Brain Surgery

Did you leave anything intact? I asked the neurosurgeon.

“I took out as much as I could without harming your mind,” I heard the reply.

I keep my mind in my chest, I stated.

“In your heart?” I heard the reply.

Not in my blood pump. It needs air, not water.

“I may have impacted your brain.”

I think that you did and in several ways. I see the sky all around me and I can smell the rain of my youth. The Sun looks like the Moon. I wonder if the Moon looks like the Sun.

“Do you feel any pain?”

I always did since I was a kid. Pain and suffering were my parents, but luckily I discovered the meaning of life. It was mostly bad, the luck, but the meaning was hairy and then smooth. Times have changed it. Nothing seems to remain the same.

“Can you pinpoint the pain that you feel right now?”

I feel it in my chest.

“In your mind?”

Just in my chest. I feel damaged.

“Please explain!”

You removed parts of my brain, including the memories that they contained.

“Most of your memories may have been spared. I did my best.”

I do not remember who I am, but I feel the weight of the world. I must be Greek or a wandering Jew.

“You are not Greek or a Jew, as far as I know.”

I know that I am not German, but I love Nietzsche.

“You are not German.”

I must be human, then. Human, all too human. Yet, a big part of me wants to be a tree, in a small forest, near a woman. I wonder who she is.

“She must be a figment of your imagination.”

But I feel her in my chest.

“She may be real in that case.”

Perhaps I knew such a woman once upon a time.

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Pink Floyd - Brain Damage