Thursday, April 7, 2011


And now for something completely different.

I don't know about you, but there are times when I feel like my limbic system comes up behind my prefrontal cortex, bangs it over the head with a 2 x 4, and then runs off and does whatever it likes. In other words, I occasionally make very irrational decisions based on impulses that are momentarily powerful enough to throttle my reason into submission.

I'm sure I'm not alone. After all, we all have the components of the limbic structure in our brain. But sometimes I *feel* like I'm alone in those moments where I've made an especially poor decision or am trying to wrestle myself out of making one.

So this is a poem about that.


Oh, animal brain
it's so hard to believe
you're what helped my ancestors survive.

Because if I followed
the ideas that you have
I doubt that I'd still be alive.

Really, amygdala?
You're frightened of planes,
but you'll happily drink til you drop?

You're kidding, libido.
He's clearly not right for me.
What I wouldn't give for you to just stop.

"One more drink?" "Oh, he's cute."
"That fried chicken looks good."
"You don't need that much sleep, anyway."

All these impulsive urges
are exhausting to manage
and can seriously clutter my day.

But if I didn't have them,
life would be somewhat boring.
So I supposed I'll get used to the fact

that I'm both clay and spirit
both animal and soul,
and sometimes my resolve's gonna crack.

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