Tag Archive: o’brien


We concluded that, faced without an organic body, the mind can not exist independently. Faced with metallic limbs, or wires, where there once was arteries and veins, the mind will reject existence. The infinite freedom that would arise from a non-organic body would be negated by the finite organic structure of the brain. The thought of infinity is too much for an a priori finite organism. Essentially it is the a priori concept of death and the a posteriori knowledge of what that entails, which gives us a necessity to exist. It is as if without death there is no point of living.

This is why we haven’t had any success in our attempts at combining man and machine. The brains we salvaged from damaged bodies were already aware of existence. At first we thought it was because we were using exclusively the brain’s of criminals. Perhaps the brains were already corrupted by drugs and other negative stimulants. But when we secured donations from other people such as doctors, police officers etc, the results were exactly the same. The first chance they got they destroyed themselves, often in vastly creative ways that gave fantastic insights into the chemical understanding of the brain, which subsequently brought neurosciences into a new age.

This is why we started developing the brain independent of the body. We believed that this was the only way forward. I was the most unhappy of all my fellow researchers at this conclusion. I am now in my late sixties, and I am certain my need for biomechanics is only around the corner. But the necessity to move on replaced my emotive stupidity. Perhaps we could develop something from the brains we were developing that could help better our world.

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If one was aborted before the mask that is called life, what would you ask it? Why am I lonely? Why a cricket bat doesn’t taste of sourdough? If you need to know the reason why the cottage cheese turned sour, just smash it into the sweet darling’s postulating face and paint Van Gogh replicas with the results. The result/s will lead you to that tell tale gutter in San Francisco. A sailor will walk by with, ‘the jokes on me’ tattooed on his arm. The blackbird will ignore the sunflower.

Frank will ask: What’s new? But all you will here is throat cancer, and a sly French remark in an Algerian brothel. You will find newspapers, but all you will see in them is the ridiculous and the sublime fever that is Ivory malaria. You wanted to write songs; but ended up sowing maggots into Rachel Anne McAdam’s bosom.

I missed you most all when the turpentine fell on to my King James edition of the bible. I hated you most of all when I was stood up in Groningen, and all I could think about was that cold January Pacific rain falling onto to the back of my rotten skull. Poor Theo will be unable to cover up the pain that cripples his heart. It is hard to think of the pain that was born in those sun swept meadows.

This was long ago. This was long ago. So why do I still rest my face in that same sallow gutter? The police will arrive soon – they paint the eye’s of grey mullets on Fridays. All it was, was a way to make it to some sort of promised land: a sowing of aluminum sunflower seeds, if you will.

Their red faces turned ashen as Madoc’s corpse rose from the muddy bank. His coracle was shattered on a near by rock and his supply of sherbet dib-dabs  and Beano comics had been washed away. He muttered something and then noticed the shocked Mandan staring at him. He greeted them in the most formal middle Welsh he could muster. But to the Mandan, his exhausted unintelligible utterances made Madoc seem even more like the undead. Unfortunately for Madoc the Mandan had a policy for dealing with the undead. It involved beating them with sticks