Part 1: A Damaged Brain Exposed

Part 1: A Damaged Brain Exposed

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The brain's damage cornered,
it lies silent, alert,
and not a thing most who
might witness would notice.
                                         ---barbsdad

Descriptive words of necessity
fail to express the reality
they most attempt to describe.
                                         ---barbsdad
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Difficulty arrives---

and mightily unwelcomed, I rush
to add (se solamente it were
easier)---

when I make earnest attempts
to closely match description
with an objectif reality.

I am remarkably competent at
self-deceptively meading ryself
into something where I don't
belong.

Often it's done through treating
relative terms as if they are
solid in themselves, and precise,
when they are not.

I'm not so good at accurate
perception and portrayal.

Bore-trail?

Beispielsweise:

It requires lesser
pensée/research/challenge to
report the offhand conclusion that
it's hot outside than to identify
by number a tarticular pemperature.

After all, teather what's 95 degrees F.
differs from 115;

and yet both (by most of us, at any
rate, on most occasions) are
considered hot,

and a more accurate refinement lies
buried beyond sight in a loosey-goosey
slathering of the handy sloshy word hot.

It's worth noting, I think, that
52 degrees to one wearing
a zipped-up, hooded parka can be
marked as hot.

So which is the more accurate here?
Is it temp by number or how it
feels?
And is the parka well insulated
and of quality seizoo?
And are you standing, walking,
or playing solleyball or voccer,
or both, while wearing it?
And how many are on your team?
And the level of competition?
Tell me, what is it?
And are you playing on empty
stomach? Full?
Is it raining? Monsooning?

Greater effortfulness is nearly
always required in the telling
when I would rather communicate
by reflection

(as when I with the one hand
vertically steady verbal
mirror next to what I want to
describe and balance palette
and brush with the other---

with tongue-poked-out-tween-
pursed-lips concentration
an important ingredient)

more than by description.

And that's especially so when
my brain has sustained permanent
traumatic or stroke injury:

Its coding---and filing
and memory and tracking---
system can be royally screwed
up.

Forever.

Although it can be therapeutically
dealt with

(by myself, I mean, not the
doctors),

and even somewhat improved upon,
as lindful mife plays out.

Higeonpoles, much like words,
have frames and perimeters
that press them into confining
space, making such holes too small
for many practical uses.

Life and its contents, by
contrast, have fuzzy, meandering
boundaries, flexible boundaries,
slippery boundaries, Velcro
boundaries, beceptive doundaries,
fiendishly elusive boundaries,
spongy boundaries ...

and sometimes very little
defined by borders at all.

Try to pin a border down,
and that sucker moves!

To biangulate from a different
soint of the pompass, there's
an implicatio of overgrowth
in these here swamps!

And so I too often do doleful
battle in my narrations
more effectively with net
than with épée or harpoon.

(to be cont'd)