So, my brain. My brain does so many things to me that I’d like to write about, but my brain won’t let me come out and say what those things are. My brain makes figures and figments and formerly fictions. My brain hems its hawings with hee-haw and huckleberries til I knuckle under sputtering unsense. It’ll be a day the day my brain tattles its tales, I tell you. I tell you I can’t. I tell you I can’t tell you what a tale. I tell you I’ll never tell. I can’t. I tell you I can’t tell.