sorry I read marijuana... just had to say 420
TO THE FUTURE
I in completing
this poem
hope at least
to outlive the journey
from a notebook page
to the freedom of
one fair copy to be handed
to a friend and then
to other friends
one of whom may
see to it that
these words are
copied or left about so that
some person who knows nothing of
me who wrote them
may notice and
take the poem as a
delight or disturbance.
May it enlist or
puzzle readers enough so
that by undertaking its traffic
they may speak its language to
multiply its effect
and by voicing both
deliver me to you.
... Peter Davison (1928-2004)
(filched from The Atlantic's April, 2005, issue)
"What is truth? said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer."
.... from F. Bacon "Essay On Truth"
( Course, Francis hisself was no great observer of truth )
"You don't know about me, without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied, one time or another." ... Huck Finn
A cute baby with multiple personalities
Hitme
Try the pong ... nyuk nyuk nyuk
Much much research in many areas has been fruitful ... how can we lose?
Quote: Brain Power
How we move
The Brain Machine Interface
Movin' on His Mind
Americans celebrate their freedom every year on the same day that Matthew Nagle lost almost all of his. As Fourth of July fireworks flashed over Wessagussett Beach in Weymouth, Massachusetts nearly four years ago, Nagle found himself in a sea of flying fists and within minutes, Nicholas Cirignano, a man with a lengthy criminal past, plunged a hunting knife into Nagle's neck, severing his spine. Doctors had two more pieces of bad news for Nagle: He'd never walk again and his daily activity would be severely limited.
But Brown University neuroscientist John Donoghue has another life in mind for people like Nagle, whose paralysis renders him highly dependent on others. Since the 1990's, Donoghue's been working on a brain implant that can route brain signals to machines that process the signals and issue commands. Now, just by thinking about the action of opening and closing his own paralyzed hand, Nagle is able to do the same to an artificial hand.
Donoghue, founder of Cyberkinetics, Inc., a company that interfaces machines and the brain, is tapping into what's still intact in most paralyzed people, their brain. "There's a perfectly good brain capable of producing commands about the intention to move but those commands can't get to the spinal cord or to the muscles because the wires, or the axons, have been cut," he explains.
Donoghue targets a region under the head's crown called the motor cortex where billions of nerve fibers carry commands through the spinal cord to single cells called axons. When these fire, an impulse travels down the axon to the muscle, releasing a chemical that prompts muscle to move. Donoghue developed a sensor that instead of sending signals to the severed axons feeds them into an amplifier and then a computer.
"They first go into an amplifier system that takes these very tiny voltages and makes them much bigger so they're easy to process once they're amplified," he explains. "Then they go through a computer that sorts out signals from the various noise that's embedded in the signalsÂ…and then they are passed through a mathematical decoder that takes the neural signals and converts them into a useful command. So what you eventually see is that the thought of moving is translated into the motion of the cursor on the screen."
Using a special computer, Nagle can control some of his environment by pointing to different commands. He can change channels on a television, turn lights on or off and even draw. The research is part of a fast growing field called BMI, or Brain Machine Interface. Universities around the country are working on technology similar to Donoghue's---mostly in monkeys---but Donoghue was the first to find success in a person, Matthew Nagle. He's now running clinical trials in others. That may be encouraging news for the two million Americans the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation estimates are living with paralysis of the extremities.
Donoghue says he hopes his research will one day bring full movement back into the lives of people physically limited by paralysis. "We are developing means to truly restore function and assemble, reassemble the nervous system when it's been damaged," he says. That's still years away. For now, Donogue's next step is to take the implant wireless.
This February, Nicholas Cirignano, the man who attacked Nagle, was sentenced to 10 years behind bars, not nearly enough time to satisfy the Nagles. The Patriot Ledger reported that Matthew's brother Michael gave this victim impact statement to a packed courtroom: "Some say we are put here for a purpose in life. For you, Mr. Cirignano, ask yourself, what is yours?"
This research was funded by National Institutes of Health, the Neurology Institute, the W.M. Keck Foundation, and Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) and appeared in the January, 2005 issue of Discover Magazine.
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.
Lord Byron
Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog, 1808
When some proud son of man returns to
earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of
woe,
And storied urns record who rest below:
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have
been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first ot welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's
own,
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him
alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on
earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be for-
given,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with
disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship is all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush
for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on - it honors none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones
arise;
I never knew but one, - and here he lies
Lord Byron
It's ok .... cry
Want to know what was playing at the strand the year you were born?
Klik me
The films of my birth year, 1942, were truly amazing.
Did they have 'talkies back then'?
You're right, you had a lot of good stuff to watch ... I only heard of a couple or three in my year. ......(6/21/47)
Would ye be Irish now?
Well then, you'll be aklikin
(Here)
[tap your 'home key]
The Day the Earth Stood Still
I do have a wee bit of Irish in me
Hey Color, 51 was a good year and you can
quote me on that.