top of page
  • Writer's pictureWellington Lambert

My well-fed fat face

Cotards syndrome. Read Bizarre by Mark Dingman, or if you have Kindle get a free sample. I love doing that, I mostly read free samples. I mostly read nonfiction, so can get a wee bite, and enjoy it. I have heard about people thinking they are dead and the study of them. The brain malfunction, the result. Some think they do not have any insides; they are empty. They are in a dream-like state, a belief that everyone is not real, a lack of familiarity. The doctors know the brain is damaged somewhere on the right side and the lack of familiarity is filled in with a “out of this world” narrative, or…let me out of this body, narrative.

I find it interesting to think that damage to the brain is seen as a final stop. I wonder if there is something in our brain that creates familiarity and belonging for the purpose of physical survival. Which makes sense as once disrupted it fucks the person up to the point of destruction. What if a lot of our wiring is solely for the purpose of remaining in this program of “real” life. When damaged the brain panics and cannot fathom being disconnected. Like being unplugged, running around with no current. The soul bumping within, thirsty for similarity and belonging. I guess without that we are just dead.

I think a lot of people without this syndrome feel dead, and that’s sad, but interesting.

32 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page