Sukhmann+2014

“Braincleaning”

I always have this vision of wringing it out. Digging my filthy, charcoal-stained fingertips into the pinky flesh that separates the outside world from all of my inner thoughts. It’s not like anyone will be able to distinguish between the imprints left by my nails and the actual wrinkles. (Maybe I should get an iron to get rid of those, too.) After so many years of being told to take advantage of the idea that my brain is like a sponge, you’d think that I have the desire to process and analyze every piece of information that comes hurtling toward my brain. But sometimes if you fill a sponge with too much water, it starts leaking, right? Pure water seeps out and it spills all over everything and all you’re left with is a load of dirty, soapy liquid and you really can’t clean anything but you can’t get rid of it either because all of this dirty, soapy liquid is inside of your head.

I think I need a filter. Something to turn off that loud catchytrashy dubstep song long enough for me to finish that history essay. Or to resist the urge to grab a set of Krink pens and start destroying my wall with quotes about feminism and common knowledge. I. Need. A. Filing. Cabinet.

 Just kidding. I can’t fit a filing cabinet into my brain. Like, can you imagine how much that would hurt?

Sometimes I worry that if I tried to wring out my brain, I might accidentally rip it. I may tear it and damage it beyond repair. That, or the thoughts will just build up and up and up and my head will burst at its nonexistent seams, thus betraying my brain and spilling wordwash everywhere. It could happen at any moment, seeing as my mouth is a horrible filter and my fingers an even worse one. My fists, my feet…well I guess they aren’t an awful option, but there are only so many places in which I can put them to use. I’ll have to try not to let the frustration get to me. I don’t want to break my brain; I just want to clean it. Of course, I won’t have to worry about worrying after I wring out my brain, since any desire to worry at all will have disappeared.

I imagine my head feeling a lot lighter after finishing the process. When you wring out a sponge, you can feel it getting less heavy and delicate. It will probably never be as soft or as dry as the first time that you used it, but it won’t be as delicate. (Not that I have any desire to chuck my brain around like a tiny beach ball or anything of that nature.) I’m sure it’ll feel nice to have a brain that isn’t so fragile and prone to leakage. Sure, knowledge is power, and that’s great, but as the saying goes, “ignorance is bliss.”

It’s not the same as “brainwashing.” No, not at all. The act of brainwashing is performed by an outside source on an unassuming individual. That somewhat dystopian process is what caused the damage in the first place, and is the reason for my desire to wring now. That is where the wordwash comes from. I want it out. I can’t shut down the world around me; my knowledge doesn’t have enough power to do that. My next best option is shutting down the brain itself.

No, no, not shutting down. Nothing permanent. I will happily place my brain back inside of my head once it’s over. Now that I’m older and wiser I’ll be able to have more control of what I see or do. I’m as smart as dumb can be. I’ll make sure that nothing bad ever gets in again.

 Of course, on the off hand chance that I do encounter some bad thoughts, all I have to do is unscrew my head, remove my brain, and wring once more. And I could do it again and again and again until my brain processes nothing but binary numbers and hypnopaedic phrases and sure I wouldn’t be entirely human but I’d still have a brain and sure the brain would be useless but that wouldn’t matter because I’d finally be at peace with myself and I’d be happy, right?

 Right?