Onward. Mush.

What you have here is mush. Sit in front of a screen for too long and apparently your brain will turn into it. For decades upon decades, the imaginary has been colliding with items heard and remembered alongside those enjoyably misremembered. The media has successfully crafted concepts and rhythms which have incepted their way into my head. The proof is in the pudding or should I say mush.

Take out my brain from which all these files are stored and place it in a slow cooker for ten hours. Set it and forget it. Come back later in the day and uncover the appliance. Stir about the gooey creation nice and well. No one likes lumps in their grits or their brains. Take a spatula full and swing it at a wall. Do so as if you were in a frantic attempt to ward of a pesky little flyer. The globs that fall off, discard. The stuff that sticks is to be held in high regard. This I now present to you, clingy, questionably nourishing, intriguing mush.