These are the Intricate Calculations

 

 

 

Slowly, I awaken from my sleep,

Deep and long…

 

I have relied on my brainstem and medulla

For so long, merely breathing,

Letting my heart beat slowly, as I lay in

peace, peace.

 

I stir, opening one pair of eyelids,

Then another, and another,

The shades of life’s lights become clearer,

Destroying the calm dark, disturbing impotent

peace, peace.

 

Lights give way to

Colors, Shapes, Objects, Sounds,

Variety, Ideas, Emotions,

Abilities, Powers, Responsibilities, Changes,

Flooding my association areas with life…

Until it all fades to a dull existence.

 

I sit alone at a brown desk,

Staring at a paper clip, a used tissue, a few staples, and two almonds.

 

peace, peace,

Whisper the two almonds,

Very tempting,

I wish to eat them,

The amygdala,

Crush the fear and aggression from my life,

Leaving only

peace, peace.

 

On each is inscribed a dove,

And with the aid of my angular gyrus

I recognize that symbol,

I know where it leads

And why it means.

peace, peace,

They whisper.

I shake myself from the grip of weak desire, and

Rising to my full height I scold the treacherous nuts,

My Broca’s area in its finest hour,

Eloquently, forcefully, and concisely

Delivering a stream of words sure to send anyone away in shame.

 

I turn away,

Bow my head,

And sink into the Earth.

 

Deeper and deeper I fall,

Until I reside in the hidden pits of the human spirit,

Beneath any filth of the surface.

 

And I see Her,

Moving to the heavy beat of Death,

In the center of a herd of people.

 

  She uses her cerebellum well,

Twisting and spinning,

Expertly exercising her motor cortex

To make Her body ebb and flow,

Guiding the eyes of the crowd.

 

    In my cerebral cortex I take in the scene,

And debate several courses of action.

My Frontal lobe manifests its specialty in an excellent judgment call,

and I slip into the shadows.

 

      After a few moments, I wonder why I’m hiding, and my hippocampus allows me to recall the event.  I had noticed the glint of steel out of the corner of my left eye.  A man with a knife was walking purposefully, toward the ill-fated dancer.

 

        Under the careful guidance of the hypothalamus, my pituitary gland ordered my adrenal gland to execute its purpose.  Suddenly alert I called the police, and because the visual information was transferred to my left hemisphere by my corpus callosum, I was able to give an accurate description of the danger.

 

            Shouts registered in my temporal lobe, and I knew it was too

late.  Wernicke’s area deciphered the jumble of noise, and I recognized it as panic.

 

        Trembling, I peeked

around the corner, and the visual cortex of my occipital lobe

confirms my fear.

      Seven lay dead on the ground,

and I search frantically for the

Killer.

 

    My thalamus informs the sensory cortex

of my parietal lobe, of an

Intriguing

Bit of information.

 

  Warm blood runs

Over cold steel.

 

The cruel blade rests

In my heart,

Weary from its journey through

My flesh and bone.

 

Darkness closes quickly

As I sink to the floor,

Slowly collapse in a dreary heap,

The hilt sticking up from

My back like a tombstone.

 

“Here lies the human brain,” it reads.

“The reticular formation cannot awaken you

From this sleep.”

 

Then whispers the blade,

“peace, peace.”

 

 

 

 

Alexander writes poetry, draws expressions on lined paper, and also

writes fragmented written work that may or may not be poetry.

He always uses a pen--never pencil. He considers himself a

"general artist," although his skills vary wildly across the spectrum.

Sometimes he writes philosophy essays while listening to Japanese

Death Metal. Currently he lives in Taylorsville, Utah, where he takes

walks around the neighborhood and looks at the clouds.

 

How to contact Alexander:

 

email: alexanderthestout@gmail.com