I read about this awhile ago in a book.
People who receive organ donations go through personality changes and characteristic similar to those of the donor.
In a study, a patient received a heart transplant from a man who was killed by gunshot to the face, and the organ recipient then reported to have dreams of seeing hot flashes of light directly on his face.
In another case, Claire Sylvia, a heart transplant recipient who received the organ from an 18-year-old male that died in a motorcycle accident, reported having a craving for beer and chicken nuggets after the surgery.
She also began to have reoccurring dreams about a man named ‘Tim L.’ Upon searching the obituaries, Sylvia found out her donor’s name was Tim and that he loved all of the food that she craved
These cases may support the cell memory theory. But as someone who wants to study the human consciousness, I have this one question.
What does this say about the human mind? Is it only stored in the brain? Can our cells also have the capacity to store information such as memory and personality? Are they aware of what makes us, who we are? Are they conscious in that sense?
holy fucking shit does the mind blowing stuff ever stop
Science is fascinating
you know how when you go to a concert or show of some sort and the person on stage is like “HOW’S EVERYONE DOING TONIGHT?!?!?!?!” and the audience cheers back? why? you’re not answering the question, you’re just yelling. imagine if we did that in daily conversation. “hey jeff, how are ya?” and jeff just starts screaming and clapping in your face
do you ever wanna listen to music but every song is just not the right song
i want to rip the depression/chemical imbalance from my fucking brain and beat the shit out of it and tell it to go be a punk somewhere else
i use the word fuck so excessively i sometimes forget it’s a swear word
"i’m not ignoring you i just don’t know what to say to you" a film written, directed, produced by and starring me
life hack: get a tattoo. if the people at the job interview notice it and look concerned, laugh a little and explain “it’s just temporary.” months later if your boss asks why you lied and said it was a temporary tattoo, stare off into the distance and whisper with a tremulous voice the poor excuse for truth your subconscious has been fighting for its entire insignificant existence: “everything is temporary.”