Conversations with my brain: A Conversation with my brain

For the uninitiated, Wrinkles is my brain.

Wrinkles: No it’s not.

Me: I’ve already opened your dialogue tag with that. And I have no plans to change that.

Wrinkles: You think it’s a clever and taunty name for me, but it’s not.

Me: Hmm. Maybe I should do like an anagram of the word ‘Brain’. How about Brian? Top marks for not tryin’?

Brian: Pot, kettle, black.

Me: Brian, being, racist.

Brian: See, this is what you keep doing in every one of these: you pretend to take an idiom literally and then it’s like hahaha, so funny. If anyone’s “not tryin'”, it’s you.

Me: Oh, hon, I don’t need to try to insult you. You just inspire mockery by virtue of your very existence.

Brian: And so, by definition, do you.

Me: Oh my. Look at that. You’re agreeing with me on something. I can feel the historicity of this moment radiating like a museum’s.

Brian: If disagreements piss you off that much I don’t get why you even bother writing these ‘conversations with my brain’. All you ever write in them is me judging your bad life decisions and you trying to be funny by humiliating me.

Me: You judging my life decisions and me humiliating you isn’t restricted to the written word.

Brian: To be fair, that was only the last one’s pattern. All the others are practically me annoying you and you annoying me in return.

Me: A proper symbiotic relationship indeed. And as a gesture of good faith I will start retitling your dialogue tags.

Brian: For real?

Me: Hey, I don’t say things I don’t mean. There you go.

Waxing poetic

My first leg wax was anticlimactic
I was bracing for torturous tactics
But I still cry when I feel
A chunk of armpit hair peel
For that's a torment extragalactic.

3rd April/ (3/30) / Limerick

Your basic love poem

Let me guess— you're in love and want to write them something
Something that'll impress them and send their heart fluttering,
Something like Ben's haiku for Beverly from It
Winter fire, January embers, that crazy romance shit;
But you ain't got a clue on how to poem
And you're not shallow enough to commission an Instagram poet
So you're over in your head and haven't got a clue?
Worry not, children, mommy's here to help you.

Let's start, we'll go top to bottom, then back to the top
Let your heart overflow and just write till you drop;
Don't worry, I'm just kidding, there'll be actual advice
That might just get you that dreamy sunrise,
Now open up your brain, listen, oil those gears
And insert your beloved's qualities over here.

For their hair, use some adjectives from that shampoo ad last night
You know it gets all tangled but about its shine you must write,
Now move on to the eyes, drown in their swallowing deep
Just ignore the dark circles they get from too little sleep,
You could throw in a line about the nose— well, not much there
Just insert your beloved's qualities in here.

Now we come to wanting to kiss those soft moist lips
You don't mind they're actually chapped as potato chips,
Tell them how holding their hand makes you feel the warmth of the sun
Yep, that's a good line, make a little note, hon,
Don't mention fireworks— of clichés you must steer clear
And insert your beloved's qualities in here.

Time to move on from the pretty face, warm hugs and embrace
That person inside you want to be with all your days,
Maybe they're smart and sincere, to which you tip your hat
Or they're a total dumbass and you love them for that,
Whatever their personality, just imagine them near
And insert your beloved's qualities over here.

Now romanticise the sound of their voice
When you listen to them talk, everything else becomes white noise,
Oh, it's actually nasal, shrill or guttural? Then focus on the conversation
Or lie and paint them as Morgan Freeman's imitation,
Don't write the sappy 'sweet nothings' you wanna whisper in their ear
But insert your beloved's qualities over here. 

Last, talk about how their presence makes you feel inside
Maybe you feel safe, happy, and bring out your better side,
Or maybe you turn into a clumsy bumbling fool
Or become a pretentious jackass in your attempt to look cool,
Don't be cheesy and say you want February 14 with them each year
Just insert your beloved's qualities in this poem here.

2nd April/ (2/30) / Not really free verse, I think. Rhyme with a refrain?

Instagram and other black holes: A Conversation with my brain

My Brain: Look, I cannot allow this to continue.

Me: What, you got a problem with photography now?

My Brain: No, not photography. Instagram.

Me: Well, that’s where photographers post, don’t they? And it’s not like I’m revealing my life to everyone there. It’s just gonna be photos of trees and stuff.

How to be funny: A helpful guide ft. Wrinkles, aka My Brain

No, Wrin dear, I am not changing it to ‘just My Brain’. And no, the title’s not too long.

Well, hello there. Three days ago, it was C&C Fac’s 3rd anniversary, and even though my 12th board exams are literally starting in 17 days (yes, I counted), I’ve come out of this blogging exile just for this anniversary post, which is basically the only tradition over here.

Bored in tuition class- A Conversation with my brain

Scene: 7 p.m., my room, time for my Physics tuition and my Physics/Chemistry tutor is making notes of Magnetic Effects of Electric Current in my register. A little context here- he makes notes of a particular topic and then explains it to me. He’s also a Reiki healer, an astrologer, a numerologist and a tarot reader. Science+Pseudoscience= What the hell. 

My Brain: Why doesn’t he hurry up? It’s been a minute already. I’m bored.

Me: I know. Me too. *Drums fingers on table*

My Brain: You should stop doing that. It’s rude and obnoxious, not to mention monotonous.

Me: Maybe I should drum the Doctor Who theme, then. Much more entertaining.

My Brain: You know what else would be entertaining? Telling him what a load of bullcrap his astrology is.

Me: Because that’s not rude and obnoxious.

Two years

Once I was seven years old,

A ball pen did I hold and

On a half-used notebook wrote a story

Once I was seven years old.

Ringing in 2019- A Conversation with Wrinkles

Wrinkles: I see you’ve titled this post like a 5-year-old. ‘A Conversation with Wrinkles?’ No one’s gonna read it.

Me: Five-year-olds don’t blog.

Wrinkles: None except you. Retitle it. Right now.

Me(grinning smugly): That’s gonna cause a paradox, Wrin dear. Besides, do you not remember our last conversation? I’m gonna stay true to my word.

Wrinkles: I do, but the readers won’t, and this post will be a flop, so change it right now. And stop titling my dialogues with ‘Wrinkles’. Do it right now, or-

Me: Or? What’re you gonna do? Jump out of my head and kill both of us?

The Voice of my blog- by Support Mypen

Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t find a good enough rhyme for ‘Walt Whitman’ that would also fit the theme of this parody, so, bear with me. But did you not read that properly? It’s a parody, folks! (That too after nine months, like my brain was pregnant with it and has finally birthed it today- get it? I’ll just see myself out).

Now the reason why I’ve decided to write a parody after such a long time is that I’ve completed a hundred posts on the Factory. *Shower of confetti* *Fountain of Appy Fizz since I’m not old enough for champagne* *Virtual applause which is the only kind I’ll get* You see that featured image, folks? That’s what it means.

This is my hundred-and-first post, and I wanted to do something which was both special and enjoyable (so a letter to my first-post self was out, which was my initial idea). Today I’ve parodied Walt Whitman’s ‘The Voice of the Rain‘, which is a wonderful poem (I mean, come on, it’s Walt Whitman) and which is also in our English textbook this year. You should go read it if you haven’t. Now, on to the parody:

One-year Anniversary- A Conversation with my brain

My Brain (singing): I’ve been a liar, been a thief, been a lover, been a cheat-

Me: Oi, liar and cheat, stop singing and help me out with a blog post.

My Brain: Oh, how annoying you are. Can’t you ever go help yourself? Type out one of the stories you wrote last week.

Me: I am annoying? Oh, look who’s talking. And is the mind palace I created after I watched Sherlock of no use? It’s the One-Year Anniversary of my blog.