A Beautiful Fucked-Up Mind

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Suggested Audio Candy:


James Horner “Nash Descends Into Parcher’s World”



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A great mind is a terrible thing to waste I hear. It needs nurturing, constant tender loving care, and kit gloves when handling because it’s a well stated fact that the line between genius and madness is a decidedly fine one. I know such because I walk that line daily. It is my belief that a truly commanding cerebellum often hasn’t the vaguest clue who the fucking hell it is or where it’s headed. In an attempt to gather precious intelligence, I recruited a higher state of consciousness, which amasses to a further 25% of cerebral matter, namely Bonus Brain, who set to work on internal affairs. After extensive analysis it supplied its data.

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If there are grafting hidden forces at work then they have concealment down to pat. Bonus Brain is no slouch, let me tell you. It can recite Aphex Twin’s Windowlicker on the glockenspiel and correctly assumed the twist in Fight Club in a mere eight million picoseconds. Late last autumn it was tested to attain its IQ and scored 47. A meager score for most admittedly although once you consider that Bonus Brain sits in an offset cerebral side-car and operates at 25% integrity, that makes it a fairly ingenious piece of equipment. Yet, for all of its exclusive insight and intellectual capacity, it came back scratching for ideas. Little did Bonus Brain know that it had been staring the truth in its pocket mirror the entire time.

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100% of Keeper’s brain is entirely unremarkable, a mass of worry, self-doubt and negligible retention. I write pretty prose for sure but my intellectual inventory is no different from any other. What a bummer! There was I thinking that I was special when, in fact, I’m as bland as a shuttle filled with Mormon bound for Moroseville. But I still felt needled, even after coming to terms with being simply par-for-the-course. Something was perplexing me akin to an STD which, whilst not manifesting through furious blushing lesions, still has you scratching. Like any mangy moggy I just had to have a good scratch. If there is nothing noteworthy about my hood contents then how exactly do I travel from A to B via Z so habitually? Where does the nectar pour from and why, each morning without fail, are there a barrage of bees buzzing around collecting that shit like centennial coinage? I had to decipher this code, dig in and be prepared to get my feelers filthy. Cue Bonus Brain once more as it owed me a favor after flatlining its previous expedition.

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I checked available cerebral funds as its services don’t come cheap. On discovery that there was sufficient in the kitty, I interrupted Bonus Brain’s Moonlighting marathon and offered it the sweetener of an upfront payment for any services rendered. It grumbled, David and Maddie had finally realized their feelings for one another, and were on the cusp of coital enlightenment so it voiced any disparagement before setting to work on the conundrum at hand. This time I had it followed. There was no guarantee that Bonus Brain hadn’t simply been slacking off after swiping in for its shift. For all I was aware, it may have been whacking off to old exercise videos and binging on slender flutes of brain-solution. The world is in financial ruin right now, gas and cigarette prices have rocketed, and the FTSE100 index has been downgraded to the FTSE33.3 so every penny is worth the pinching. It would be worth each crimson cent, just to ascertain what lies beneath. Pandora’s box had already been opened at this point and there could be no piece of peace until results came in.

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Bonus Brain confirmed my fears as it headed straight to the liquor store and purchased itself some 8-ball. It commenced lurking like a gherkin in an onion field, binoculars at full zoom, as it attempted to get a quick eyeful of Belinda Bachworthy’s bodacious bootylicious bot-rack while she took her bi-daily hose-down. A clip round the ear would have been forecast at this point but brains don’t possess ears so I began to concoct an even more heinous punishment. Mojo Jojo may think he’s a bad primate but what I had in store would make even his banana spoil.

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Imagine my befuddlement then when Bonus Brain’s apparent hiatus came to an end and I warmed up Auntie Beryl’s moccasin to give him a damned good hiding only to be greeted by reams of analysis. He had been doing its homework, burying his head in the books, and was ready for some teacher petting. Bonus Brain came at me excitedly thrusting papers in my nasal flume and ordering I peruse with immediacy. The coffee had already percolated so I poured myself a swift mocha, nose-bagged a slim line of mocaine, straightened my neck tie and sat down with this fresh matter platter. After seven and a half anti-clockwise strokes of my chinny chin chin, it all became Billy Crystal.

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Like a cleft-upper lip it had been under my nose the whole time. This extra capability and skewed foresight was the doing of Bonus Brain from the very start. This extra 25% of petulant pulp consists entirely of drip-fed belief, someone out there actually wants to listen to my incessant ramblings and, moreover, seems to think I’m on to something. I’m the same as every other faceless Stepford wife out there, no better or worse. I pass my daily stool and pet my monster in just as underhand manner as anyone else, possibly a little more so.

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We all have beautiful minds, it’s not exclusive to Keeper. I spent thirty-nine years of my mortality drinking from the teats of ignorance and careering toward my urn/crate/cryogenic capsule without the available tools to halt the slide. All along, I possessed these tools but hadn’t learned the importance of Bonus Brain. It’s a well documented fact that love makes you stronger. A man in love can wrestle a lard-assed llama with one hand whilst bench-pressing a clasp of heavy-set pygmies with the other. Love and belief are carrots and peas and I’ve had my five-a-day for some time now.

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To any Grueheads currently blossoming within the Rivers of Grue: I believe in you. I may not get to say that on a daily, weekly or even monthly basis but I’m damned well saying it now. Bonus Brain is not independent, he has chums you know. Each of us can claim our extra 25% so long as we tear off the coupons. If you choose to take accolades instead of discounting them and begin to trust in your raw ability then you set yourself up to reap the bonuses. Then you can be a fully fledged deviant just like me.

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  1. BB or no, all I know is that you are special and you DO write pretty. What sets you apart is your endless font of compassion. In this, we are not all the same.

  2. Ahhh yes my subconscious & BB is sucking this beautiful inspiration up just like a starving, bed-ridden, wired-shut, lock-jaw slurps up homemade pudding!! mmm mmm yøu feed my mind Keeper! ♥

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