Cecil Morris Me in Mind I like to imagine myself an impulse leaping neuron to neuron from your eye or ear or lip—an ionized humming zooming down axons, dividing, multiplying as axons fork and fork again. I like to imagine myself invisible, unbodied electromotive force jumping synaptic gaps, descending dendritic trees—a vaulting volt charging along your neural network, a charged idea you have not yet thought, a shock almost felt. I like to imagine myself surging (nearly fast as light) into your four lobes at once—and on—to thalamus and hypothalamus, to amygdala and hippocampus—and right to your stem— where I change you—your breath, your pulse, your heat— and you (o magic potentiator) convert that current into me—idea to actual. You make me who I am.
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