The Mind of John Wakely

The mind of John Wakely liked to be in control but there was the body to contend with, several ungainly limbs, the usual unpleasant functions and an unfortunate affinity for spots, boils and growths in various locations. The body relentlessly demanded assuage of the physical and scorned all attempts to educate itself to healthy habits. The mind liked chess, poetry, vegetarian curry and Melvin Bragg while the body had a weakness for vast quantities of beer, fags, soap operas and women. The body was an embarrassment to the mind of John Wakely which would rather be cultured and refined but was trapped within dread confinement in this corpulent body, a body with ideas of its own.

A typical day might involve a trip to the library to commune with the Greek philosophers or to ride with Alexander through the Hindu Kush. Off guard, the body would seize its chance and the mind of John Wakely would inevitably wake from contemplation to find itself staring blankly across an empty bar. The body would be slumped over a festering pint, surveying the rancid fumes of a fag twisting into the yellowed glasses hung over the counter. The body was then content but the mind of John Wakely would seethe and begin to nurture dark thoughts within its shell of limpid flesh.

The inevitable comment from the barman would descend upon him, ‘Cheer up mate, it might never happen’.

While forcing a smile at the barman his tonsils would vibrate a sonorous laugh in half-hearted reply, a laugh which died upon the lips like burnt charcoal. His body would emanate an inane stare, masking the black visions of his mind, where a thousand rancid beer towels rose against their tyrant and set about the barman’s throat with bobbles gnashing.

His mouth might then wobble in mid quaff and the mind of John Wakely would feel a cloying trail of beer exude from his lips to begin an embarrassing trek across the untamed wilderness of his chins.

A dismissive look from the barman would complete his misery and the mind of John Wakely would boil within its cerebral pot while the body slumped lower against the bar, fully content and set for a session. It was clear that something would have to be done and the mind of John Wakely began to debate the problem while the body was coming to conclusions of its own.

The answer came slowly but surely to the mind of John Wakely and seemed logical. He would staunch the availability of cash which inevitably passed from his wage packet to the dusty confines of a pub till in quick succession. The answer was to resign his job. After all, the pursuance of knowledge, the affability of the arts, these were all freely available within the vaulted sanctuary of the public library and all at no cost. The mind of John Wakely perused the problem and the more logical became the conclusion. He would reduce the money supply which sated the avaricious thirst of his stomach and take control of his physical impulses. His mind was made up and his body would just have to adjust. He would begin to live a minimalist existence and spend his time at leisure in the corridors of knowledge.
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The following morning was bright and soulful. The sun shone with renewed brilliance, bird song cascaded about the branches of trees and drifted through the clear morning air. It was a beautiful day but of this the mind of John Wakely knew nothing, for it was still dark. He had awakened, for he was aware of his thoughts but he could not understand the peacefulness of the void about him. The mind was not perturbed, for this void bestowed a sense of freedom he had never before experienced. His thoughts became free to ponder on the mysteries of existence. One part of himself of which he was no longer aware were the aches and pains of his uncomfortable body. Perhaps he had died, thought the mind of John Wakely. All was simply nothingness and now he knew the peace of contentment. What had happened he did not care for at last his mind, the process of thought that called itself John Wakely, had found its Nirvana.
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Down at the pub the barman was eyeing the body of John Wakely with some concern. It seemed happier than usual, despite the deep scar encircling the cranium. The morose attitude had vanished and he actually found him pleasant to talk to. The barman reached for the darts and challenged him to a quick game before the lunch time rush. Nodding inanely the body of John Wakely accepted the challenge.

Only a slight remembrance of its brain echoed within the body’s vacant skull cavity and swiftly the vision of a set of darts replaced the fading image of a cerebrum, left nestling on a fluffy pillow back at the bed sit.

After all, something had had to be done and the body of John Wakely had ideas of its own.