This week’s Sunday Times turned out to be a
disappointment. In fact the only item in the entire weighty stack of felled
forest to really capture his interest was a special feature on the rise of
social media. While he had no trouble understanding the appeal of Facebook –
although personally, after the initial novelty of linking up with some long
forgotten names from the past, he had lost interest in all their subsequent
postings of pointless platitudes - the one thing he had yet to fathom was this
latest micro-blogging phenomenon otherwise known as Twitter. Sharing the trivia
of one’s life with friends was one thing, but doing so with millions of anonymous
strangers, seemed to be something else entirely. However, the article had
explained how one could search on any topic of interest and immediately see
what was being said about it - a kind of customizable barometer to the
Zeitgeist. This made some sense to Peter, in that he could see it being useful
to company marketers for example, who might then gain insight into the types of
conversation occurring about their products or services, but he still saw no
good reason to initiate such conversations in the first place.
Around two o’clock, Abigail returned to fulfil her
end of the bargain, and Peter finally found himself alone with enough of a
window to engage in some serious theorising. Initially he had confined himself
to revisiting the calculations of his post-doctoral work at Cambridge,
uncertain as to whether he would still be able to make sense of it all, but to
his surprise, it was all flooding back with remarkable ease. The mathematical
engine of his brain, albeit with regular oiling and tuning from Dream-Zone,
seemed once again to be turning over very smoothly and he had recently let it
loose on some of the same problems facing today’s leading theorists.
As he read through the latest paper from a
relatively unknown Dutch mathematician on quantum relativity, a new email
notification appeared at the bottom of the screen. The message, a hurried note
from Doug, referred to an attachment, apparently containing modified video
editing software.
Prior to his current plunge back into string
theory, Peter’s programming skills had become a little rusty, but with each new
set of geometric shapes producing a veritable mountain of raw data, the only
realistic way of extracting the resulting physics was to program the computer
to crunch the numbers for him. Although some such programmes already existed,
Peter had lately had to create a whole new module for one of them and to his
immense satisfaction, it had worked first time.
As he started to examine Doug’s code
modifications, Peter immediately saw where they were heading, and set about
completing what the student had started. He found the discipline of programming
immensely absorbing. While he would not have wanted to devote his whole life to
it, from time to time, he thoroughly enjoyed the laser-like focus which gripped
him so completely it seemed to distort his perception of time itself.
As the last remnants of daylight filtered through
the study window, he finally leant back with a long sigh and surveyed his work.
This was the moment of truth: if the programme worked, then he would have full
control over the synchronisation of his brother’s audio files with the
students’ evolving fractal patterns. From this, he would finally be able to
create the elusive combo file – the ultimate Dream-Zone, the effect of which
promised to surpass all that had gone before. He checked the code one last time
and ran the compiler. The hourglass hovered tantalisingly over the screen, its
virtual sand slipping repeatedly through its narrow waist in a seemingly
endless cycle until at last, there appeared a single word - Compiled.
That the code contained no errors of syntax - that
it made sense to the computer, he was now certain, but would it do what it was
supposed to? He ran the finished programme, the hourglass appearing once more,
followed by the promising message - Capturing Video. Peter felt his pulse
quicken in anticipation, until at last a familiar succession of fractal images
began to appear in the main window. “Yes!” he shouted, slapping both palms on
the desk and causing the keyboard to jump a quarter inch into the air.
With all the graphics finally captured, he dragged
them down to the video editing storyboard and clicked the Play button. The
video ran seamlessly, and even viewing it within the smaller sized window of
the editing software, Peter felt himself start to fall under its familiar
hypnotic spell. Selecting Martin’s audio file under the “Soundtrack” option, he
clicked Add. The oscillating graph of the acoustic waveform gradually drew
itself above the video storyboard, finally prompting for an action of Save or
Cancel.
Martin, in his email to Kal, had spoken of
synchronising the “rhythmic beats” of the sound with the “main colour shifts”
of the graphics. If Peter could just identify these things, he was now
confident that the software would allow him to synchronise them. On clicking
Play, the effect was similar to running both audio and graphics simultaneously.
As a physicist, it reminded him of the interference pattern created as two
wave-fronts combine. Where troughs coincided with troughs, and crests with
crests, they would add together to increase intensity; where troughs met
crests, they would cancel each other completely. Similarly, the hypnotic effect
of running the two Dream-Zone components together was in places more powerful
than anything produced by either one, while in others it was weaker.
Trying to de-construct the individual inputs for
analysis, without falling under their spell however, was proving difficult. He
strived to listen for these “rhythmic beats”, but each time found himself born
aloft by the mesmeric sounds filling his ears, losing all capacity to evaluate
their form.
By comparison, dissecting the fractal progressions
was trivial; now captured as video, they could be slowed to a manageable
sequence of individual frames, and as such, while still fascinating, their
hypnotic impact was lost. As he did this, he noticed that at regular intervals,
the patterns appeared to flip in on themselves, creating an illusion of zooming
further into the image, and with each flip, the light intensity of the screen
pulsated with different colours. These had to be the phase shifts mentioned by
Kal! - but what about the audio?
As the veil of night descended on Bracknell, Peter
rolled his chair back, reaching for the light switch behind his head. In doing
so, the audio cut from one ear. Looking at the PC, he saw that the headphone
jack had half emerged from the socket. He began to push it back in, and then
stopped. Instead he clicked Play and listened. With only one ear exposed to the
sound, its potency was immediately destroyed and for the first time, he began
to hear the constituent sounds for what they were. It seemed incredible he had
not tried this before, but it had simply never occurred to him. The harmonic
progressions and overall acoustic contour of the passage seemed to defy
standard musical convention, and yet was somehow still rooted in the familiar.
There were multiple rhythms and melodies running at once, each evoking
different feelings and emotions. Peter pushed home the headphone jack, and
instead used the software to isolate left and right stereo channels in turn.
“Well I’ll be damned!” he said to himself, after several minutes toggling
between inputs.
Martin had evidently composed what sounded like
two symmetrically opposing, yet perfectly complementary audio tracks. Each
channel appeared to create a succession of expectations in Peter’s mind as to
what would come next, only for those expectations to be subsequently violated.
And yet the violations on one side were somehow being satisfied by
complementary violations on the other. It was a perfect symmetry - the
sublimation of musical perfection. The attack and timbre of each individual
tone - some reminiscent of bell-chimes, others the gentle plucking of
harp-strings, or even human voices - were endowed with an ambiguity suggestive
of having been crafted for maximum emotional impact. Whether in the music
itself, or reconstructed as musical imagery within Peter’s own mind, the effect
was truly sublime. He had known Martin to be a musical genius, but this was
beyond anything he had thought humanly possible. A tear trickled down his cheek,
and a lump began to swell in his throat.
Alternating between right and left channels, he
slowly became aware of repetitive breaks in the rhythm, each of which
corresponded to the moments of violated expectation identified earlier. These
had to be the beats to which Martin had referred. Peter clicked on the slider
and carefully stretched the audio waveform to align vertically with the colour
phase shifts. They fit perfectly. For the entire length of the waveform, the
beats matched the phase shifts. An enormous coincidence, or an indication of
some greater underlying property which connected both phenomena? With some
trepidation, he once again clicked Play. What followed was beyond anything he
could have imagined.
Within seconds, the rich musical sound-scape
unfolding within his head began to meld with the exploding array of colour, hue
and form before his eyes, until he could no longer discern sound from vision.
Even his senses of touch, taste, and smell were captive to the same surreal
synaesthetic experience. His inner ears registered movement, but with no clear
sense of orientation. It felt as though he were tumbling through space and time
in a weightless, slow motion roll. Like eyes adjusting to the dark, his mind
was awakening to a transcendent, multi-sensory thought-scape through which he
could apparently navigate at will. Through mental focus, each of the seemingly
infinite panoramas of cognitive vistas summoned an avalanche of distinct
thoughts, feelings, and emotions, cascading through his conscious mind like a
lifetime of experience, fast-forwarding at incredible speed - yet with full
awareness. Every point along the way presented a new and boundless array of
vistas of its own, connecting every thought with a multitude of others. From
diving on the Great Barrier Reef to standing on the moon and gazing back at the
fragile blue Earth, every imaginable experience and sensation seemed available
to be lived and relived in an endlessly rich and redolent phantasmagoria.
Gradually, an overwhelming calm and serenity
overcame him, bringing with it a sense of infinite knowledge and potential. At
the same time, as awareness of a warming, comforting, and familiar presence
slowly embraced him, he wept.
The flashing lights of
Singh’s strobe test were as unproductive as they were unpleasant. The
neurologist watched the EEG trace with an air of frustration. “Okay, today for
some reason, whatever you have doesn’t seem to be triggered by either
hyperventilation or stroboscopic stimulation. There’s healthy activity in the
occipital region, but no sign of it developing into an epileptic event. We can
try acoustic stimulation, but if the strobe doesn’t set it off, I doubt that
will either. Maybe you’re just having a good day.”
It didn’t feel like a good day, thought Doug, inserting the earphones and
listening as a series of high pitched tones cycled repetitively in his head.
Singh continued to regard the screen with the same lack of excitement. A large
black crow flew by the window, drawing Doug’s attention. As his head turned to
follow its course, the earphone cable caught on one of the electrodes, causing
it to dislodge from his scalp. While Singh leant forward to reattach the
wayward probe, Doug was briefly reminded of how hard it had been to get to
sleep that second night in hospital, with all those things attached to his
head. He then remembered the iPod.
“You know, I’ve just remembered something,” he said suddenly. “That night in
the EEG lab, I think I was listening to my iPod when I went to sleep.”
“Are you sure?” said Singh looking up from the screen. “I don’t remember seeing
it on the video.”
“I’m certain of it – you see, I was having trouble getting to sleep, with all
these electrodes on my head, so I thought I’d try some music.”
Singh nodded slowly, “Well, music has been known to trigger these types of
seizures. Do you happen to remember what was playing?”
“I usually just put it on shuffle – so any one of several thousand different
things I’m afraid. You know, now I come to think of it, I was listening to my
iPod when it happened in the gym, too. Perhaps it wasn’t the exercise after
all.” He recalled this last episode. The shock of being shaken out of it by
Becky, and the subsequent excitement of the day, had all but erased the
preceding memories. Now, as he thought back through the bizarre and tragic
dream, he remembered how it had started. “Actually, yes, I think I do know
what set it off - on that occasion at least,” said Doug. He asked Singh to pass
the iPod from his coat pocket, selected the Dream-Zone audio file, and pressed
Play.
“Whoa!“ said Singh almost immediately, as Doug felt himself transported off to
that special place he was beginning to know so well. He finally removed the
earplugs and gazed around the room with the heightened sense of awareness and
understanding which always seemed to follow.
“You’re fully conscious?” asked Singh, glancing from Doug’s face to the EEG
trace and back again.
“More than ever,” replied Doug, with a confident smile.
“What’s your name?”
“Doug Richards,” he replied quickly.
“What day is it?”
“Monday of course.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“I’m in Colchester General Hospital. It’s my third visit. The first was last
Saturday when I presented to A&E with concussion following a trauma to the
head. The second time was…”
“Extraordinary!” Singh interrupted. “Do you mind if I hear that?”
“Be my guest,” said Doug, passing Singh one of the ear buds and letting it
replay, so they could both hear it. Singh raised his eyebrows, then frowned.
“Interesting … but not the kind of sounds usually associated with seizures.”
“So do I have temporal lobe epilepsy or not?” asked Doug impatiently.
“Yes, you do.” Singh hesitated a moment. “Just like before, the EEG trace is
unmistakable - but I’ve never seen it spread across the whole brain like this
without impairing consciousness. According to this, you shouldn’t even be lucid
right now.”
“I can assure you I am. In fact I feel great,” said Doug.
“Be that as it may, you’ve just had – are having - a partial seizure, and
that’s not a good thing for your brain. Just sit here and rest for a little
while. The nurse will get you unwired and bring you to my office when you’re
ready.”