Word: electroencephalographer
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Kamiya's experiments are typical in several respects of all autonomic-research methods, which employ what is known as operant conditioning or instrumental learning. A monitoring device (Kamiya frequently uses an electroencephalograph) is attached to a subject, who is told that a tone will sound when he is in a certain "state" and that the tone should sound for as long as possible. But the subject is not told the nature of the state, or how to attain...
When the 3-hr. 40-min. operation was over, Kennedy "stabilized pretty well," said Cuneo. An electroencephalograph showed regular brain waves. Feeding him intravenously, continuing the transfusions and the monitoring of his life forces, the doctor watched for signs of consciousness. Even then, said Cuneo, "we were certain that the future would be disastrous for the Senator if he did survive. I didn't tell Ethel all this; I just told her that we were doing everything we could...
...week providence provided an unidentified victim of a traffic accident. The prospective donor's eyes were dilated and his breathing was labored-but his heart was still beating. Zerbini had the victim wheeled to an operating room; tissue tests determined that he was a suitable donor. After the electroencephalograph showed that all brain waves had stopped, they opened the victim's chest-even though the heart was still beating. One hour and 25 minutes later, the heart stopped, and two surgical teams went to work. Temporarily kept warm by artificially circulated blood, then quickly sutured into place...
...investigative machinery, processed by robots in white coats, Spindrift nurses a wholly rational resentment of his conversion into a thing. "I don't think you really believe we're human beings at all," he protests to the young woman wiring his head to an electroencephalograph. "Do you mind?" she says. "I've got my work to do." This is clearly no place for a clear head. With his skull still gleaming from a preoperative shave, Spindrift swipes a wardrobe and steals back into the world...
...Painting is my language," says Baruchello, son of an Italian lawyer. Neither pop nor op, his vocabulary is intellectual, full of hints-a Proustian complex of personal remembrance. And he inscribes his nib's nuances as if they were the scientific jiggling track of his own electroencephalograph. "To throw a pot of paint at a canvas is not my language," he says. "Images are like sounds-complicated. We communicate in complicated sounds. I communicate in com plicated images...