Sapolsky is, in 90s slang, a retard.

                                                          OrbitoPFC 
                                                            Anterior Cingulate Cortex 


Past/Future Mechanism/s                                              Present Recognition; Categorized Thinking

Direction/Navigation              Broca's/
                                                       Insula /Right Amygdala                  Nucleus Accumbens/
                                                                                                                Basal Ganglia ETC 

                                                  

Auditory Cortex       (Selective-hearing rocks! Dead giveaway!!)                                 (T) 


Stored Language                                                                    Physical Experience 

Names                                                                                         Supplementary Detail ...Conditions 

*Some episodic memory 



Consider 4 yrs      9 yrs             17              20               25             30               35             40 



hunter/gatherer nomad graffiti lawyers 


or just really cleverly programmed vegetables ????? 

Comments

  1. AnonymousFebruary 28, 2025 at 8:08 AM

    The Souls of Absent Families (William S.Burroughs poem)
    ~
    By casual observation, California
    is about 2-3% William Sewer
    Burroughs lookalikes
    -with slightly increased percentages
    among the homeless.

    At least so far as the places
    in California -- Los Angeles,
    Atascadero, San Luis Obispo -- that I
    have stayed in for any
    substantial amount of time.

    Never younger than 60
    (perhaps in their entire lives)
    with slack, pustulous demeanors,
    like last year's Christmas trees
    repurposed as Religious Halloween
    Decorations. (Soul & Personality
    sold separate.)

    And they are not facsimiles.
    They are lookalikes.
    They even have the same nasal hum of that
    egocentric dope fiend macaroni artist,
    smart as apples punched with pistol bullets,
    hovering over their lunch tables and so forth
    with the deathly ease of sirens that any
    self-respecting sailor would shy away from,
    compromise for the cold abyss of their
    lonely souls.

    And, thank Shiva, thank Vishnu, thank Brahma
    there doesn't seem to be a single one right now in
    the cafeteria while I'm writing this -- hissing
    his stale livingdead pheromones into some
    hapless communion with the accident of company.

    Thank even more for the awareness of such accidents,
    and that at least my tastes have improved in the
    last 20 years, since my early-20s, and that I can
    so obviously hear the sin of Original Burroughs'
    bizarrely lame creativity after (and,
    really, since the beginning) after Naked Lunch:
    that I can see the Santa Claus of Oktoberfest
    for the feeble degenerate that he was. *Some
    pincushion of cliches, grotesque parodies, rip-
    offs soiled further with some unbelievable lies of sarcasm
    finally given a little desk of polished imported
    children's skulls in a Prestigious University
    over there in the oldest, racist parts of the world,
    drooling the end of His life back into its
    unappreciated beginnings, perhaps with
    less memory of Joan and the daughter
    and the son than He did in Kansas.




    ****

    ReplyDelete

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