Two Cells and an Unrequited Erection

Two lowly, slightly irregular cells float through a cavernous darkness. Occasionally, one will gently bump into the pia mater causing the cell to slowly ricochet away from the nearly translucent barrier.  The cells move without purpose, the source of their locomotion, a mystery.  They are independent things incapable of acknowledging their roaming counterpart, incapable of understanding the concept of, “Other.” At random, somewhere within in the furthest confines of their world voices are heard.  The utterances start out as quiet almost whispering mutters, moans, and giggles. Slowly, like a hand gently skimming the surface of a lake, the soundwaves born of these voices cause the smallest of ripples in the darkness, it is just enough to alter the meandering course of the cells and slowly push them towards the center of their dark world.  As the cells grow closer to each other, the voices get louder, more frantic, building to a crescendo of discordant cries laced with insanity. Disturbed by the mad cacophony, the gently guiding ripples become a wave.  The force of the soundwave flings the cells towards the center of the darkness where they crash into each other forming a mangle of organelles and nuclei.  Is this the end of the two cells?  No, because upon impact a sickly greenish-yellow light sputters to life.  I am now awake. Miraculously, (or as a twisted result of extremely early exposure to psychedelic pharmaceuticals) the cells somehow reorganize themselves until no damage is evident.  Once reformed the cells return to their aimless wandering and I gain a poor approximation of lucidity.

Not convinced that Shallowgenepool operates on just two cells is impossible? It is understandable for one to think so, but all forms of bacteria live and thrive as single celled organisms.  You need look no further than that lowly single celled bacterium, gonorrhea for an example of what just one cell can do!  The way I see it, on a good day having two brain cells means that I can cause two times the pain, embarrassment, and discomfort as gonorrhea.

I don't really have thought processes. It is more accurate to consider my, “Thoughts” as reflex-like responses to stimuli. Encountered stimuli activates my hypothalamus which then triggers my sympathetic nervous system to react in a very primitive, predetermined way.  This is a similar reaction to that which allows a jellyfish to capture prey.  The jellyfish doesn’t have the ability to think about feeding itself, however when a fish foolishly swims into the jellyfish’s poisonous tentacles, the jellyfish fish's nervous system reacts. This reaction causes the now paralyzed fish to be delivered to the jellyfish's oral arms where it will be digested.  Like the jellyfish, my hypothalamus driven reaction to stimuli activates my nervous system which then provides a predetermined response.  Some examples of these reactions include:

a) Someone puts a toddler’s file on my desk, I react by social work. 

b) When my kids approach me, I take out my wallet. 

c) When my wife enters the room my neurological reaction is to apologize for things I did, might have done, should have done, and haven't done yet. The apologies are immediately followed by an unrequited erection.

In short, none of these reactions should be considered the result of, “Thought.” They are simply environmentally driven, habit initiated, predetermined reactions to previously experienced stimuli.

My inner monologue has evolved as I have moved from childhood, to adolescence, to adulthood. As a child, my inner monologue sounded a lot like Woody Woodpecker doing a Darth Vader impression. As an adolescent, my inner monologue took on the righteous indignation filled snarl of Henry Rollins or Dave Mustaine. Entering adulthood, the voices in my head became the hosts of a non-stop Hell's Angels worthy party that my sanity wasn't invited to. To counter the, "Best of Motorhead" blaring in the background, my inner monologue has taken on the forceful and angry shriek of the late Sam Kinison. Even then, my monologue can usually only be heard in the split second it takes the music to switch from, "The Ace of Spades" to, "Dead Men Tell No Tales." It's not much of a loss because the voice rarely has anything productive to add, instead it usually asks questions like, "Adjusting for inflation, are dirty deeds still done dirt cheap?"

Do I possess a conscience, the great and wise inner oracle of right and wrong? I do, and my conscience has a, "The Whole World is Fucked and You Have to Change the Sheets" attitude. This blunt stance has made the voice of George Carlin my foul-mouthed Jiminy Cricket. Say what you will, I am the only male in my gene pool that doesn't have a felony on their record, so it must be working.

My mind's eye sees things with a thin film of LSD psychedelia covering the lenses. What I see is usually distorted and nonsensical. It isn't unusual for my state of mental lucidity to be interrupted by yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye. In short, if you want to see through my mind's eye, put on some Pink Floyd and hang on, it's gonna be a bumpy fucking ride.

The fact that my brain functions at all is a turn water into Jack Daniel's level miracle. My two brain cells are often pushed beyond normal operating parameters and it isn't unusual for them to overheat a little. As a result, the results of any of my brain's work is varied and drooling is to be expected.