This is my
apology. It's a personal account of existence as lived by a
particular type of man known as "brain eater". To some, who
accidentally stumble across me and feel compelled to read this
piece (against their better judgement), it may seem like a
metaphysical waste of time. For others, I hope that, despite its
many shortcomings as a written work, it will nevertheless aid
you in identifying this absurd and despicable weakness within
yourself and others. Let me begin by way of introduction.
My name is
Martin Grove. I am forty five years old. I am single and I have
no children. I like flying stunt kites in my free time and taking
long walks on the beach. My brain has been eating itself for
twenty odd years now. My doctor said my brain looks like a wad
of mucous dripping inside an empty roll of toilet paper. I know
this to be true. It's difficult to say how it started but after
years of abuse, even the brain with its immeasurable fortitude can
be taught to deny its function and turn against itself.
This essay is not
meant to frighten anybody into thinking the brain is less
formidable than it is. As thousands of years and billions of
thoughts, emotions and experiences have taught us, it is ny no
means a fragile mechanism. Nor am I pretending to know the
secrets of this miraculous organ. I am humbly attempting to
account for the loss of one brain so that others of its kind can
find comfort in knowing their situation to be very real and
earnest.
We can only speculate why
a brain would want to eat itself. It can be dangerous to
attribute desires as belonging to organs themselves as if organs
were not merely a means to an end but themselves possessed of a
will It is obvious that my stomach is not hungry. It may be empty
but it is I who am hungry in virtue of my stomach being empty.
It is rumbling with pangs of discomfort so I can be aware that I
am hungry. I satisfy my appetite with food and my stomach is
full so I am no longer hungry. Forgive this all too simple view
of the human organism which permits us to believe a human being
is nothing more than its parts. There are many other aspects to
how the body works and why which I am not concerned with for the
moment.
The brain
normally functions to serve the I. I use my brain to solve a
problem or process information. Faculties of pleasure, pain,
reasoning, understanding, sympathy all lie in the brain to be
used by I according to my character. A benevolent character will
access more knowledge about caring for others than a hedonist
character who develops different knowledge about the self. So, I
use my brain as I use my stomach, fueled by my will, in order to
survive. However, if a brain was to develop its own will and
become an autonomous creature in its own right, what might we
expect to happen? Can you imagine a mutiny, sabotage, peaceful
coexistence, maybe alien intervention? I am here to tell you in
my wordy and awkward way that the only result is the brain that
eats itself.
What are the
symptoms of the brain eater? Make no mistake, the brain and its
possessor are so intimately connected that they will identify with
each other until the bitter end, making it difficult for the
possessor of a brain eating brain to distinguish between his own
true character and those qualities which make up the brain. At
first I had to try to get things going.
Imagine, if you will, a young boy
growing up in a middle class neighbourhood who by his very
nature categorized everything he could get his hands on. His books
were in alphabetical order on a shelf next to a filing cabinet
organized into sections for school, family, holidays etc. Every
Christmas card ever received in the household was meticulously put
away for safe keeping. Blue pens were lined up like soldiers
awaiting their orders. Red pens and erasers had their own
compartments as well. Everything in his room was put away
for maximum efficiency. No random item was tolerated. Only
calenders and bulletin boards lined the walls.
Slowly, as
the boy grows older, these things seem less important to him. He
lets the blue pens fall in with the red pens. He allows socks to
mingle with underwear and posters begin to appear on his walls.
At this time, a transformation has begun. Society begins to
speak more directly to the boy. He is being shaped by the world
into which he was born. This world keeps talking into his ear.
Chattering really, telling him what to believe, how to believe, how
to succeed, how to live, what's good, what's bad...
For a time the
boy tries to slot everything into his compartments but he soon
becomes frustrated with the futile effort and realizes he is going
to have to give up. His only course seems to be to take what is
given to him, select what's important and useful, discard the
rest (he hated throwing things away) and slide into position
with the rest of the world.
However, one
night when most of the world was sleeping, another voice opened
the door a crack and whispered rumours about another possibility.
Rather than be swallowed up whole by the world, why don't you
give yourself over to your brain? It said. Let it run itself for
awhile. Stop trying to control it all the time. You are just an
effect of the society that controls you anyways. Just let her
run for a bit and see what happens...The boy, who was me, twenty
five plus years ago did exactly that. He just gave up everything
to his brain. At first it was difficult but it wasn't long
before he forgot himself and started doing things he would never
have thought of before. He spent his days eating his brain in
fields, on rocks, by pools, backyards, rooftops, patios,
basements, on the beach, in the nature trail, playgrounds, front
steps, the garage... Everywhere he could he would.
Brain for breakfast, brain for lunch,
brain picnics, brain at midnight, brain again in the morning. He
ate his memories, which were like little wagon wheels. He ate a
lot of deductive reasoning skills he had learned when he was a
child. He figured he didn't need them and they had a soft slimy
texture that he enjoyed, a little like tofu. He ate lots of
things. He gobbled up vanity many times over throughout the
years and often tried to force down all his pride in one
sitting. Once, in a rather adventurous spirit with nothing else to
eat, he ate his ego which was sweet like a sugar cube melting
over his tongue.
The next thing
to happen was a long period of painful denial. He couldn't get
used to it all and found himself with no friction on which to
pass through the world. As soon as he ate one thing,
something else would grow in its place. From as small as a
slender flower to as wide as a meadow.
From as near as a window to as far as a
star. He kept eating it but he was no longer eating in a good
mind. He was poisoned with the need to get rid of it all and
make his brain disappear. It only reminded him of what he had
done in becoming a brain eater and he was ruthlessly ashamed of
himself. He felt as if he had done irreparable damage to himself
by falling out with society in order to become a brain eater.
You know society did its best to help him believe exactly that.
Most of the time the boy couldn't hear the words spoken to him
by the world since he was too busy eating his brain but the
words expressly against brain eating pierced his conscience and
drove him to great depths inside himself despairing over a way
to escape his fate.
He became withdrawn and started feeding
on his brain unaware of what he was doing. He would feed
ravenously for days without any pleasure or satisfaction. In
order to go out in public he had to first convince himself he
was not a brain eater. He would run up to total strangers, look them
deliberately in the eye, and beg them to give him a chance to
prove his worth as a human being. He made many promises which
ultimately proved to be false and was always doing things he
didn't want to, looking for a way out again and again. Most
people scorned him and turned their backs, politely sprinkling a
little pity over their shoulders because they could see he was
desperate. The boy would sulkingly return to eating his brain.
One day I just
accepted who I was and ate more in peace. I ate bitter things,
sour things, salty things, good and bad. Pillars or pies it didn't
matter to me. I ate entire worlds although they were no bigger
than a peppercorn. I ate and ate. One day I started noticing
empty spaces. Things were not growing back. As it turns out, I
had accidentally eaten Common Sense without knowing it. I kept
on eating. It didn't matter at that point. I eat my brains and
that is all.
I still consider
myself one of the lucky ones because my senses remember how to
work so I can still witness the world even if there isn't much
going on behind the surface. I ate my understanding years ago so I
don't always get it. My eyes appear vacant and I often
stare dumbly at things for hours and even days. What all of this
amounts to is that; I eat, I digest, I die. The end
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