Mental Crowds
Am I The Only One?

Mental Images—
  an on/off function
Set to on
  for a while

This is what he thought: “If anyone could hear what actually goes on inside my head, surely, they’d call the guys in the white coats.”

And he was equally sure that he was unique, that no one else could possibly play host to such a choir, to such a soccer audience of ongoing chatter, singing, whistles, drumming, suggestions, three-dimensional images, long lost and suddenly found memories, strange urges, not-so-strange urgers, and a lot more, and a lot more. No, not one.

And, how did they all fit in there? he had asked himself more than once, say a trillion times.

This is why he was working on a mind amplifier. He had the sound circuit pretty well figured out and was working on the video portion. Both the mike and the video cam were small enough to slip into someone’s drink and for them to swallow without noticing. And once in the bloodstream, the mike and the cam would make their way into the brain and set up shop, listening and watching and transmitting to his hand-held PA/Video Projection box.

Yes, needless to say, he was a genius. Total genius. Others had devised small mikes and cams before, but not biological ones, not one-twentieth the size of a lentil, not unnoticeably small, in other words, none of the others. Not swallowable.

He had tried the mike on his pike. Yes, he had a pet pike in a large, very large aquarium, and he sprinkled one of his bio-mikes in with Mr. Pike’s food the other day and turned on the mind-amp. Interesting. Fish are slow thinkers.

Not that he spoke Fish, but his mikes were very good, they picked up emotions as well, and Mr. Pike’s prevailing emotion came through loud and clear: frustration. Long, slow, over-and-over-and-over frustration at being in a water-filled glass box. Sound-wise Mr. Pike’s thoughts crackled and slurped. Definitely crackled and slurped. But, as I said, he didn’t speak Fish.

Yes, go ahead and ask: why is he building these bio-mikes and bio-cams? Answer: he wants to make sure he’s the only one; the only one with such a huge and fantastic soccer-crowed invasion inside his head, and the way to do this: slip a mike (and cam, when finished) into the food/drink of his best pal, Stuart—or better still, his girlfriend Agnes, and then listen. No need to play the sound aloud (though he could) but don a set of earphones and tune into their minds. Should be a lot quieter than his, surely.

Surely.

Stuart came over for pizza. Stuart loved pizza and especially Giordino’s (down the street). He had bought a huge one, called up Stu and told him he had a Pizza coming, would he want some. Sure, I’ll be right over (he lived a little farther down the street, beyond Giordino’s). At that, he slipped a bio-mike into the meat portion of the pizza (Stu loved pepperoni) and waited for the doorbell to ring.

It rang.

He watched, a little anxiously to be honest, when Stu bit into and then soon completed consumption of the bio-mike carrying slice. Stu then ate the rest of his half and excused himself, thanks a bunch, lovely pizza, had to get back, Agnes’ orders.

Perfect, he thought. He lived well within range. Once Stu had gone he’d fire up the mind-amp and don the earphones to, he predicted, listen to, mainly silence.

He was in for a shock. Not so unique after all. Stu’s internal population definitely seemed to outnumber his own, and there was no rhyme or reason to the chatter, hollering, coming and going of points and counter-points. Stu’s internal world was twice as noisy as his own.

Not unique then.

Could it actually be, really, that this was what was considered “normal”? That was a strange notion. It came with some relief, to be honest, but strange nonetheless.

Then he thought, perhaps this is just a guy's thing, like horny most of the time is a guy's thing. He had to get a bio-mike into Agnes’ drink or food somehow. Surely, for she seemed so cool and calm and collected, that would tell a different story.

Three days later, bio-mike safely settled into Agnes’ mind. It told the same story, only in slightly lower, somewhat gentler voices. No doubt though, he was not unique. At all.

A worrisome relief.

::

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