I Don’t Know What I Believe In Anymore
I don’t know anymore
What it’s for
I’m not even sure
If there is anyone who is in the sun
Will you help me to understand
’Cause I been caught in between all you wish for and all you need
Maybe you’re not even sure what it’s for
Any more than me
So what, really, is this thing called Love? Scientists say that the brain chemistry of infatuation is akin to mental illness—which gives new meaning to “madly in love.”
One of Fisher’s central pursuits in the past decade has been looking at love, quite literally, with the aid of an MRI machine. Fisher and her colleagues Arthur Aron and Lucy Brown recruited subjects who had been “madly in love” for an average of seven months. Once inside the MRI machine, subjects were shown two photographs, one neutral, the other of their loved one.
What Fisher saw fascinated her. When each subject looked at his or her loved one, the parts of the brain linked to reward and pleasure—the ventral tegmental area and the caudate nucleus—lit up. What excited Fisher most was not so much finding a location, an address, for love as tracing its specific chemical pathways. Love lights up the caudate nucleus because it is home to a dense spread of receptors for a neurotransmitter called dopamine, which Fisher came to think of as part of our own endogenous love potion. In the right proportions, dopamine creates intense energy, exhilaration, focused attention, and motivation to win rewards. It is why, when you are newly in love, you can stay up all night, watch the sun rise, run a race, ski fast down a slope ordinarily too steep for your skill. Love makes you bold, makes you bright, makes you run real risks, which you sometimes survive, and sometimes you don’t.
I’m going to miss watching the sun rises with her — years from now — and one of the reason is not because of the overt “love potion” chemistry inertness, but repressed by own “maturity level” fallibility.
Once, a tragedy. Twice, a calamity. Thrice, a fatality?
For the first time, new research has begun to illuminate where love lies in the brain, the particulars of its chemical components.
Perhaps, that’s why she didn’t give me hope.
[He] should fracking glad I didn’t get into the list.
The list that matter to some of us.
CHORONZON: I am a dire world, prey-stalking, lethal prowler.
MORPHEUS: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing.
CHORONZON: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter-throwing.
MORPHEUS: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight legged.
CHORONZON: I am a snake, spider-devouring, posion-toothed.
MORPHEUS: I am an ox, snake-crushing, heavy footed.
CHORONZON: I am an anthrax, butcher, bacterium, warm-life destroying.
MORPHEUS: I am a world, space-floating, life nurturing.
CHORONZON: I am a nova, all-exploding… planet-cremating.
MORPHEUS: I am the Universe — all things encompassing, all life embracing.
CHORONZON: I am Anti-Life, the Beast of Judgement. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… of everything. Sss. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?
MORPHEUS: I am hope.
Sometimes, I just don’t care…
…because there’s no hope.