Month: October 2016

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Brain vs. Me

-by Albert Berkshire

Somedays, it's more accurate than the brain wishes to admit.
Somedays, it’s more accurate than the brain wishes to admit.

“Brain?” I asked, “Why must you be so fucking difficult?

There was no measurable response. Seems Brain thought it best to turtle in its moment of study light interrogation.

I persisted.

Why do you ignore the rational? Why do you insist on dragging yourself out of the light and into the spaces that exist on the fringe of positive thought? Why, when you are supplying a perfectly acceptable appreciation of the beauty this world possesses, do you feel the need to surmise the opposite reality?

Why can’t you just enjoy the sunset?

Brain, it seems, likes to play by his own rules. He dances around the necessary, ignores my desires (primarily writing, I might add), and seems to expend enormous computing power creating scenarios that will likely never happen. (Heli-skiing still has a chance, though.)

And then there’s his relationship with my legs and stomach. With Legs, he’s in harmony. They’ll hike for days through mountain passes or hammer out a 100km mountain bike ride together with minimal disagreement. But the moment he reads a menu and sees Eggs Benny – he orders Huevos Rancheros. This, I suspect is to deny me a finish line in my lifelong pursuit of the perfect poached egg. The one that comes from the fabled Swirling Vortex of Poach. The one that Brain refuses to even attempt. Chicken!

Why, Brain, do you go through spurts of social segregation? What is it about going out with friends that you occasionally find so unbearable that you will hang out with the cat and hammer out words on a screen rather than pick up the phone and make plans with the wonderful people in your life? (This, I might add, is a rather rewarding delight until it has to be explained as, “I just wanted to stay home and write.”)

Brain fails to fully appreciate the proven scientific benefits of companionship. (He has also misspelled scientific twice in this piece). His approach is to let someone else be the first to pick up the phone to make plans in the event his invitation is declined. He likes to just be on his own, knowing full well it leads to an overdose of sci-fi movies and a repeat viewing of the IT Crowd. The latter, showcases his inability to admit that chick flicks are high on his list, too. Maybe he’d respond well to a viewing of The Holiday. (It is almost Christmastime.)

But it isn’t just movies where Brain and I disagree. We have battles over music. My gut calls for classic rock. You know, the stuff to which our older brothers listened when we were kids. That music left me forever tainted, except for my appreciation of the once-upon-a-time mentioned Led Zepplin, Jethro Tell, and a more recent appreciation for Muse. And Rod Stewart. The early stuff around the time of Faces. (And why does Brain insist Mona’s “Lean Into The Fall” is so reminiscent of Stewart’s “The Killing of Georgie”) Brain, instead, prefers to write to modern, alternative music. It’s an angst-motivating genre. Great for intense writing moments and a flow of thought. It’s that moment when your fingers are actually keeping pace with your thoughts. (If you’re my neighbour, and your bluetooth speaker system is Hydra, I apologize for the Saint Motel and K. Fray marathon. I didn’t (Brain didn’t) realize we were connected. Rocks, though, doesn’t it?)

And then the moment Brain and I agree on the benefits of him winning the music-selection argument, we suddenly have more questions for each other. Or him. Mostly him.

Brain, I continued, “Why did you suddenly think that pressing the Home button on your iphone would turn off the bidet? More importantly, why did you press it two more times before acknowledging that the controls were on the wall? And why, I shudder to ask, did you instantly wonder if there was an app available to control the bidet? How did you go from “Ha Ha. Silly mistake!” to “Fuck, that would be a killer piece of home automation. I wonder if there is money in that?””

Have I overloaded you? Have I exposed you to too much Facebook, Ello, Twitter, Instagram (surely our four times looking at Instagram together was not overload)? Is the espresso getting to you? Do we need to downgrade to dry cappuccinos? Please don’t say you think decaf is a better option. Do you need more protein? Do you need a break? Do you need an app for that? Would you prefer to shut off more frequently? Or is that what spurs your creativity?

And where does your creativity originate? Your family members (I realize there’s only one brain in my head, but I mean those controlling your relatives. My relatives.) all seem fairly normal. Or are you now suggesting that they’re all as nuts as me (us) and they are just better at hiding it?

And why did talking to the empty chair do so much for you in such a short time? More importantly, why can’t you live the rest of your life in that peaceful moment of reconciliation?

Perhaps, Brain, you just want to be free to run amuck and create whatever streams through your senses. I’d ask you how you’d reconcile that with mortgage payments and grocery purchases, but I’m not entirely certain our better-half would appreciate the cynicism of the explanation.

Or maybe, you just need to find your focus again. Rediscover your passion for storytelling. Embrace your unexpected desires to throw words at a page.

How does that sound, Brain? Have we agreed on a plan that allows us to get back to writing? Or was this your plan all along? To get me into the mindset of one of our new characters?

And Brain? If it was…well done.

Well done, Brain.

 

Albert Berkshire is a storyteller. When he isn’t writing, he’s usually thinking about writing. Sometimes he’s just fighting with his less-than-motivated brain. Or he could just be getting in the mindset of one of his new character. His first novel of fiction, We Made A Pact, is published by Friesen Press. It is available in hardcover, paperback, and in various e-book formats. You’ll find it at amazon.ca and at chapters.ca  For a much shorter, and less frequent rambling, Albert is found on Twitter @albertberkshire, and anti-socially at www.facebook.com/AlbertThomasBerkshire

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Elongated Pause

-by (the current) Albert Berkshire

No story is ever completed in a single lifetime.
No story is ever completed in a single lifetime.

I’ll start in this life.

Quite a few years ago, back when I still asked people what they did for a living, thinking that was appropriate conversation material, I spoke with a man who answered by starting with, “In a past life, I used to…”

In a past life. At the time, it was my first introduction to the phrase, or thought, or ideology that a person would have a future life, and thereby, a past life. Initially, I understood him to suggest he had lived a life, and was now pack to live another. My most elementary understanding of Buddhism lead me to assume he remembered his previous life lived. Of course, I was wrong.

Call it small town experience. Or lack, there of.

I did question who lives more than one life. And later in life argued that with all respect to those who believe in reincarnation, we only get one trip that we remember, so we’d better make the most of it. Call it a precursor to hearing my friend Bruce say, “Use the good china.” I’ve since used his expression to the point of wearing it out. Mostly, I might add, I use it every time my wife, Robina, and I discuss using something that may or may not be in the “save for guests” category of our social life. Most notably, Terroir Jurassic, Compte, Sauvagine, and a few ash covered gems from my more recent cheese fascination. Robina likes to make things last. She’s a saver. I like to dive in…make a ridiculous grill cheese sandwich.

I’m very much an all-in kind of person. Especially when there’s cheese. I also work from home, so being armed with a refrigerator filled with all the things I love causes me to throw caution to the wind much more than one should. Again, I’m using the good china before the bus meets me on the crosswalk. I think you know what I mean.

I also mean, cheese before death. What a delicious way to go!

So…back to my past lives. The ones before my cheese life.

All these years later, I’m still fond of that chance meeting with a person who innocently, and quite correctly, referred to having past lives. I realized a few years ago that many of us do. We just don’t really see them as lives lived. At least not until we get older. It’s probably about the same time we start to develop an intimate relationship with our own mortality. Pretty much the same moment we hit the brakes on the downhill section, take the ride-arounds, and avoid the drops when we’re mountain biking. Except my Robina. She’s a bit of a grizzly on the mountain bike. Straight-lining is her thing. A faster route to the beer, probably.

We differ that way. I’m more reflective. Also more of an Elmer The Safety Elephant. (You can research that one if you like.)

Past lives, as I came to understand, really meant “when I was that person. When I was someone else before I became the person I am now.” More of a growth perspective, one might say. In one of my past lives, I worked in radio as a radio personality. Actually, to this day, I’m convinced my brother still thinks I’m a DJ. I was, I guess, until the late 90’s. Now I write for the industry. Essentially convincing people to buy shit they don’t need with money they don’t have. But that’s a demon I write about elsewhere.

That past life had a lot of crazy moments. The people I met, the listeners who called, the work I did and the people with whom I did it, all helped shape my life back then…in that past life. We all had our professional crutches. And perhaps, the most notable for anyone who worked on-air in radio, was the elongated audible pause. That “ahhhhhhh” that people used to fill in the space while they were thinking amidst conversation. It’s a terrible crutch that we all tried to avoid, and now, mostly, cringe at the first inkling of it being heard in an interview.

And I can’t help but mention it. Every. Single. Time. It makes me crazier than normal. If we know each other personally, you can relate to my level of crazy on any given day. Well, maybe not relate (I barely can), but at least recognize my form of crazy.

Elongated pauses – audible or otherwise – always make me feel like something isn’t flowing. Like the conversation is disjointed, forced, or the two people aren’t understanding each other, or one has a lot less to say than the other. Or both just have nothing to say. If there’s only one, I guess it’s fair to say the person has nothing to say at all.

Or just can’t spit it out.

That’s been my writing for a dreadfully painful nine months. Nine months. I guess I could have even given birth to an idea in that time. Though any dependents – words or otherwise – would be not be welcome in my world. I just looked after a dog I love for people I love for one night and it was a new level of commitment that just isn’t for me. We did, however, quickly learn who in this house would have been the primary caregiver of children (if they existed in our world), and what each of us would have had for a parenting style. Alarming, I admit, is an understatement.

So in these nine months, I feel like I’ve written only obits and do lists. The latter being only slightly happier a task than the former.

As for writing, it’s difficult to devote so much mental energy to a character and then have to develop an entirely new mental creature. And while I am quite comfortable in saying these new characters that have been floating around in my head are infinitely more my style of characters than those from a former writing life, I struggle with putting their story to paper. I know it. I can write it start to finish, but I just can’t get it to paper.

Seems the only ting that is flowing is a stream of consciousness. And that can make for some oddball writing.

Complete with elongated presses on the pause button.

Maybe I should just consider new characters part of a new life. Maybe in month ten. Until then, there’s cheese…as soon as my honey leaves for work.

 

Albert Berkshire is an author and storyteller. He does his best to live one life at a time, though proper character development sometimes requires a break from reality. The latter being something his current characters fully understand. For a much shorter, and less frequent rambling, Albert is found on Twitter @albertberkshire, and semi-socially at www.facebook.com/AlbertThomasBerkshire