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Brain Virus

The tricky part is getting the pick in. It hurts. Don't let anyone tell you different. You keep wanting to blink. Your eyelid pushes down and shoves the pick. Ow. Your vision blurs. Don't give up. It helps if you have a friend nearby, to swab the eyeball with cleansing fluids. Don't blink. Keep going. You have your quest. Be strong. Some will tell you that you're pushing the pick in into the wrong place. Ignore them. You're going to a different spot, the spot causing all the trouble.

OK. You're in. Now, there are a lot of ways this can go wrong, but in the end, it will still be worth it. Maybe you'll get yourself in the expected place, and you will suddenly become very placid and quiet. That's OK. You'll be much easier to get along with. Chicks will dig you. Wait. Focus. Keep going.

Pierce the wrong bit, and you will lose your will. Losing your will is hard. Supplement it. Listen to the voice. " Grease is the word, is the place, is the motion..." Yes, still there. Must keep going. Pierce the wrong bit, and you will lose your memories of third grade. That's all right. Mrs. Grove was always mean and unfair to you. Bitch! We should all be allowed to forget the third grade. Seems fair. Keep going. It's between the eyes, just behind the bone. That's where it lies. Turn right. Or left, if that's where you entered. Follow the siren song. It will guide you. "Tell me boy, tell me boy, did you get very far?"

You're there. Push. That is the place where all those songs live. It's the hellish drive-time radio station of the mind. That's where Britney Spears goes, and sits, like uranium particles in your soul. Hermit's Hermits find their home in this place. "Greased lightning!" Get the point of the pick there. Stir. Feel the songs slip away. Embrace the joy. Silence.

But wait. All is not well. The music is not all gone. There's one song. Quiet. Constant. Perky. It bounces along, springing from neuron to neuron, a hyperactive gymnast, bouncing from lobe to lobe. You concentrate, and there it is, back, refreshed, louder than before.

"You're the one that I want. Woo hoo hoo! You're the one that I want! Woo hoo hoo! You're the one I need! Oh, yes indeed!"

Don't lose hope! Salvation is at hand! All is not lost! It has a home too, just a different one! You can beat it!

Reposition the pick. Pointing straight back. Right at the back of your head. It's a ways back, but trust me, your pick is just long enough. It's there. Waiting.

Brace youself.


One. Two.



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