Most artists are the boss of their work. They use their brain to direct the traffic of their talent and training to create an image in their medium(s) of their choice.

Me? I just work here.

I am a mere puppet to my alternatively wired brain. When I do what it wants, I get a dopamine rush with the accompanying giggles, happy color dance (it looks a lot like the happy food dance which… I was last year years old when I learned not everyone does this), or victory squeal. When I disobey, though? Slimy hands and panic. Could I push through? Yes. Do I want to? Not for ugly art I don’t.

I am well aware that I’m talking about my brain like it’s a separate entity here, some sort of parasite that’s taken over my body and is piloting it like that tiny alien dude in

Men in Black. I am also well aware that is not the case. So what is going

in there? No one else in my immediate family does. Despite synesthesia,

chronic migraines, long Covid, and post-concussive syndrome, my brain

looks completely normalon scans of various types. Of course, those scans

don’t show connections at the neuronal level (if I had a white matter scan,

there would probably be some dark spots and rewiring but I don’t know that for sure). Depression and anxiety suggest that I’m low on some neurotransmitters but I’ve been on medication that corrects reuptake for years.

So, how did my senses end up connected to one another, my limbic system, my color aesthetic, and my love of music? How did they form a whole ass system from scratch that works with any kind of music (the catalog at the Shop has everything from classical to punk to K-Pop)? I don’t know, why do I hate dark chocolate? Despite everything we’ve learned about the human brain, we’re still neophytes in neuroscience and neurology so the answer for now is a resounding, “Fuck if I know.” But at least this mystery is fun and comes with glitter.