Dante and the Brain
Chapter 1
Dante and the Brain
Chapter 1:
I was lying awake and contemplating greatness when it struck me, hard, somewhere near my solar-plexus. It hit me again at the bottom of my spine causing waves of panic to pulse up and down me instigating nasty madness agents of the highest severity to start beating on the back of my head. The little bastards must have found a chute or trapdoor or something because pretty soon I felt them dancing down the back of my neck to cause a ruckus in my stomach. Every night, Goddammit. Every fucking night.
Doctors don’t offer much in the way of sympathy. Relax they say. Turn off your brain they say. Jesus. Turn off my brain. That’s some fucking advice from a doctor of medicine. Anybody follows that bastard's advice isn’t going to have anything to say on the subject of relaxation. I never saw nothingness as being relaxing; saw it more as being nothing. Turn off your brain they say. Shit. Anybody who tries to turn off my brain is going to know about it. Damn thing’s got a mind of its own. Huh. I’ve got no say, no influence with regard to its plans or the application of its faculties. Puts me in mind of some people I heard some other people talking about. The ones who see a person as being nothing more than a brain, everything else being sort of extra or at least not exactly necessary. I suppose that means that every brain is a person. Seems to me that these people are right on the second score and way off on the first. I ought to introduce those dumb bastards to my brain, let them see the distinction first hand; teach them a thing or two about the facts of the matter. Dumb bastards. Turn off your brain. It isn’t so much a desire to turn off my brain as it is a desire to have some say in my thoughts. That is, have some say in what I think and when I think it. I don’t recall precisely the last time I chose a thought and pursued it of my own free will, although I have it on the highest authority, the authority of necessity, that I have historically achieved this feat. Recently i've been picking up on some serious amplification of the fucking situation. Incremental increases in the independence of my brain. The weirdness of my thoughts and the savagery of my nightly ambushes. Which brings us up to date. What with me lying naked and sweating and head stuck back on this pillow of goose feathers unable to move cause my goddam bastard brain’s taken over for a while and left me fighting to keep a place in my own head lest I get kicked back to a cavity behind my filthy lungs or greasy liver and don’t you think that can’t happen cause it almost happened once before with the madness agents laying the boot in like hell and kicking me down I think around by my tempomaxillary vein and then harder down so I was clawing onto the side of my trachea til I almost went crazy from the fight and they left me alone all clawed and entrenched into my trachea like some fucking parasite. I don’t know why they left me but they left me alright. Little bastards. Little bastards working for that cunt brain of mine. Thinking she can kick me down into only fuck knows where in my own goddam body that I and all the fucking prophets say I am rightfully master of. Shows what they know. Huh. I’m not going to get kicked around down to some place near my bellybutton amongst all the shit and piss and bile so that this cunt brain, what with her nefarious nature, can set to work on my prescious innards. I’ve got to work this out. I’ve got to think. Think. Huh. Turn off your brain brother. Jesus Christ.
Dante and the Brain
Chapter 1:
I was lying awake and contemplating greatness when it struck me, hard, somewhere near my solar-plexus. It hit me again at the bottom of my spine causing waves of panic to pulse up and down me instigating nasty madness agents of the highest severity to start beating on the back of my head. The little bastards must have found a chute or trapdoor or something because pretty soon I felt them dancing down the back of my neck to cause a ruckus in my stomach. Every night, Goddammit. Every fucking night.
Doctors don’t offer much in the way of sympathy. Relax they say. Turn off your brain they say. Jesus. Turn off my brain. That’s some fucking advice from a doctor of medicine. Anybody follows that bastard's advice isn’t going to have anything to say on the subject of relaxation. I never saw nothingness as being relaxing; saw it more as being nothing. Turn off your brain they say. Shit. Anybody who tries to turn off my brain is going to know about it. Damn thing’s got a mind of its own. Huh. I’ve got no say, no influence with regard to its plans or the application of its faculties. Puts me in mind of some people I heard some other people talking about. The ones who see a person as being nothing more than a brain, everything else being sort of extra or at least not exactly necessary. I suppose that means that every brain is a person. Seems to me that these people are right on the second score and way off on the first. I ought to introduce those dumb bastards to my brain, let them see the distinction first hand; teach them a thing or two about the facts of the matter. Dumb bastards. Turn off your brain. It isn’t so much a desire to turn off my brain as it is a desire to have some say in my thoughts. That is, have some say in what I think and when I think it. I don’t recall precisely the last time I chose a thought and pursued it of my own free will, although I have it on the highest authority, the authority of necessity, that I have historically achieved this feat. Recently i've been picking up on some serious amplification of the fucking situation. Incremental increases in the independence of my brain. The weirdness of my thoughts and the savagery of my nightly ambushes. Which brings us up to date. What with me lying naked and sweating and head stuck back on this pillow of goose feathers unable to move cause my goddam bastard brain’s taken over for a while and left me fighting to keep a place in my own head lest I get kicked back to a cavity behind my filthy lungs or greasy liver and don’t you think that can’t happen cause it almost happened once before with the madness agents laying the boot in like hell and kicking me down I think around by my tempomaxillary vein and then harder down so I was clawing onto the side of my trachea til I almost went crazy from the fight and they left me alone all clawed and entrenched into my trachea like some fucking parasite. I don’t know why they left me but they left me alright. Little bastards. Little bastards working for that cunt brain of mine. Thinking she can kick me down into only fuck knows where in my own goddam body that I and all the fucking prophets say I am rightfully master of. Shows what they know. Huh. I’m not going to get kicked around down to some place near my bellybutton amongst all the shit and piss and bile so that this cunt brain, what with her nefarious nature, can set to work on my prescious innards. I’ve got to work this out. I’ve got to think. Think. Huh. Turn off your brain brother. Jesus Christ.
posted by stuart at 9:03 AM
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