{"id":496,"date":"2018-02-07T18:27:14","date_gmt":"2018-02-07T18:27:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/?p=496"},"modified":"2024-10-16T10:55:58","modified_gmt":"2024-10-16T10:55:58","slug":"penfield-mood-organ","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/penfield-mood-organ\/","title":{"rendered":"P.K. Dick. Penfield Mood Organ"},"content":{"rendered":"

A “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? ” (1968) P.K. Dick concep un dispositiu, el Penfield Mood Organ, que envia ones que modifiquen el nostre estat d’\u00e0nim i es pot programar per endavant. El nom estaria basat en el neur\u00f2leg Wilder Penfield<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Un intent de simular-ho per twitter<\/a>.<\/p>\n

L’aplicaci\u00f3 Moodrise (Android Iphone) intenta fer el mateix<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Extract from Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick (1968)
\nChapter 1<\/p>\n

A merry little surge of electricity piped by automatic alarm from the mood organ beside his bed awakened Rick Deckard. Surprised \u2014 it always surprised him to find himself awake without prior notice \u2014 he rose from the bed, stood up in his multicolored pajamas, and stretched. Now, in her bed, his wife Iran opened her gray, unmerry eyes, blinked, then groaned and shut her eyes again.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou set your Penfield too weak\u201d, he said to her. \u201cI\u2019ll reset it and you\u2019ll be awake and \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep your hand off my settings.\u201d Her voice held bitter sharpness. \u201cI don\u2019t want to be awake.\u201d<\/p>\n

He seated himself beside her, bent over her, and explained softly. \u201cIf you set the surge up high enough, you\u2019ll be glad you\u2019re awake; that\u2019s the whole point. At setting C it overcomes the threshold barring consciousness, as it does for me.\u201d Friendlily, because he felt well-disposed toward the world \u2014 his setting had been at D \u2014 he patted her bare, pale shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet your crude cop\u2019s hand away,\u201d Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not a cop.\u201d He felt irritable, now, although he hadn\u2019t dialed for it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re worse,\u201d his wife said, her eyes still shut. \u201cYou\u2019re a murderer hired by the cops.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve never killed a human being in my life.\u201d His irritability had risen, now; had become outright hostility.<\/p>\n

Iran said, \u201cJust those poor andys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI notice you\u2019ve never had any hesitation as to spending the bounty money I bring home on whatever momentarily attracts your attention.\u201d He rose, strode to the console of his mood organ. \u201cInstead of saving,\u201d he said, \u201cso we could buy a real sheep, to replace that fake electric one upstairs. A mere electric animal, and me earning all that I\u2019ve worked my way up to through the years.\u201d At his console he hesitated between dialing for a thalamic suppressant (which would abolish his mood of rage) or a thalamic stimulant (which would make him irked enough to win the argument).<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you dial,\u201d Iran said, eyes open and watching, \u201cfor greater venom, then I\u2019ll dial the same. I\u2019ll dial the maximum and you\u2019ll see a fight that makes every argument we\u2019ve had up to now seem like nothing. Dial and see; just try me.\u201d She rose swiftly, loped to the console of her own mood organ, stood glaring at him, waiting.<\/p>\n

He sighed, defeated by her threat. \u201cI\u2019ll dial what\u2019s on my schedule for today.\u201d Examining the schedule for January 3, 2021, he saw that a businesslike professional attitude was called for. \u201cIf I dial by schedule,\u201d he said warily, \u201cwill you agree to also?\u201d He waited, canny enough not to commit himself until his wife had agreed to follow suit.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy schedule for today lists a six-hour self-accusatory depression,\u201d Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Why did you schedule that?\u201d It defeated the whole purpose of the mood organ. \u201cI didn\u2019t even know you could set it for that,\u201d he said gloomily.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was sitting here one afternoon,\u201d Iran said, \u201cand naturally I had turned on Buster Friendly and His Friendly Friends and he was talking about a big news item he\u2019s about to break and then that awful commercial came on, the one I hate; you know, for Mountibank Lead Codpieces. And so for a minute I shut off the sound. And I heard the building, this building; I heard the \u2014 \u201d She gestured.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmpty apartments,\u201d Rick said. Sometimes he heard them at night when he was supposed to be asleep. And yet, for this day and age a one-half occupied conapt building rated high in the scheme of population density; out in what had been before the war the suburbs one could find buildings entirely empty\u2026 or so he had heard. He had let the information remain secondhand; like most people he did not care to experience it directly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt that moment,\u201d Iran said, \u201cwhen I had the TV sound off, I was in a 382 mood; I had just dialed it. So although I heard the emptiness intellectually, I didn\u2019t feel it. My first reaction consisted of being grateful that we could afford a Penfield mood organ. But then I realized how unhealthy it was, sensing the absence of life, not just in this building but everywhere, and not reacting \u2014 do you see? I guess you don\u2019t. But that used to be considered a sign of mental illness; they called it \u2018absence of appropriate affect.\u2019 So I left the TV sound off and I sat down at my mood organ and I experimented. And I finally found a setting for despair.\u201d Her dark, pert face showed satisfaction, as if she had achieved something of worth. \u201cSo I put it on my schedule for twice a month; I think that\u2019s a reasonable amount of time to feel hopeless about everything, about staying here on Earth after everybody who\u2019s smart has emigrated, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut a mood like that,\u201d Rick said, \u201cyou\u2019re apt to stay in it, not dial your way out. Despair like that, about total reality, is self-perpetuating.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI program an automatic resetting for three hours later,\u201d his wife said sleekly. \u201cA 481. Awareness of the manifold possibilities open to me in the future; new hope that \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know 481,\u201d he interrupted. He had dialed out the combination many times; he relied on it greatly. \u201cListen,\u201d he said, seating himself on his bed and taking hold of her hands to draw her down beside him, \u201ceven with an automatic cutoff it\u2019s dangerous to undergo a depression, any kind. Forget what you\u2019ve scheduled and I\u2019ll forget what I\u2019ve scheduled; we\u2019ll dial a 104 together and both experience it, and then you stay in it while I reset mine for my usual businesslike attitude. That way I\u2019ll want to hop up to the roof and check out the sheep and then head for the office; meanwhile I\u2019ll know you\u2019re not sitting here brooding with no TV.\u201d He released her slim, long fingers, passed through the spacious apartment to the living room, which smelled faintly of last night\u2019s cigarettes. There he bent to turn on the TV.<\/p>\n

From the bedroom Iran\u2019s voice came. \u201cI can\u2019t stand TV before breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDial 888,\u201d Rick said as the set warmed. \u201cThe desire to watch TV, no matter what\u2019s on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t feel like dialing anything at all now,\u201d Iran said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen dial 3,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t dial a setting that stimulates my cerebral cortex into wanting to dial! If I don\u2019t want to dial, I don\u2019t want to dial that most of all, because then I will want to dial, and wanting to dial is right now the most alien drive I can imagine; I just want to sit here on the bed and stare at the floor.\u201d Her voice had become sharp with overtones of bleakness as her soul congealed and she ceased to move, as the instinctive, omnipresent film of great weight, of an almost absolute inertia, settled over her.<\/p>\n

He turned up the TV sound, and the voice of Buster Friendly boomed out and filled the room. \u201d \u2014 ho ho, folks. Time now for a brief note on today\u2019s weather. The Mongoose satellite reports that fallout will be especially pronounced toward noon and will then taper off, so all you folks who\u2019ll be venturing out \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n

Appearing beside him, her long nightgown trailing wispily, Iran shut off the TV set. \u201cOkay, I give up; I\u2019ll dial. Anything you want me to be; ecstatic sexual bliss \u2014 I feel so bad I\u2019ll even endure that. What the hell. What difference does it make?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll dial for both of us,\u201d Rick said, and led her back into the bedroom. There, at her console, he dialed 594: pleased acknowledgment of husband\u2019s superior wisdom in all matters. On his own console he dialed for a creative and fresh attitude toward his job, although this he hardly needed; such was his habitual, innate approach without recourse to Penfield artificial brain stimulation.<\/p>\n

Chap22.<\/p>\n

At the Penfield mood organ, Iran Deckard sat with her right index finger touching the numbered dial. But she did not dial; she felt too listless and ill to want anything: a burden which closed off the future and any possibilities which it might once have contained. If Rick were here, she thought, he\u2019d get me to dial 3 and that way I\u2019d find myself wanting to dial something important, ebullient joy or if not that then possibly an 888, the desire to watch TV no matter what\u2019s on it.<\/p>\n

\n<\/blockquote>\n

UBIK<\/strong>: Un m\u00f3n on cal pagar per tot, els apartaments, suposo que de lloguer, demanen insertar monedes cada cop que s’obre la porta, la nevera, o per la neteja. Una vida simulada pels que estan en un estat de semivida. La compet\u00e8ncia entre els ps\u00edquis que poden saber qu\u00e8 pensen els altres, els precogs i els que els inhibeixen.<\/p>\n

Do androids dream of electric sheep<\/strong>. El Penfield Mood organ. Un m\u00f3n gaireb\u00e9 sense animals on tothom va amb la guia Sidney mirant qu\u00e8 poden permetre’s. La m\u00e0quina d’empatia on tots els ciutadans es connecten per sentir el que sent el seu l\u00edder i el conjunt de tots (p.449, p.557). El test Voigt-Kampf d’empatia per detectar els androides.<\/p>\n

The Stigma of Palmer Eldricht<\/strong>. Translation drugs [ drogues per transportar-se, viure una estona en una realitat virtual] Els m\u00f3n virtuals alternatius compartits\u00a0 on s’accedeix consumint una droga i situant-se en un entorn preparat. PP.Layouts. p.263. Accedir a una altra identitat com en les reencarnacions budistes p.307. Pagar diners per evolucionar artificialment i ser m\u00e9s intel\u00b7ligent, e-therapy p.288s. Cap.6 Crear un m\u00f3n alternatiu on viure-hi i poder fer-ne participar a voluntat a un altre, convertint-lo en un malson. Dr.Smile, una maleta que fa de psiquiatre autom\u00e0tic. p.350 Quan un grup \u00e9s a punt d’entrar en una hal\u00b7lucinaci\u00f3, poden triar l’escenari basant-se en un llibre com Moby Dick, despr\u00e9s funny o sad version, despr\u00e9s i l’estil ser\u00e0 segons Dal\u00ed, Picasso, o Giorgio da Chirico.\u00a0 p.355 “Isn’t a miserable reality better than the most interesting illusion?” p. 418 Al final Palmer Eldricht \u00e9s m\u00e9s que viure una hal\u00b7lucinaci\u00f3 controlada per un altre, \u00e9s un ens que infecta tots els \u00e9ssers, els fa sentir el que vol i fins i tot. de manera intermitent, els canvia les mans, ulls i mand\u00edbula, com els estigmes de Crist que apareixien en alguns sants.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? ” (1968) P.K. Dick concep un dispositiu, el Penfield Mood Organ, que envia ones que modifiquen el nostre estat d’\u00e0nim i es pot programar per endavant. El nom estaria basat en el neur\u00f2leg Wilder Penfield. Un intent de simular-ho per twitter. L’aplicaci\u00f3 Moodrise (Android Iphone) intenta fer el … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “P.K. Dick. Penfield Mood Organ”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[172],"tags":[196,168,193,38],"anotacio":[],"civilitzacio":[],"spec":[],"aspecies":[],"Tema poesia":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/496"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=496"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/496\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=496"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"anotacio","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/anotacio?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"civilitzacio","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/civilitzacio?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"spec","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/spec?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"aspecies","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/aspecies?post=496"},{"taxonomy":"Tema poesia","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/meumon.synology.me\/museu\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/Tema poesia?post=496"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}