Mind Over Muddle


Being  male,  Michael  has  not  come  to  grips with the concept that
emotions  are  determined  to  confuse   otherwise   seemingly   clear
situations.  Being  an early-middle-epoch American male, he has yet to
understand that his body is going to do the same. Now that his mind is
slipping, these ignored components of his psyche are taking  pot-shots
at   his  equilibrium.   His  blissless  haze  of  responsibility  and
endurance is occasionally rent  by  shotgun-blast-flashes  of  dubious
desire.

Most  men at this juncture would buy a sports car and be done with it.
Michael is embarrassed to admit such a cliche.  He does, however, gaze
longingly at Harley's and Norton's of  politically  correct  vintages.
Since  he  hasn't  amassed  the  macho  posturing  necessary for these
options, he is determined to construct a model of his mind which  will
explain away the behavior.

Things  take  a  turn  for the worse when another non-romance falters.
The pattern is becoming clear.  He meets an interesting person.   They
have  much  in  common.   It  might  be  a  cynical sense of humor, an
interest in trashy objects, not owning a television,  any  combination
of  usually frowned upon behaviors. He thinks, "Hey, having someone to
talk to is fun". The person turns out  to  be  an  attractive  female.
Something  in  him demands, "I must fuck her". This sounds like a good
idea, but requires some mediation. Then, suddenly, he feels,  "I'm  in
love". Things deteriorate from there.


A conversation is taking place in a cafe.

" . . . the political aspects of mass culture", she says.

"Sure",  he  replys,  "the  crap they buy is what they think they want
because they believe the media.  But some  of  it  is  actually  great
crap.  It reflects the entire culture.  Like Barbie dolls."

"God, I hate those things.  I always wanted one, but my mother thought
they were too 'mature' for a little girl.  As much as we hate to admit
it, most of us wish we were her at some point."

"I  always  wanted to be James Bond.  Too cool."  Something twinges in
Michael's lower torso.  His  brain  stem  has  responded  to  the  007
suggestion.  He thinks, "I should sit up straight".

"Oh,  yeah.   And the women in those movies.  What bimbos.  Actually I
wanted to be 'The Man from Uncle' guy, you know the Russian."

"Ilyia, yup".  She's very sweet, I wonder what our babies  would  look
like?  flashes  through  his  limbic  cortex.  His heart delays a beat
slightly and he coughs.

"But they were such simplified representations of cold war situations.
Those characters were made to make us dumb capitalists  feel  superior
to the commie hordes.  Talk about Theater of the Absurd . . . "

Michael  thinks,  "Shit,  I can't remember the name of that play.  The
one with the . . . "  Another twinge, this time definitely centered in
his genitals, derails the thought.  A slight warmth begins  to  spread
and his heart moves noticably closer to his throat.

". . . I mean it gives Kant a bad name."

He  nods knowingly, wishing he could pick up one of the references and
run with it.  "Kant, yeah, 18th century, right?" he thinks.  A  barely
subconscious voice interjects, "She looks so vulnerable in this light,
she needs to be protected and nurtured".

"I'm not sure what you mean", he says cautiously.

"Oh,  you  know,  Noumena  and  Phenomena".  She frowns slightly. "The
difference and distance between idea and reality." She looks up at the
ceiling. "It's been a long time since I read it, too. I  don't  really
remember it all."

He  has  an  urge  to  take her hand in his and say, "We could read it
again, together."  Open the stopcocks on his heart.  For  some  reason
he thinks it would be wonderful. Instead he says, "Do you want another
beer?"

"Sure."

Hormones are titrating his internal organs as autonomic nerve impulses
cavort  through his chakras. The ring lights come on.  "At the base of
the skull, in the snake skin boots, please welcome Lizard Brain.   His
favorite  foods  are  raw  and  his weapon of choice is the cattleprod
nerve impulse.  In the other corner, centrally located  in  the  brain
pan,  wearing  the  hair shirt and loin cloth, let me introduce Monkey
Brain.  He likes hanging around with  the  clan  and  prefers  hormone
cocktails."

Michael's  Monkey  Brain is gearing up to direct his Lizard Brain onto
the evolutionarily correct path. And still his neo-cortex is  puzzling
over the link between Kant and Ioensco. "If I could talk about some of
that  stuff, maybe she would like me," he thinks as he orders two more
Black and Tan's.  The ring-side bell sounds.

Sally, the bartender, a graceful woman of impecable charm, says,  "Are
you  feeling  OK?"  He mumbles something unintelligable about eggplant
from "Exit the King".  She smiles encouragingly and nods  towards  the
table  where  they  are  sitting.  Lizard Brain sends a jolt up Monkey
Brain's tail.  Monkey Brain reacts by pumping some  cheap  endorphines
into  Lizard  Brain's extremities. Lizard Brain is not fooled. Michael
shakes  his  head  and  rolls  his  eyes  heavenward.   Sally  shrugs.
Michael's  left  eyelid twitches twice.  He thinks, "I should get more
sleep".

He takes the two pint glasses back to the table.   Lizard  Brain  does
its  best  to make this difficult by causing unpredictable twitches in
his lower extremities, as if  preparing  for  a  race.   Monkey  Brain
steadies  his  arms  with  the  feeling  that  he  is  carrying  vital
sustaining fluids.  He still hasn't thought of anything  glib  to  say
about Kant.  Maybe Kierkegaarde?

"Thanks."

"Now,  'The Dick van Dyke Show'", he trys to change the subject, "that
was the height of TV".  Monkey Brain ups the dosage.  Michael's  right
middle toe tingles, then goes slightly numb.

"Yeah,  where  she sat around all day in a sweater and slacks, waiting
for him to come home."

"High home, I'm horny".  She  laughs  briefly.   Lizard  Brain's  tail
thrashes  across  Monkey  Brain's  backside.  Michael notices that his
left leg is getting pins and needles like it is going  to  sleep.   He
shifts his position in the chair.

"What was her name?  Laura."

"The  Rob  and  Laura Petries of New Rochelle", he says.  Monkey Brain
sprays a thin film of steroid compounds into Lizard Brain's face.  For
a moment, Michael feels like sneezing.

"And what a dumpy set.  A door, a couch, and a piano that no one  ever
played."   She  concentrates.  "No, there was a kitchen and a bedroom,
too".

He laughs when she says the word  bedroom  and  picks  up  his  glass.
Lizard  Brain  slashes at Monkey Brain's stomach.  Michael takes a sip
of beer and inhales at the same time.  He manages to control  the  gag
response, but his face slowly turns red. Monkey Brain makes a grab for
Lizard  Brain's  throat.  "And  that  stupid  grin  he  had",  he says
finally, his voice a little higher than normal.

"She became a big time producer, but what happened to him anyway?"

"I don't know."  Michael says, "I really don't know".   He  feels  his
jaw muscles tensing.

Their  stares cross about a foot and a half in front of their faces as
they both look off tangentally, wondering what to say next.

By this time Monkey Brain has taken Lizard Brain by the shoulders  and
is  swinging it around and around skreeching "Feed her! Build a nest!"
while Lizard Brain lashes out at Monkey Brain's face  with  its  sharp
little  claws hissing "Fuckher, Fuckher".  They are both getting dizzy
and out of breath from the exertion.  Michael's human brain begins  to
feel out of sorts. He thinks it may be the result of the second beer.

Michael  takes another sip of beer, correctly this time, and makes his
major mistake.  He blurts out, "You know I really like  you".   Monkey
Brain  trips  over  Lizard  Brain's  tail  and  they  tumble  onto the
cerebellum still screaming at each other.

She smiles at him, says, "I like you too",  then  looks  back  at  the
tangent.

"I  mean,  do you, is there, any hope for me, uh, with you, you know."
Monkey Brain and Lizard  Brain  both  look  up  from  their  squabble,
wondering if they will get a chance to join the conversation.

She  looks  at  her  glass.   "I don't know."  Looks at him.  Michael,
Monkey Brain, and Lizard Brain look attentive.  She looks back at  the
glass.   "I  just  can't get involved right now.  It would be too hard
for me."

He says, "Well, could you put me on your waiting list  then?".  Monkey
Brain and Lizard Brain look at each other in disgust.  Michael's scalp
itches.

She smiles and nods non-commitally.

"I'll start sending her postcards", he thinks. Monkey Brain and Lizard
Brain  have collapsed. The bell rings at the end of round one. Flashes
of half completed nerve impulses and residual hormones  wax  and  wane
through Michael's stomach lining.


                                 XXX

(c) 1990 M. I. Smith