Sunday, 20 November 2011

Brain - No Concept of a Believable Plot

The human brain, whilst being the most sophisticated computer ever created, isn't half weird at times.

Yesterday I caught about three minutes of the film "Four Lions", which is a comedy drama about four British Muslims to turn to extremism.

On the basis of those three minutes, my brain decided to create a dream for me - a dream in which I befriend four Muslim lads, and end up getting duped into letting one of them swap the photo in my passport so they can go on a terrorism attack - leaving me unable to go on holiday.

What I don't understand is  why my brain chose to take details from that particular film as a basis for my dream, as opposed to any other program I had watched that day? I could have had a dream about playing up front for Arsenal, or about being a stand up comedian, or any of a hundred different topics. What part of the brain controls what goes into our brain? And who's running that part, cos it is messed up!

Also, why is there always weird stuff going on in dreams? There is no way that someone could use my passport just by swapping the photo? All the other information - my name, address etc.  - is the same, so it would never work. At least not in reality. In a dream however, where talking giant underpants, houses that change shape at random, and a table lamp eating a rhino are all perfectly normal, misusing a passport in that way is totally acceptable.

Maybe the weird stuff is there so we can tell it is a dream. If dreams were just like normal everyday life, some people in society would never know when they were awake. If ever someone was able to record a dream and make a movie based on it, it would be the strangest movie ever made.

I think of the brain as two brothers; the brain that controls the physical side of things - breathing, motor skills, circulation etc.  - is a normal, sensible child that is well behaved.

The brain that deals with the subconscious, dreams, fears, and imagination etc.  is running round with his pants round his ankles pretending to be a combine harvester, whilst drooling with a crayon up his nose.

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