Strokin' the Stem: A Tale of Cerebral (almost) Copulation

Upon review of the last post I was reminded by MySelf that perhaps some encephalon stimulation would assist in preventing sudden onslaughts of imaginative upchuck. "Like mental masturbation" I asked MySelf. Apparentaly, we were not amused (I was). Anyway, here's pretty much how that conversation went...
Me: "Brain...hey brain, you awake"?
Brain: "Who is it"?
Me: "What the hell do you mean who is it? It's me, you know the one on the outside of that skull that surrounds you, keeps you safe when Inner Ear fails to keep us vertical on those stilts down there and we go tumbling down a flight of stairs WHEN WE'RE NOT EVEN DRUNK"?
Sorry, wasn't yelling at you, just hoping Inner would hear me...that was ridiculous".
Brain: "Oh, yea right, how ya doin"? Listen, do you think you could go stand in front of the mirror or something...seeing you would make this conversation slightly less awakward".
*stumbles to wall mirror* Perhaps I shouldn't have yelled at Inner...seems quite pissed and this whole walking thing just got more difficult.Dammit.

Me: "Sooooo, what's up with sudden bursts and outpourings of artistic genius"?
Brain: " You don't provide me with frequent stimulation. I wonder how many cell phone conversations we are standing right now, I mean thousands of invisible waves going right through us right now at this exact second. Did you ever think about that"??

Me:"No not until just now, and now all I can think of is cancer, thanks.
Pay attention will ya? Like mental masturbation"? What you want me to grasp the cerbral stem and stroke it"??? Should I talk dirty to you as well? Oh brain...you big throbbing mass of grey matter".
Brain:..."You're weird, this conversation is finished, I'm going back to sleep and no we are not dreaming of ninja M&Ms on a unicorn again".

Me: "You're the one actually thinking all of this AND I'M THE ONE WHO IS WEIRD"??
Pfffffttttt, I don't care what that neural nuisence up there says...we'll discuss this later, and there will be ninjas
dammit.

Inspiration or Violent Digestive Assault

My creative spirit tends to make appearances like a bout with explosive diarrhea. It is sudden, coming in uncontrollable spurts at inconvenient times and inappropriate places, it usually results in a mess and disturbed looks from others caught in its path.

Weeks pass without inspiration, sometimes months. Then a bubble or four....Hark, says Self, we may have an idea!
It passes (insert fart joke of choice here)and is soon forgotten or filed away in mental crevices yet unknown. I wait, ponder, wait some more, but nope pretty sure it was a false creative alarm. Foolishly I carry on with life as though I had not been through this before.

Suddenly and most unfairly without warning while going about daily routines (work, Wal-mart, walking the dog, eating hot dogs and Oreos)it strikes!
You have no idea how the others who are not afflicted with this particular faulty circuit stare at someone in the middle of the pasta aisle furiously swearing at her "smart" phone for turning pencil into penis (not really sure what that says about my everyday vocabulary)while smashing fingers to touchscreen keyboard (must make words, must
make semisensical words!!!!) in a horrific attempt to express herself. I usually email myself a rough draft to work on later, occasionally some of my very understanding and compassionate (mentally twisted, mostly insane and therefore nonjudgmental) friends get sucked in to my prolific vomit, apologies.



So there's that...little probably unwanted glimpse into my psyche.