Dinosaur With Headphones

My brain never liked me.

As far back as I can remember, it has enjoyed playing tricks on me. Is the heart a helpless follower, or are they in cahoots? Today did not go as planned. Midway through my brain convinced me to take steps that led to me viewing a photograph of a person with shellfish, then my brain crashed like a junked computer. My heart tells my brain that it is strong and resolved, my brain says "Of course you are," and my brain always gets the last laugh.

In the aftermath of my malfunctioning brain's rebooting all I could think to do was search desperately through the literal boxes of my life for books of mass importance. I found several of my dearest friends but my panic increased when I could not find Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger.

It is not easy to live like this. Leastways, not alone, with all your life and its lack of achievements or import all confined within one tiny room, viewable and dismissible in one passing glance.

Then my brain complains, as if nothing is my brain's fault. My brain whistles inconspicuously, twiddles its thumbs and says, "Who? Me?"

My brain is a crashed computer that remembers practically everything and loves to remind my heart of its failures whenever my heart finds the capacity for strength... that's the best I can describe it tonight, I suppose.

---

Read some Yeats and found these words, which accurately describe what my heart has often longed to say:

"Like the moon her kindness is,
If kindness I may call
What has no comprehension in't,
But is the same for all
As though my sorrow were a scene
Upon a painted wall."

My sorrow is only a painted scene, the same as all the others... a scene telling the story of how I only wanted to be special. Goddamn Icarus. What I want to know now is, how do I get to be one of those thoughtless, passionless, ambitionless guys that a woman settles for? Cause they seem to be the eternal winners.