talking mid-sentence and stared at Rufus. His eyes widened, “Excuse me Rufus, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, I can’t seem to get this water out of my ear.” Rufus leaned to his side and bobbed his head up and down, “Its been stuck in there since yesterday.”
“How did you get water in your ear?” Dr. Farsa asked.
“I went swimming at the beach,” Rufus replied.
The doctor’s face twisted in a rush of panic. He pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt. “D’jango, meet me in my office, now!”

~7~

They stood in Dr. Farsa’s office while he paced back and forth behind his desk. He stared at the floor, a concerned look on his face as he stroked his mustache.
“What’s wrong Doctor? What does any of this have to do with me?” Rufus stuck his finger in his ear and jostled it around.
“I’ll explain once D’jango gets here,” he mumbled, “Damn it.”
The doctor’s office was on the second floor of the building. Its window overlooked the chimpanzee habitat from above. D’jango stepped into the office out of breath.
“Yis doctor?” he asked.
The doctor glared at D’jango, “Rufus would you mind taking a seat?”
Rufus sat down and the doctor reached into his desk and pulled out a small silver object. He put it to his mouth and blew. Rufus grabbed his right ear in pain and fell off his chair to the ground.
“Ruffy!” Bri yelled as she went to his aid. The doctor stopped and Rufus slowly sat up.
“What the Hell was that noise!” Rufus said still clutching his ear.
The doctor held up the silver object, “An ordinary dog whistle,” he said. “The easiest way to tell if an earworm has taken hold. The earworm is able to pick up the frequency of the dog whistle. It appears to react negatively to the frequency, and transmits the sound as pain signals to the host. I recognized the behavior in your husband instantly, as all the chimps scratched at their ear when the worm was first inserted.”
“So you’re saying my Ruffy has earworms!” Bri stammered.
“Hold on now,” the Doctor put the whistle down and turned to D’jango who stood in the corner of the office nervously.
“D’jango! This is very important. What did you do with those containers of water I told you to dispose of last week? Did you get rid of them like I asked you to?”
“Yis, Iy put them down de waste.”
“Which waste container? The fluids waste or the biohazard waste?”
“De fluids, et was water.”
“No no, I told you to put them in the biohazard waste, not the fluids waste, there were earworms in that water! They have probably migrated from the sewers out to the open ocean by now. You know this island supports earworm life! Now these mutant worms are out in the wild multiplying and spreading. It has been a week since then, if Rufus here has them, then, then, God only knows who else on the island has them. You’ve seen the effects they had on our chimps. Imagine that in humans!” Dr. Farsa started pacing behind his desk again.
Bri turned from Rufus to Dr. Farsa, “What do you mean the effects they had?”
“Have you noticed any behavioral changes?” Dr. Farsa asked.
Bri looked at Rufus, “Ruffy, what about, you know, the car ride over you—”
Rufus was dumbfounded by the whole ordeal, he held a blank expression as he thought back. He remembered the taxi ride, and how he could somehow understand the island’s language.
“Well, I am not sure, but I think I could understand the language the driver spoke, Babelian.”
“Fascinating,” Dr. Farsa whispered, “D’jango, say something in Babelian.”
“Am te vit’al er bufa ‘od deva,” D’jango said.
“What did he say?” asked Dr. Farsa.
“He said, ‘may your life be full and rich’.”
D’jango let out a slight grin, “De saying of Babel.”
“Amazing,” Dr. Farsa stared at Rufus, his eyes glassy, “The earworm must have developed the interior fron—”
“Doctor Farsa!” Bri interrupted, “This is not a chimpanzee you are working with, this is my husband!”
“Of course, of course,” Dr. Farsa blinked a couple of times and looked as if he had just come out of a trance. “All for your well being Rufus. Now, this is important as well. Have you noticed any changes in say, eating pattern, metabolism, hunger?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Not that I can remember,” Rufus looked up in thought, “Just the normal appetite I suppose, although I did try the island’s pan-zan-itas the other day and liked those. But nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I see, I see,” Dr. Farsa turned and looked out his office window into the monkey habitat.
“What do eating patterns have to do with this?” Rufus asked.
“Hold on a moment, D’jango come with me.” Dr. Farsa looked at Rufus and Bri, “I’ll be right back.”

~8~

Bri sat in a chair in the office as Rufus stood next to the window, gazing into the chimp habitat.
“Ruffy I’m worried, do you feel any pain? You said you had a headache yesterday.”
“I feel fine Bri, the only difference is that I can understand Babelian, but that is about it.”
“This is all so experimental. What if there are other side effects? Dr. Farsa seemed to be hinting at something.”
Rufus just stared out the window.
“Ruffy, don’t worry, I’m sure Dr. Farsa will help us. There has to be a way to get the worm out.”
“Yeah,” Rufus mumbled, “Bri, did you notice that there is only one chimpanzee in the habitat? Doesn’t that seem strange?”
The door to the office opened. D’jango rushed in and closed the door quietly behind him.
“Listen,” He grabbed Rufus by the arm and began speaking to him in Babelian.
“The doctor Farsa, he plans bad things. He want to keep you here. Do testing on you, experiments. He say you are valuable. The first human with successful worm function. He want to do tests, understand how worm is integrated. It will be painful, may result in death. I do not want this. I can help.”
“Well what can we do? How do we get out of here?” Rufus said to D’jango.
“What do you mean get out of here?” Bri looked at them confused.
D’jango continued, “The Doctor Farsa is locking front door. The only other way out is door through monkey habitat. There is problem. The worms. It make monkeys possessed. Turn them evil. They want meat. Desperate. They try to eat each other.”
“Will that happen to me!” Rufus gripped D’jango by the shoulder.
“Yes, but there is medicine. I brought it from lab. It is good medicine. It will kill worm. The Doctor Farsa does not want this. He say you are valuable.”
D’jango handed him a vial of white powder. “Here. Take two pinch of medicine a day. Now, we must hurry.”
D’jango reached into Dr. Farsa’s desk and pulled out a ring of keys. He pocketed them, then took the silver dog whistle off the desk. “We use this. Monkey hungry. Whistle hurt monkey. Whistle will also hurt you. You must be strong. You see the door?”
He pointed across the chimpanzee habitat to a metal door. “We go there. Ready?”
Before Rufus could answer, D’jango picked up one of the chairs in the office and held it over his head.
“Ruffy, what is going on!?” Bri yelled as she backed away from D’jango in fear.
“Don’t worry, he is going to help us. We have to follow him. Just trust me, the Doct—”
D’jango ran at the office window and threw the chair, shattering the large window. Bits of glass cascaded out into the chimpanzee habitat, following the trajectory of the chair. Rufus neared the opening and looked down into the habitat. The chimpanzee ran up to the chair and sunk his teeth into the leather back. He pushed it away out of distaste and circled it in anger.
D’jango looked up at Rufus, “You jump first. Then I blow whistle. Then she jump. Then I jump. Ready?”
Rufus walked to the edge of the window. He turned to Bri, “We have to do this Bri, trust me.” Pieces of glass crackled beneath his shoes as he landed on the dirt floor. The chimpanzee looked at Rufus and began running at him. D’jango blew the dog whistle and both Rufus and the chimpanzee immediately fell over in pain. D’jango pointed at Bri to jump, the whistle still in his mouth. She jumped down to Rufus and picked him up off the ground, putting his arm over her shoulder. D’jango followed and stopped blowing the whistle for enough time to say, “De door!” He led the way through the trees, to the small door and opened it with the keys he had taken from the office. Bri held Rufus up as he struggled to walk, the pain of the whistle ringing in his ear. On top of the whistle Rufus could hear a pounding noise. He looked over and saw Dr. Farsa, banging his fists on the window that looked into the habitat from the lower hallway. They ducked through the door and were outside the building in a gated area. D’jango closed the door behind them and stopped blowing the whistle. A white truck with a caged flatbed was parked at the side of the building.
“In de truck!” D’jango yelled. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started it. A loud siren started to blare out from the building and the main gate began to close. Rufus and Bri got in the other side and they drove out as the gate was closing. Rufus sat in the passenger seat holding his ear.
“That siren,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Bri looked at him concerned.
“I can’t think straight.” He twisted in his seat.
“Does it hurt? Is it like the dog whistle?” Bri asked.
“No,” Rufus held his forehead in his palms, “It’s different, I just,” he groaned in frustration, “I need something to eat.”
D’jango interrupted in Babelian, “Where we go? How you get here in first place?”
Rufus struggled, “Ahh, seaplane, docks.”

~9~

They drove down the main road and entered the town. D’jango slowed the car down as they rode past the marketplace, but did not stop.
“What is going on?” Bri gasped as she watched the scene before them.
Various scraps of food lay scattered across the streets. A couple natives ran around the marketplace, desperately stuffing anything they could find into their mouths. Some of them were fighting with each other; one woman was biting at a man’s leg. The siren from the complex could be heard clearly as it echoed throughout the island.
“Meat! Meat!” another man yelled in Babelian as he searched a market stand for food. He saw the truck pull up and began running at it, “MEAT!” he called. He jumped on the back of the truck and grabbed onto the cage. D’jango increased the trucks speed but the man held on.
“What does he want!” Bri yelled at D’jango.
Rufus sat doubled over in his seat. “Can we please stop for food,” he moaned.
D’jango rolled down the window of the truck and leaned out, still driving. He held the dog whistle up to his mouth and blew. The man let go of the cage with one hand and gripped his ear. D’jango swerved the truck and the man fell off, unable to hold on with one hand. He rolled the window up.
“It de worms,” he said to Bri.

~10~

They reached the docks and D’jango pulled up in front of a covered hut where a man sat reading a newspaper. A small pink seaplane was tethered to the dock. D’jango got out of the truck and walked over to the man.
“You the pilot?” he asked in Babelian.
“I am,” the man said, “You need a ride? It is fifty flore for a lift to the mainland.”
“No not for me. For these two.” He pointed to Rufus and Bri.
Bri helped Rufus, who was still hunched over, out of the car.
“Come on Ruffy, we are getting out of here.”
She walked Rufus across the dock and up the plank into the seaplane. She walked back to D’jango.
“Thank you so much for everything D’jango.” She gave him a hug.
“No problem, Am te vit’al er bufa ‘od deva.”
“Will you be alright here on the island?”
“Yis, Iy have medicine, Rrufis has medicine.”
Bri said goodbye as she boarded the seaplane. The driver untied the plane from the dock and started the engine. He taxied out into the clear water, sped up the plane, and took off. Rufus lay across one of the seats in the plane.
“D’jango said he gave you some medicine for the earworm?” Bri asked Rufus.
“Yeah,” he pulled the vial out of his pocket.
“You should take some now Ruffy.”
“I will once we land,” he lay back in his seat.
Bri looked out the window at the island. The town of Babel looked like a small smudge from this distance. She took a deep sigh.
“Thank God that’s over,” Bri said, “You should eat, Ruffy.”
Rufus sat up from his seat, “What did you say?”
“I said you should sleep, Ruffy. It has been a long day. The plane ride should take at least thirty minutes. That’s enough time for a nap.”
Rufus leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, “Yeah, that would be nice.”
The buzz of the plane motor droned on in a steady monotone pitch.
“I’m sorry I even went to meat that Doctor in the first place.” Bri said.
Rufus looked at her.
“Ruffy what’s wrong?”
His eyes glazed over as he stared at her. His head started to hurt.
“Ruffy?” She said, “ What’s Meat. Meat. Eat meat. MEAT?"

Thought Experiment 2

Hypnosis Psychosis

I sat in his office, in front of his desk, in front of a clock that sat on his desk. I had just introduced myself and he sat in a large green leather chair with silver rivets along the edges. His desk was a collage of various colored papers. On his wall, the self-portrait of M.C. Escher stared back at me, his proportions warped through the reflection of the orb in his hand.
“Yes, well, before we begin there is just one problem.”
“Yes?” I said.
“Well,” he leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his desk. “You see, I’ve made it my policy that I require a co-pay on your part in advance, for the first session.” He cleared his throat, “There was… an incident before, and well,” he tilted the palms of his hands upward as he sat back, in a helpless defense. “Well I’d rather not get into it.” An airy whistle escaped him as he grinned a toothy grin.
“Right,” I said. He specified the amount and the transaction was made.
“Would you like a receipt?” His blue eyes peered over the tops of his spectacles. He had already begun filling out a small piece of paper.
“No, thank you,” I said.
“No?” He appeared pleased by this. He wadded up the slip of green paper and held it upward, suspended in his right hand.
“You mind?” He nodded to a small wastebasket to my left, motioning for me to pop the lid. He lobbed the paper ball and scowled as he watched it land on the floor. I picked it up and placed it in the basket beside some used tissues and a number of discarded blue pills. I forced a smile with my cheeks, but my eyes betrayed me, as he could clearly see I was not amused.
“Ok, well,” he hurriedly rustled through some papers on his desk. He pulled a blank sheet from the grip of an empty coffee mug, and placed it on a clipboard.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” The click of his pen echoed back on itself, sounding not too different from the start of a stopwatch.
“Right, well you see doctor—”
“Please, I prefer a layman’s title,” he said. “The title Doctor,” he played with the taste of the word in his mouth, “It just puts so much distance between us.”
“Right,” I said. Had he not introduced himself as Dr. Lapansky but a few moments earlier?
“Mr. Lapansky. The problem I have is concerning my wife.” I began, “She’s just, so needy, I—”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded his head, scribbling something down, as if he already knew the answer to my problem.
“It’s just,” I continued, “I can’t take all the demands sometimes. The constant ‘Honey, can you run to the store and pick me up some eggs?’, ‘Honey, have you payed the electric bill?’, ‘Honey, where did you put the mail?’ I just… It never ends!”
I took a breath.
“I see.” He extended his neck and scratched at the thick grey hairs that grew there.
“And I wanted to send my wife here instead, it’s just, she doesn’t seem to think she has a dependence problem at all. I thought, well, if I can’t get treatment for her, then I’ll get treatment for myself.”
“Yes,” he said a bit skeptically. “Well, how do you respond to your wife when she asks something of you?”
“It hasn’t been a problem until recently. She was never more dependent on me than I was on her. But now, whenever she asks something of me, I find myself very bothered, to the point where,” I didn’t know how to say it.
“Yes, well, there are many methods and techniques for solving this sort of thing.” He leaned back in his chair and waved his right hand in small circular loops through the air, as if sorting through loose sheets of paper in his head.
“And, well, my personal favorite method is hypnosis.” He tossed his clipboard on the desk. I tried to decipher what he had written so far, but the penmanship was so small and erratic that it looked like the readings of a seismograph.
“Fine,” I said, “Whatever you think will work best.”
“Excellent,” he chirped, “Just sit back and relax, arms and legs loose and comfortable.”
I did as he said and placed my arms across my lap, sat back in my chair, and took a deep breath.
He reached for the metronome on the side of his desk and pulled back the needle with his index finger. He released it and the needle bobbed, left, right, left, right, emitting a soft tick as it moved. I adjusted myself, and the metronome soon nodded in agreement with the rhythm of my breathing.
“Now then,” He began and his voice assumed a hushed demeanor, “Clear your mind and concentrate only on my voice. You hear nothing but the sound of my voice. Your arms and legs are heavy. They are heavy, heavy and warm. As I begin to countdown from ten, your relaxation will grow. When I’m finished, you will be in a state of complete relaxation.”
“Ten, you are calm and relaxed. Your breathing is deep and steady.”
“Nine, you are sinking to the bottom of a bottomless ocean.”
“Eight, deeper and deeper. Your relaxation is growing.”
“Seven, your arms and legs are heavy and warm.”
“Six, deeper still.”
“Five, your heart-rate is slow and calm.”
“Four, you sink deeper and deeper.”
“Three, deep relaxation.”
“Two, almost there.”
“One more lap now! You can do it, keep up the pace. Only—”
Breathe in, stadium lights, gold ripples span the floor,
Breathe out, waves, cheers, stroke,
Breathe in, blue tiles, yellow buoys,
Breathe out, left arm, right arm, left arm, right arm,
Time! Echoes of cheers bound off the water,
“Lapansky we won!”
Water slips between the fingers, slipping, deeper,
“Lapansky!”
Water rising, nothing to breathe in, nothing to breathe out,
“Mr. Lapansky?”
Waves of sound slow as they sink through the water,
“Hello? Mr. Lapansky?”
“Oh, what?”
“Mr. Lapansky, are you alright?”
The tick of the metronome cut the silence in the room.
“Oh, yes, well, excuse me, I must have dozed off.”
He stared at me for a few seconds with a deadpan expression. His lips parted as his face loosened.
“It’s quite alright,” he said, “It’s just, my problem,”
“Your problem,” I said.
“With my wife,” he raised his voice slightly.
“Yes, yes, your wife,” I said.
He frowned, fidgeting with his left hand a bit. The metronome was still ticking and I reached out and stopped it. He looked up from his hand.
“It’s just, I don’t think the hypnosis helped much—”
“Ah, yes, well, give it a day or two,” I assured him, “and you may find it did more than you think.”
His expression soured and he turned red. His left hand gripped the chair arm more tightly.
“It’s just, I don’t think you understand,” his breathing started to increase. “I don’t know how much more I can take. The demands! The constant needs!”
He squirmed in his seat like a worm on the end of a hook about to be cast. He continually wiped his perspiring hands on his pants, and a single drop of perspiration hung from the tip of his nose.
“Now, now,” I said, “Hold on now, deep breaths now, deep breaths. Breathe.” I found myself out of breath at just the sight of his emotional state.
He sat up straight and attempted to breathe. He looked like a fish just released back into water.
“Breathe in, breathe out,” I motioned in and out with my hands. The redness in his face started to fade and he sat back in his chair. The pits of his shirt were soaked with sweat, and his hands still shook a bit.
“Excellent,” I said. “Now. When can you see me next?”
I scheduled him an appointment in a week, and he reluctantly left with my card in hand. ‘This is exactly why I get them to pay up front’ I thought, ‘What a day.’
I opened the double doors of my office and walked down the hall. I reached the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Bees outside the window hovered from flower to flower. The blue petals bobbed up and down as the bees did their job. ‘A bee knows a true day of work’ I laughed.
Satisfied, I walked back down the hall. I stopped at the entrance to the living room and saw my wife. Her long bangs couldn’t mask the puzzled look on her brow. She stood over the piano, a bundle of sheet music in her arms. She looked up and caught sight of me in the entranceway.
“Honey,” she asked, “Have you seen my metronome anywhere?”
She searched over the top of the piano, perched on the balls of her feet. One of her fingers hit a note as she strained to scan a hand over the piano top. A few sheets of music lay scattered across the hardwood floor.
His eyes made a wide arch from left to right as he sighed.
“You see my problem?” he said.
I nodded in agreement.







Sources

“Everything is overturned; he is the observer. The spectators are no longer on stage to enjoy, like us, the twin movements of the ogre and the truffle, the game of who will eat whom. Everything is overturned. Tartuffe observes, as do we through his eyes—the game of the collective and its metamorphoses. He is not a joker; he is Moliere’s emissary. He is perhaps Moliere himself. Masked, so as not to be seen. But what is the joker, if not a pile of masks?” -Serres, The Parasite, 210

“… in the relation of the hypnotized medium to the hypnotist, as in relation, say, of the group to the leader, it is the seemingly powerless partner, the hypnotized medium, for example, who does all the work. The hypnotist, like the vampire, is a kind of phantom projection produced by the medium’s desire to be possessed, controlled, vampirized. And in an aside Freud adds that we can recognize in this hypnotized medium the group of one, the portrait that really becomes us.” –Rickels, The Vampire Lectures, 19

“Freud signs on the dotted line: “The ‘double’ was originally an insurance against the destruction of the ego”. But once the earliest dyadic, mirroring “stage has been surmounted, the ‘double’ reverses its aspect.” –Rickels, The Vampire Lectures, 64

“Soon, in order to make the collective clearer, I shall use the notion of quasi-object. It circulates, it passes among us. I give it; I receive it. Thank you; you’re welcome. Eucharist and Paraclete… The third appears; the third is included. Maybe he is each and every one of us.” –Serres, The Parasite, 47

“The imperative of purge. Thus the excluded third, the Demon, prosopopoeia of noise. If we want peace, if we want an agreement between object and subject, the object appearing at the moment of the agreement, at the Last Supper as well as in the laboratory, in the dialogue as on the blackboard, we have to get together, assembling, resembling, against whoever trouble our relations, the water of our channel… In order to succeed, the dialogue needs an excluded third…” –Serres, The Parasite, 56-57

“The parasite is the essence of relation. It is necessary for the relation and ineluctable by the overturning of the force that tries to exclude it. But this relation is nonrelation. The parasite is being and nonbeing at the same time. Not being and nonbeing that are names (or the nonnames) of stations; but arrow and nonarrow, relation and nonrelation. Hence its metamorphoses and the difficulty we have in defining it.” –Serres, The Parasite, 79

Serres, Michel. The Parasite: Translated by Lawrence R. Schehr.
Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 2007.

Rickels, Laurence A. The Vampire Lectures.
Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 1999.

The Filf

Bruce Robertson is a pig in every sense of the word. For one, the parasitic tapeworm in his stomach forces him to constantly stuff his face with food. Secondly, he is extremely sexist and always hungry for more women. He lives in a sty of a house now that his wife has left him, with piles of dirty laundry filling the floor. He is dirtier than any pig, not only mentally, but also physically, due to an eczema rash developing in his pants. On top of all this, he is a police officer a.k.a. the fuzz a.k.a. the five-oh, a.k.a. the po-po, a.k.a. a blue boy, or a.k.a., a pig. The cover of the book, Filth by Irvine West, makes this obvious with the giant illustration of a pig wearing a policeman’s hat. Also, “The Filth” is another name for police officers in Europe. The author goes deeper with this idea though, and tries to explain psychologically why this man, Bruce Robertson, has become a pig.

The tapeworm in Bruce’s stomach seems to know more about Bruce than he knows about himself. Bruce goes to great lengths to avoid any time for self-thought or evaluation. He occupies his time with work, sex, and drugs as much as he can. On the weekend, he goes to work for overtime, and on his time off, he’s either at the bar getting “three sheets to the wind”, or on the lookout for prostitutes. Bruce can’t even stand a quiet car ride, and so tunes out to Ozzy Osbourne or Iggy Pop and The Stooges. The worm in Bruce’s stomach wisely says, “You need to be at work. You need the job; hating, yet at the same time thriving on, its petty concerns. These concerns are enough to distract you from the Self you must only face up to at night between the extinguishing of the television set and the onset of a jittery and fitful descent into a physically bruising sleep.” (260). It’s too bad Bruce can’t hear the worm in his stomach because it would do him a lot of good. The worm boils the way Bruce lives his life down into one sentence. “The Host’s philosophy of life seems then, more rather than better.” This philosophy embodies the motto of a pig. Quantity over quality.

Why is it that Bruce goes through so much trouble to avoid, as the worm calls it, “the Self”? One possibility is that Bruce is insecure, that he doesn’t like the person he’s become. Bruce comes from a mining family in some small village of Scotland, a fact that, at out point, he denies out of shame. The worm explains that Bruce realized at an early age that the working class, his family, had no power, and that the governing class made the rules. It is most likely for this reason that Bruce decided to become a police officer.

One of the only moments in the book where Bruce is vulnerable is when he tries to save a man on the street that just had a heart attack. This is the one time that we, the reader, realize Bruce actually has the ability to care about another human being. When he fails at saving the man’s life, a feeling of sadness quickly turns to anger as onlookers guake at the tragic scene. Bruce describes the onlookers, “That’s what the ghouls want… they want to drink the misery out of your faces.” Wanting to know about the experience of seeing a man die in his arms, a reporter asks Bruce, “How did that make you feel?” Bruce responds, “Eh? I ask the cunt. –What the fuck…”(114) Unable to face his own feelings, he immediately heads to a bar, and then home with a prostitute, blurring out his pain with distractions. This question stays at the back of his head though, occasionally coming back into his thoughts from time to time, haunting him and forcing him to reflect on his feelings.

Bruce’s character is a deeply disturbed one. He relishes in the pain of others, and on many occasions, purposefully inflicts pain for no reason other than for his own enjoyment. When he first steals an old ladies paperweight, he does so thinking it is valuable. Upon finding the paperweight missing, the old lady tells Bruce that it only has sentimental value, and only wants it back because her deceased husband gave it to her long ago. Although he could have easily anonymously left it in her house, Bruce decides to chuck it into the river instead. Another time, Bruce is in a great mood and gets a taxi ride home. “I’m almost tempted to give him a tip,” Bruce says, “but think better of it, drinking in the stoical disappointment on his face as I count out the exact fare.” (226). Just a note that neither of these things are even close to some of the evil things Bruce does. But why is it that Bruce decides to be cruel for no reason. This situation is so similar to the earlier situation when Bruce tried to save the dying man’s life, except this time the roles are reversed. It is Bruce taking in the pain on someone’s face, and not the onlookers drinking in Bruce’s. Why is it that Bruce tries to inflict pain on others, even though he knows what its like to be one the other side?

The worm in Bruce’s stomach may provide some insight into why Bruce does these things. “The important thing was to be on the winning side…” the worm says on Bruce, “only the winners or those sponsored by them write the history of the times… The worst ever thing to be is on the losing side. You must accept the language of power as your currency, but you must also pay a price. Your desperate sneering and mocking only illustrates how high the price has been and how fully it has been paid. The price is your soul. You came not to feel. Your life, your circumstances and your job demanded that price.” Bruce knows what it’s like to be on the other side, the losing side, the mining working class side, but chose to be on the winning side. He chose the side of power, the winning side, the side that inflicts the pain, and doesn’t receive it.

At one point, Bruce is asked why he enjoys other peoples pain, and he replies by saying that because bad things happen to other people, it means they aren’t happening to him. Every time he inflicts pain on someone else, it reminds him that he’s the one on the winning side. To have power over someone is to have the ability to inflict pain on them. Bruce knows this and uses his rank as a police officer to do so. The damn pig.