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Human experience is too variable for me to prescribe anything here. When I was on anti-depressants, I found myself numb to emotional experiences that I once found rich. From this, I’m able to squint my eyes a bit and imagine a being for whom art, fiction, and even relationships are wasted. That’s an extreme case, but all that is inbetween is valid.
There is a bright world that fiction gates. Perhaps others can chart out the connection between words and the feelings they evoke. For me, I just read, then feel. It’s very much a blackbox phenomenon. I might hypothesize something about the prose and word combinations, but it’s honestly too subconscious for me to inspect.
I watched a pig slaughtered as a kid. When I think of the event now, it’s too vague to matter. But in a book called The Jungle, I can rediscover that exact memory hole. The key is in those pages waiting for me, anytime. I don’t know why.
I suspect the mirror neurons are there for most to play with. 0 reply
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