"When we make daily choices that are emotionally indifferent, the sort that the money-nexus makes faux-virtues of, we build our capacity for emotional indifference at the direct expense of our capacity for empathy, and thus the conflict between money and love is laid bare."
"Adjective and noun associations are worthy of our consideration because by careful linkage of words such as 'black' with strong emotionally positive words (such as in 'black heavens' and 'noble black night') we can start to program subconscious bias from the brain by creating a background neurochemistry that is more positive. This keeps the prefrontal cortex more fully operational and encourages more empathy in both thoughts and behaviours. Thus society develops better through their own choices and evolves. This is part of social evolution and this kind of awareness in writers is essential."
"It turns out, as obviousness would have it, that our brains (especially those of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby in this case) have been teaching us neurology through comic books and the movies that have come from them."
Full article linked to from my profile, click "abraham" below, awesome!!
The smell of the drains was a Gollum hand, reaching up my nose to rattle my brain. It was as if its fingertips had made craters in my grey-matter, bruising it for no other reason than a cold and petty thrill. How could it? Foul though was, it’s just a stink. Somewhere, behind the closed and double-locked doors of my memories, a darkness stirred. PTSD erased my memories, but whatever happened, it stank this same way.
The spring trees stood tall, branches raised and roots well anchored. As their buds opened to the warming light, as they took deep drafts of the generous rain, it was as if they were a soul choir.
To the grim unflinching light that seared the unguarded retinas, came a form of shadow’s breath that brought the stank of rotten fish. Of form, it had none. Of eyes and mouth, it had none. Yet this beast grabbed and consumed all things as if it were both black-hole and tornado in one. Upon the sweat-slickened tile floor, I slipped. Clunk. Gasp. Heart racing. With neither footsteps nor sound, it neared. Only its stench intensified with proximity. Eyes on the door I locked into a sprinters pose - now or never, live or die, this was it. Go.
Upon the leaves of evergreens, radiating in fine plume, was a pillow of white. It was as if when winter came, mother nature had tucked each one in with the finest eider-down.
The smell of the drains was a Gollum hand, reaching up my nose to rattle my brain. It was as if its fingertips had made craters in my grey-matter, bruising it for no other reason than a cold and petty thrill. How could it? Foul though was, it’s just a stink. Somewhere, behind the closed and double-locked doors of my memories, a darkness stirred. PTSD erased my memories, but whatever happened, it stank this same way.
In those bonny spring days, that lengthened and sang of summer’s promise, an egg sat snug in a nest. Bathed in the chirps of newborn siblings, it seemed quite content to wait. The world beyond, from dragonflies to sweet earthworms, were undreamable to its inner eye. The greenness of leaves, the feeling of breeze-massaged feathers, were yet to be its joys. Yet in that gentle heat the little bird in a lullaby-slumber stirred.
"For writers in the next half century and beyond, a comprehension of how creative writing, neurology, biology and our environment interact will be essential for a successful career."
- a link to the full article is in my bio and on the Descriptionari "About" page.
- you can email me using either AngelaCarolineAbraham@gmail.com or AngelaDescriptionari@outlook.com for a quote on tutoring and/or editing services.
Much love!!!
Angela Abraham (Daisy)