名人诗歌|Unnatural Selections: A Meditation upon Witnessing a Bullfro

Amalgam^{2 of electric jelly，}

constellated neural^{3 knots}

in the briny^{4 binary5 soup，}

as surely as stimulus^{6 prods7 response}

brains are made to choose.

And through a major error in pattern recognition

or a significant cognitive^{8 fault，}

the bullfrogs brain has selected

a two-pound rock

as the object of his rampant^{9 affection，}

a rock （to my admittedly mammalian eye）

that neither re百度竞价推广bles

nor even vaguely^{10 suggests}

the female of his species.

He does seem to be enjoying himself

in a blunted sort of way，

but since the rock so obviously remains^{11 unmoved}

one suspects it's not the blending of sweet oblivions

that fuels his persistence^12，

but a serious kink in a feedback loop

or perhaps just kinkiness in general.

The less compassionate^{13 might even call him}

the quintessentially insensitive male.

Assuming a pan-species gender^{14 bond}

and a common fret^15，

I advise my amphibious pal^16，

Hey， I don't think she's playing hard to get.

That's the literal case you're up against， Jack

true story， buddy^{17； stone fact.}

And I'd be fraternally remiss^{18 if I didn't share}

my deep and eminently^{19 reasonable doubt}

that she'll be worn down

however long and spectacular the ardor^20.

Ignoring my counsel

as completely as he has my presence，

the bullfrog continues his fruitless assault

with that brain-locked commitment to folly²¹

which invariably accompanies

dumb， bug-eyed lust^22.

But， in fairness，

whose brain hasn't shorted out in a slosh of hormones²³

or， igniting like a shattered jug^{24 of gas，}

fireballed into a howling maelstrom²⁵

where a rock indeed might seem a port？

One can only conclude

that such impelling^{26 concupiscence}

serves as a species' life-insurance，

sort of a procreative override²⁷

of any decision requiring thought，

thought being notoriously prey^{28 to thinking，}

and the more one thinks about thinking

the thinkier it gets.

Therefore， though the brain is made to choose，

its very existence ultimately depends

on the generative supremacy^{29 of brainless desire}

for with all respect to Monsieur Descartes

you am before you can think you are.

Dirt-drive compulsions riding powerful desires

render any choice moot^{30， along with}

reason， morality， taste， manners，

and all those other jars of glitter

we pour on the sticky and raw.

The hard truth is we never chose to choose：

not the brains we use to pick

between competing explanations for our sexual mess

nor these hearts we've burdened with our blunders

in the name of love.

Do whatever we decide we will，

the choice isn't free；

we live at the mercy of more pressing needs.

Thus， urges urgently surging，

we mount a few rocks by mistake.

A bit more embarrassing than most of our foolishness， true

but so what？

The power of the imperative³¹

coupled with the law of averages

virtually guarantees enough will get it right

to make more brains to be made up

about exactly what steps to take

toward what we think we need to do

on this stony^{32 journey between delusion33 and mirage}

when to move， where to hide our dreams

a journey where we finally learn

freedom is not a choice

a brain is free to choose.

Fortunately， my warty^{34 friend，}

the soul is built to cruise.