March 12, 2010 Leave a comment
The man might have thought his wife was a hat stand, because this particular man could only make out figures – I haven’t read the Oliver Sacks book, but I have read the Peter Brook play – and a hat stand does look like a curvy ladee. But the chap today, who survived a brain haemorrhage; something more peculiar here:
Because he is a former builder and youth offender, cognitivists imagine that there was something active in the brain – neurons and shit – not able to make it’s way to the front, to the bit near the temple that makes up your personality. The cogo that the BBC had on at about 7.30am said that this is a frequent thing; where we speak a certain language out of choice, but however have other languages untapped in the cortex’ (is this the plural of cortex?). But the psychoanalysts have no truck with all this physical hardware stuff, there is more at play, and with this case I’m inclined to agree.
Liverpool is the home of the Beatles, merseybeat, William Brown Street, the neo-classicism of St George’s Hall, The Coral, The Boo Radleys, The La’s, Ladytron, the home of the Liverpool Scene, Allen Ginsberg called it the “centre of the consciousness of the human universe”, Carl Jung had a dream about Liverpool.
The man in hand has clearly learnt to express his Liverpudlian unconsciousness. Fuck the lobes, Freud is on the mersey.