BLOGS

Reading Changes Brain's Connectivity, Study Suggests

It's no secret that reading is good for your brain. But what actually happens inside your brain when you read a great novel?

“Stories shape our lives and in some cases help define a person,” Dr. Gregory S. Berns, director of Emory University's Center for Neuropolicy in Atlanta, said in a written statement. “We want to understand how stories get into your brain, and what they do to it.”

Now we may have a better idea, thanks to new research by Berns and his research team.

The researchers took fMRI scans of the brains of 21 undergraduate students while they rested. Then the students were asked to read sections of the 2003 thriller novel “Pompeii” by Robert Harris over nine nights. The students' brains were scanned each morning following the nightly reading assignment, and then again daily for five days after they had finished the book.

The scans revealed heightened connectivity within the students' brains on the mornings following the assignments, and the changes persisted for the five days after the students had finished the novel. The areas with enhanced connectivity included the students' left temporal cortex, an area of the brain associated with language comprehension, as well as in the brain's central sulcus, which is associated with sensations and movement.

"The anterior (front) bank of the sulcus contains neurons that control movement of parts of the body," Berns told The Huffington Post in an email. "The posterior (rear) bank contains neurons that receive sensory input from the parts of the body. Enhanced connectivity here was a surprise finding, but it implies that, perhaps, the act of reading puts the reader in the body of the protagonist."

How long do the brain changes persist? Berns said in the email that it wasn't clear, but he added, "At a minimum, we can say that reading stories –- especially those with strong narrative arcs -– reconfigures brain networks for at least a few days. It shows how stories can stay with us. This may have profound implications for children and the role of reading in shaping their brains."

This new research was published in the journal Brain Connectivity on Dec. 9.

For the ill-informed, Krampus is a beast like creature that features heavily in winter festivals of Alpine Countries (Germany, Austria, Hungry etc). [Ed. If you watch Grimm or American Dad, or The Venture Bros., you would be tacitly aware of the concept].

Krampus originally began as part of Germanic pre-christian rituals. However, after the Roman Church converted the Germanic peoples to Christianity, Krampus was paired with Old St. Nick.  As St. Nick's companion, Krampus is charged with beating, kidnapping, consuming, transporting to Hell, and otherwise making naughty children's lives around Christmas a terrifying game of waiting until this cloven footed monster would end them.

Even with this tacit blessing by the Church, there were many attempts in Austria and Germany to stamp out the practice of giving children PTSD around Christmas time. One assumes that many a "home-alone" scenario played itself out in the minds of young Gustav and Heidi deep in the Bavarian Alps. A dark winter night, a knock at the door. Screams! It must have been like a second bite at the Halloween apple for pranksters of the 17th Century.

Over time, modern sensibilities about telling children that a demonic goat-man was going to kill them transformed Krampus into a demonic goat-man who gives out coal and bundles of kindling to bad kids. In the Germanic tradition there is always a terrifying demonic half-goat man.

Krampus and St. Nick share the Christmas naughty / nice list, dividing the work like only a mildly socialist country can. St. Nick only gives presents to good kids. He doesn't truck in coal delivery. That is Krmapus's bag.

As with all things Christmas, people have been making some money off of Krampus for centuries. One of the earliest forms, was Krampus greeting cards, distributed since the 19th century. This gives us a great visual record for the evolution of the concept over the last 150 years.

All of this has got us thinking about the Antagonist frequency of a earlier blog post. The universe of potential antagonist in fiction is massive. However, western literature tends to stick close to home regarding supernatural creatures. For every story out in the world about Krampus, there are 1000x more stories about Vampires, Zombies or Aliens.

One partial theory for this is that fiction is really about us, our society. Zombies and Alien invasions and Sparkly Vampire Boyfriends are telling us something about our culture and our society. They are a mirror of what we fear or desire at a subconscious level (immortality, a fresh start to civilization, a cool trench coat).

There was a time and place where Krampus spoke to people, to their society in a very real way. It seams silly now, but they took it quite seriously, otherwise it wouldn't have endured for millennium. It is just that our society doesn't fear the same things as society that came up with Krampus. Perhaps, we have forgotten to be afraid of something.

Great fiction not only explains us to ourselves, but sometimes points out fears we didn't realize we had.  

Some additional cards can be found here.

www.moorsgatemedia.blogspot.com

Twitter: Moorsgate

Prologue of American Specter: The Seven Sisters attached.  

American%20Specter%20Excerpt.pdf

Writing has become one of my many joys in life.  Reading a good story is also a one of the things I do to have fun.  Now I would like to invite you to do them both with me together.  Here’s how you can do it with me.  Each week I will post a new chapter of a story. Follow along with me as I write.  You will be able to interact with me and possible find your way into my story.  I will name character in the story after people who give me useful commentary. 

Just when New Yorkers were given the wakeup call into the realities of Global Warming by Hurricane Sandy NYers adjusted quickly especially the people of Harlem.  They quickly made hurricane prep a part of their culture and continued living with the absence of storm fear.  However, they’re not done learning about the powers of this planet. These Harlemites become the hosts of yet another one of mother nature’s catastrophes.  Few people knew there was a fracture in the bedrock of the village of Harlem.  When this inactive fault line under Harlem’s famed 125^th street becomes active all of Harlem begins to shake as New York experiences a category 8 earthquake.  Find out who will survive this catastrophic extinction level event.  Read along as Jeff Carroll, a wanna be Harlemite crafts an adventurous tale set in a city of chaos.

Kenny a television audience producer is prepared for everything Murphy’s Law can throw at him.  With the help of his roommate, high school friends and running buddies he manages to generate a packed audience through the challenging weather conditions.  So when the forecast is for a Sandy level hurricane Kenny has no problems getting over 3000 people to break from their storm prep and come out to the Apollo Theater.  Not in his wildest dreams would he think that his team of audience coordinators would have to navigate block long crevasse, collapsing buildings and lawless streets. It will take all of his team’s skills to escape being buried under the rubble of this world famous concrete jungle.

I hope it is safe to talk about these things, it's been a while. I used to work as an electrical drafter at NASA Glen. It was a 5 year contract and when it ran out, I tried to get an extension. I helped do some wiring drawings to install new wiring in some of the labs. Man, that was an adventure. No white walls or coats there, small sliver of a dingy room behind rows of iron barn type doors. There was a strange place though, I don't think I was allowed to go in there. Pretty big space, had an old phone booth in the corner. At certain times 10 people would go in there and 7 come out. This happened on a regular basis.

I was working late one day and 3 people in astronaut gear came out. They were talking about the space station and how it was a good show. Curiosity is not my strong suit but I couldn't help it and hid in the scaffolding. I saw them go in the phone booth, all of them, 10 people. With each person they shut the door and then the next. There was no eerie sounds, no hum or flash of lights.

I got down from my perch and looked closer. Yep, small glass box, a folding glass door, but no phone. I opened the door and stepped inside, the walls turned into a mirror and back to clear glass. I became disoriented, it surprised me so I let out a shriek. I launched my body through the opened door to dash across warehouse only to hit the wall of a storage bulkhead. I've seen this place before in pictures, International Space Station. I swallowed hard, got back into the phone booth, it did the mirror thing again and I flung through the doors into the big room. I thought I escaped unnoticed and went home. The next day some people saw me coming, made muffled screaming noises behind my back and laughed between themselves after I walked past. 

Alita and the surviving crew took refuge in a cave after she landed the pod. Of course it was a rough landing and Alita could only breathe relief that no more crew members perished. She scurried from the cave when darkness fell. She knew she was taking an enormous risk returning to the pod. But she needed its communication equipment…what she could salvage of it at least.

She ran through a forest of rock outcroppings, halting every twenty yards or so to survey her surroundings, wary of Hooper’s search parties. The pod lay up ahead, resting in a clearing, tilted at a severely lopsided angle. When she saw no criminals in sight, she moved in, her rifle in firing position, sweeping right to left.

“Don’t be alarmed.”

The voice came from behind her. Alita didn’t panic as military training and battle honed reflexes kicked in. She dropped and twisted, swinging her weapon about in a full 360 until she had it pointed at… “Dern!”

“You realize, I would have disarmed and incapacitated you in less than two seconds,” the armored man boasted with amusement in his voice.

“You realize I can still shoot you for sneaking up on me,” Alita replied peevishly, before breaking into a smile. She lowered the weapon, looking Dern up and down. “How are you? Fully charged?”

“Fully, but not up to full capacity.” Dern pointed to the pod. “I take it you’re going for the comm.”

Alita nodded. “That’s the plan. With no goons around, it should be no problem.”

“Lead the way,” Dern said. “I’ll cover.”

The pair made a short dash for the pod.

Alita squeezed through an entry hatch that was partially closed due to damage from the landing.

Dern followed, forcing the hatch door fully open by way of his suit’s strength enhancer.

Alita went to the console and set her rifle on the floor. “Instruments got banged up a bit. I tried sending a distress after we landed. It didn’t go through.” She pried off a panel and proceeded to dismantle the communicator.

“Wait,” said Dern, reaching down and placing an armored hand over a latticework of exposed circuitry. “The hardware might need a boost.” His hand glowed briefly, initiating a similar response from the console. He stepped back. “Give it a try.”

Alita toggled a sequence of switches and threw an approving glance Dern’s way. “Comm is up. You saved me some repair time. I just sent a distress. While I’m at it, I’m going to scan for patrol ships.”

After a moment, the comm emitted a low variable hum.

“That sounds like a contact,” Dern remarked hopefully.

Alita raised a brow. “It’s something. I’m trying to clear away static. The contact registers at the periphery of this comm’s transmission range…damn. It’s gone.” She drew up in alarm. “The distress transmittal is gone, too! I think we’re being jammed.”

“The comm’s activation must have triggered an alert in Hooper’s camp,” said Dern. “If they have comm detection gear, then this pod has already been pinpointed. We have to go.”

“I’ll shut it down. I might be able to modify it enough to mask an outgoing signal…”

“There’s no time for that,” Dern insisted. “Come on!”

Dern rushed to the pod exit, with Alita close behind.

They practically leapt through the hatch. Dern grabbed the woman’s arm and accelerated several dozen feet across open ground.

A sleek arrow shaped object shrieked from the sky punching through the pod’s hull seconds after they vacated it. The next instant a hellish flash turned the pod into flaming wreckage.

Shockwaves rippled forcefully from the blast, swatting Dern and Alita to the ground.

A gray, bloated craft glided overhead.

Dern recognized the craft as being a Scythe, a close air support vehicle.

The present version descending into the canyon was definitely antiquated; probably well over a century old. But its ordnance was undoubtedly recent.

Dern’s enhanced vision zoomed in on the craft, spotting its bottom-mounted launcher loading a fresh missile. The launcher swiveled toward him.

Dern raised his arm, triggering a blast of plasma from his bracelet. The beam traced a scorching path skyward, striking the Scythe in its nose section before it could release its missile. The Scythe’s front end vanished. The rest of it spiraled into the canyon, wrapped in a fiery blanket where it collided next to the pod’s mangled remains.

“Let’s go!” Dern hustled Alita to her feet. “Where’s your hideout?”

Alita pointed to her right and led the way through a thick, mazelike cluster of towering rock outcroppings.

From inside his command TVV, Hooper pounded a fist on his knee in frustration after witnessing the Scythe’s destruction on one of the vehicle’s live monitors. He had paid a pretty penny to establish some degree of air power on this benighted planet.  Former Coalition combat aircraft were certainly not easy to come by. No way he was sending his remaining four Scythes into that kill zone. Not yet at least. He hopped out of the TVV and called over his top officer, a rangy, Mohawked tough named Vlados. “Looks like they’re heading south. Send down a tracker, source their general location then hit ‘em with Shatter Busters.”

Vlados’s lips creased open, revealing an unsavory gap toothed grin. “Gladly, sir.”

Tunnal, idling nearby, approached the settlement leader. “I’d like to think Shatter Busters’ll do the job, especially when it comes to Lowtower. But I won’t be convinced until we pull his cold carcass from the rubble.”

“Fine,” Hooper said tersely, rubbing sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. “You can have that opportunity when you lead the search party to recover his body.”

Tunnal smiled.

London-based Spanish documentary photographer Cristina De Middel self-published The Afronauts that explores a space program started in 1964 by a schoolteacher who dreamt of sending Zambians to space at the height of the space race between the Soviet Union and the United States. De Middel (whose photos are included in The Shadows Took Shape) writes,

“I respect the basis of the truth but allow myself to break the rules of veracity, trying to push the audience into analyzing the patterns of the stories we consume as real. Afronauts is based on the documentation of an impossible dream that only lives in the pictures. I start from a real fact that took place 50 years ago and rebuild the documents, adapting them to my personal imagery.” –Cristina De Middel

People who cannot envision themselves leaving their neighborhood or block will never be able to imagine themselves as space travelers (or scientists). To declare that the most likely future is one in which ‘we only have ourselves and this planet’ is the reason only fourteen space travelers are black. We need to imagine greater.

“What happens when third world youth gain increasing access to technologies that were practically unimaginable just a few years earlier?” asks the Ghanaian writer Jonathan Dotse on his blog. “What happens if this trend continues, say, fifty years into the future? And whose job is it to answer these questions? Science fiction writers, of course.”

Dotse notes that today it’s science fiction writers who are answering these questions. Tomorrow it will be astronauts and that isn’t fiction. 25 year-old South African DJ Mandla Maseko was picked to be one of 23 young people to board the Lynx Mark II space shuttle in 2015. Maseko was born and raised in a dusty township in South Africa and never dreamed his life would be as big as it has become.

2013 Was The Year In Cultural Appropriation

To be honest, 2013 was a tough year for black folks. Every year has its share of racist activity and bad news, but there was something about this year that made it seem like white people had set claims on aspects of black culture in ways they never had before. We'll admit, this isn't the first time (Elvis anyone?), and it certainly won't be the last, but it was quite possibly the most painfully obvious.

Every time we turned on the television, computer or radio, it seemed pop culture was saturated with songs, dances or trends that originated in the African-American community and all of a sudden people were praising and paying close attention to things that had existed for years.

So we decided to pull together all of the examples of things pop culture stole this year, from dances to music genres and even rappers themselves, not many things in black culture were safe this year

Years ago I had an interest in all things mystical, of late African astrology. I thought it was maybe similar to today's horoscope so I was ready to match up Egyptian names to Roman names and call it a day. Now I read that African astrology was not star science alone. Then they showed a person 'consulting the bones" and I said wait a minute. Then they explained a system similar to Iching. How in the heck can you...........the key to this "science" is geomancy. I understand because geomancy has to do with magnetic lea lines in the earth. I have read about people finding water with willow sticks and churches built on sites where lea lines crossed supposedly a place of power. Natural forces that many unknowing religious people call pagan. Prayers said on places of power are more in touch with the creator, it is said. Forget god as some man in space, no man in personage or imagination, raw cosmic power and men's minds in harmony.

So many stories of Africans being natural people in tune with the earth. I am believing we with our education, religions and technology have become the savages because we overrun nature, we disregard nature.

I was threatening to deforest my yard of all trees. I looked up into the sky and saw jet trails crisscrossing and lingering longer than the clouds. I wonder what their spraying, jet trails are supposed to be momentary. Then I thanked the trees for covering my yard and protecting my health.

How simple my life would be if I could celebrate nature, the seasons, my ancestors and be done with it. All the stupid notions I've been taught swamp my mind with their importances, most really don't matter. I step out of my house into my yard, look at the trees, the sky, the earth. I take a big relaxing breath and feel it all about me, I'm in my creator, my creator is in me. I wonder if I can sense lea lines and what power do they hold for me. The ancients had ways we call all kinds of evil names and yet at a distance we marvel at the science they knew. Nah, it can't be that, that's witchcraft, that's voodoo, that's pagan-heathen and we are fill in the blank whatever. Let's see you build a pyramid or obelisk or smell the wind or sense the presence of "spirits". We live blindly, beat each other with remote media, stupid conversation, are addicted to entertainments. My bandwidth is full and when it all stops I sleep. Damn those dreams, by the time the crap plays out, the sun is coming up again. I'll have to get a drum again, listen to the wind whistle through the branches and accompany with noises of my own.

My concern is shared by David Morrison, a doctoral student of Carl's: your chances of seeing his professor were very high then, whereas Dr. Tyson, Hayden Planetarium Director and well-known for his Star Talk Internet Radio broadcasts, has a vastly more challenging landscape (see "I plan," next paragraph). The unfortunate consequence of popular shows like "The X-Files" and "Millennium" is that each in its own way reinforced the post-Fairness Doctrine demise narrative that "government can't be trusted," and by extension anything its researchers say about science and nature beyond another consumer product. Note the chart from the same article (link at "your chances of seeing" above, same paragraph):

If we ever get our acts together, it could one day be more science than fiction.

Site: Carl Sagan

Enjoy Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Noel, Saturnalia, Solstice, Yuletide.
Yep, that didn't cover it all, but I think it covered enough. 

Thank you again to everyone who spread the word and supported. Shout out to Jarvis Sheffieild and the BSFS.  

We coming!

Here's an opportunity for illustrators. A mentor of mine sent this to me and I'm thinking of entering, so i thought I'd share with you all. Happy holidays.

-Rob

Here is the website link: http://www.silentbookcontest.com/silentbookcontest/index-eng.html

Hey folks, Just want to share a free postcard. If you would like one of these, please comment or message me. I have about 5 or 6 left of each, so I want to get them on people's refrigerators. Shout out to all the illustrators on here giving each other feedback and inspiring us to keep creating regardless of how tough the path is. Much love BSFS!!

-Rob

If you dont want to message me here you can hit me up at info@robdontstop.com

Scientists have discovered a code within a code (Source: cosmin4000/iStockphoto)

ABC Science: Scientists discover second, secret DNA code
IEEE Explore: DNA and Quantum Theory

Life on other planets could have been warmed by the afterglow of the Big Bang. L. CALÇADA/ESO

Nature: Life possible in the early Universe
Physics arXiv: The Habitable Epoch of the Early Universe, Abraham Loeb

         Just in for the holidays... Ebooks Galore.  

         My father found Bin Laden is now available as a kindle download or any other

         electronic reader.

         Plus, let's get some Jello Pudding Pops in the mix with some interesting

         anthology series, called Immortal Fantasy, which is my version of  Heavy Metal

        magazine.  Its an all genre book, so there is something for every fan of all

         storytelling media in graphic form.

           And speaking of graphics, last but not least is the Little Miss Strange graphic

           novel for kindle and nook.

            Time for those links, dont you think ?

             Of course, these title are available in paperback editions as well but you

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                 My father found Bin Laden.... wait for it...

          Get this ebook from the below link....  

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            Up, next.... the poignant story of Jello Pudding Pops

                       http://www.amazon.com/Jello-Pudding-Window-Childrens-Books-ebook/dp/B00HCJWS1Q/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387239539&sr=1-2&keywords=jello+pudding+pops

         Ah, shucks, time for the graphic novel stuff... 

                     check this bad boy out... all genre in your face action, humor, etc.

                    http://www.amazon.com/Immortal-Fantasy-Winston-Blakely-ebook/dp/B008CE60EQ/ref=la_B0081S6WSC_1_6?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387239931&sr=1-6

                 Here's the book that started it all...

                     Little Miss Strange....the world's first black alien sorceress.  

                    link for this ebook is here....

                    http://www.amazon.com/Little-Miss-Strange-Winston-Blakely-ebook/dp/B00860MXIS/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-5&qid=1387240207

             Now that a cool collection of e books... check it out.

Rocket explosions broiled around Dern. He weaved through a barrage untouched, rolled and rebounded to his feet with bracelet arm extended. Plasma bursts discharged from the bracelet stabbing into three TVVs. The vehicles went up in sheets of flame and molten alloy.
Dern leapt dozens of feet in the air, switching his bracelet’s setting to anti-personnel. He swept his arm back and forth and fifteen criminals death-danced amid a fatal shower of particle clusters.
A rocket clipped his right arm turning what would have been a flawless landing on his feet into a spinning tumble. Tungsten shells exploded against his suit, keeping him momentarily pinned to the ground. He unleashed a plasma beam, destroying a fourth TVV, and shot upward as a storm of tungsten savaged him. He gritted his teeth in pain. The shell impacts felt like chunks of hot lead slamming into bare skin. A red warning bar beamed across his view.
His suit in its down grade mode was not designed for battle conditions. Power levels were plummeting with each hit it absorbed, and his plasma bracelet was nearly spent. A rocket struck him square in the gut and the force of its impact combined with the resulting blast knocked him backwards thirty yards.
He needed to withdraw, but not before he took a final shot…

Tunnal roared his frustration. He went through three clips firing his Viper at the highly elusive former SD bastard. He had no way of telling if his shots hit their mark, amid the thousands of projectiles being hurled at a single individual. He ejected the empty clip and quickly inserted a full one. A rocket struck the armored man and the explosion threw up gouts of smoke and dust.
Tunnal ran forward, gun pointed ahead, straining to get a glimpse of Lowtower through a dusty haze. At that point he realized he had ventured too far from the others, that he was isolated, thus making him a very inviting target. He glimpsed movement in the haze, catching a man size shape with an arm raised in his direction.
Pure instinct drove Tunnal’s reaction. He dove left just as a blade of plasma rippled above him, bathing his body in a heat bath hot enough to singe clothing and skin. The ground behind him erupted in a blazing plume where the beam struck. Tunnal lay face down, smarting from the pain of first degree burns. He still held his Viper and swung it in front of him fully expecting to be roasted by a follow-up blast. The smoke cleared and he saw that Lowtower was gone.

Dern ran as fast as his suit’s power servos could deliver. Armor power levels continued to decline. He ignored the blinking warning readings on his display. He already knew he was in bad shape. If he didn’t stop to allow his suit’s vital functions to recharge and mend some of the damage, it would shut down. On the other hand, stopping too soon would allow his pursuers to over take him. Dern kept pushing it, covering much ground in loping strides, gambling that he could make it to the canyon up ahead before his suit succumbed to catastrophic failure.
Explosions large and small nipped at his heels. A file of rockets zipped over his right shoulder spiking his path in fiery founts. Then came silence, save for labored breaths through his respirator.
A cliff lay up ahead. Beyond that a canyon network stretching across half a continent.
Dern approached the edge at full speed and leapt off, tapping into his remaining reserves to activate his repulsers. It was a 500 foot drop.
Power flows ceased during the last 40 feet. His repulsers winked out and Dern plunged unceremoniously to the bottom, deflecting off a slope in the canyon wall before hitting the ground at a flailing roll.

Five hours crept by. The rust tinted sky above darkened to a foreboding blood colored hue with the encroachment of nightfall. The bottom of the canyon was covered with stalactite shaped rock outcroppings, overhangs, boulders and small craters. Many of the outcroppings loomed so tall they could have been mountains in their own right. Patches of vegetation dotted the canyon bottom. Sturdy sprigs in all their hideous glory, sprouting from ground that looked more like gravel than any soil capable of producing plant life. Cave entrances existed at various points along the cliff rockface.
Dern ducked into one of those caves immediately after his short and bruising freefall.
As much as he wanted to find Alita and the remaining sleeper ship crew, extreme necessity dictated he lay low for a while and let his suit recharge.
Hours later, the recharge completion bar on his display blinked. While regenerates did the best they could to repair the extensive damage to his suit, they could only do so much. He missed his SD support techs. They would have had him patched up in less than an hour. There were other things about the past he missed…more than he cared to admit. A quiet posting as a lawman on Ceres 3 would have forever lain to rest those violent stirrings that had plagued him since his departure from the service. Recent events reawakened that monster inside him and he feared it would never be contained.
He conducted a diagnostic. The results were not encouraging. Seven ruptured micro servos, degraded impact repellants from upper back to midthigh, thirteen burnt out relays, faltering power boosters, and a weapons bracelet operating at 73 percent capacity.
Not encouraging at all. But he would work with what he had.
He slipped out of the cave, embarking on a quest to find his friend.

Could metamaterial superconductors operate at liquid nitrogen temperatures? (Courtesy: Charles D Winters/Science Photo Library)

Physics World:
Metamaterials offer route to room-temperature superconductivity