Writers, artists and thinkers from various points in history have likened the human mind to a variety of natural and supernatural things and phenomena, all with the effort of finding some sort of insight into the way this strange organ in our heads factors into our lives and affects what we do on a daily basis.
The brain is often under the influence of mind-altering drugs. These drugs flow naturally through our veins and are produced from within our own body. To put it in tech terms; we are a computer that hacks itself (consciously or unconsciously) and gives itself a virus.
Under the brain’s narcotic concoction, we are mercilessly placed under the influence of our own emotions, creating a type of “time stamp” stored in the mind every time we experience something that takes us to the cusp of nirvana or hell and everything in between. In other words, when we remember a given memory, we tend to primarily remember the emotions rather than the facts and context, which are still stored in the brain, but are less pronounced. Like junkies, we willingly choose the euphoric high that comes from raw emotion rather than the lessons we learn from a given experience.
Recently, one such self-induced virus took me on a mind-altering trip into the past. I bumped into a girl that I “had a thing for” over a decade ago. The strange encounter took me by surprise not because I thought she had fallen off the face of the Earth, but because I just figured that she had been sucked into the abyss that is LA; where you seldom bump into the same person twice.
She looked as beautiful as she did the last time I saw her. She was mix a of Amélie and Zooey Deschanel; weird, quirky, heady, cute, and beautiful all rolled into one. In other words, the kind of girl you want to stomp all over your early-twenty-something-year-old heart. She had a man, the same one that nailed the coffin shut on this gimp so long ago. Last time I saw him, he was your typical vegetarian-by-choice-college-student-fuck-the-establishment-French-learning-Mars-Volta-looking motherfucker, only now he had let himself go and the long Cedric Bixler-Zavala locks were gone.
My ego was fluffed by the fact that she had obviously ignored me and pretended not to see me. This whole time I was wondering why I cared so much. Since I last saw her I had dated a handful of girls and had long-term meaningful relationships with some of them. This hallucinatory vision really affected me and kept me thinking about her for about a week or so. I was delusional to think about “what could have been?”. This girl didn’t and never wanted me, but yet, like the masochistic addict that I was, I kept begging for more. This virulent thought kept flogging at me like a sadist, but it was all in my head. I felt like I was crushing over her all over again. Those love “time stamps” were stampeding all over my good sense and I was allowing them instead of running the hell out of their way.
I may have been over my addiction to her, but my brain clearly wasn’t. The song “Lovestain” by Jose Gonzalez perfectly describes what I felt and apparently still feel. Lily left a feeling in my heart, a feeling of love, passion, of rejection and jilt. She actually kept a couple of CDs I had lent to her. I can easily replace the CDs similar to the lyric in the song “the bloodstain on the ground comes off easily”, but her callous unrequited love, never will be and I think I’m okay with that. I guess you can file this under my “douleur exquise” file.