Mycelium

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The mushroom,

As it is known,

Is the tip of the fungal iceberg,

So to speak.

Beneath the fruiting body,

In the crux,

Is an interconnected,

Root and chute structure,

That undergirds,

The organism.

An unseen web,

Of white matter,

That provides a foundation.

A loose, scattered scaffold,

That aids the fungus in digestion.

In a superficially cerebral way,

Think of it like this:

The white matter,

In your brain,

Is a network,

Of axons,

That allows you to understand,

Various axioms,

And maxims,

And act on them.

You may not be aware of it,

Or scarcely know of such a thing,

But it’s presence is felt,

Nonetheless.

The Frey Effect

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Hearing: The Sensation,

Occurs with vibration,

When the eardrum reverberates.

Microwave radiation,

In minute doses,

Bypasses bones,

No barriers broken.

Your brain buzzes,

Like the Chatty Cathy,

It actually is.

Don’t get brainfreeze,

Or your brain fried,

Or mind-tinnitus.

Loud clicks,

Zips,

And simple words,

Beamed into,

Your thoughts,

From the excited electrons,

Sparking in your audio cortex.

DECLASSIFIED: Human Behavior

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View the original poem here. 

Imagine you’re driving in an old Impala with four of your closest friends on a road trip across the United States.

“Let’s go to the Grand Canyon,” says your best friend, in the passenger seat.

You’ve hardly nodded your head in agreement when you hear called out from behind you “What about Mt. Rushmore?”

“I want to see the space needle!”

“It’s too cold there, let’s go to the Everglades!”

You tense up, frustrated by the dissonance. It’s going to be a very long car ride, especially if this continues.

But why do we find choices stressful, even when they lead to fun things?

My worst nightmare isn’t a monster chasing me, or falling to my death or being caught in my underwear in public.

I’m staring at blackness, my muscles feel muddled, I hear muffled voices.

I can’t move, like I’m stuck in lukewarm mollasses.

It’s a dream I can’t wake up from.

Human Behavior

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With each additional option,

We see liberation,

But practice caution.

Each consequence with direct causation,

On the results of the action-auction.

Personal persuasion,

Is a zero-sum game,

A perfectly balanced equation.

There is no evasion,

Protesting makes you more tame,

Each strike leaves an abrasion.

Like sipping fine wine from a Klein stein,

That leads you astray, away, aside,

Where you reside on the incline,

And slide back inside.