A short train of thought for an art project.

I saw Lenin today.

    He has been preserved for public viewing.
    His body is preserved from decay by an elaborate set of chemicals and treated every other week.
    There is a rumor, there are those who insist it is not his body, others who swear his brain was removed, revived and is still controlling the Russian Federation. I imagine if this were the case it might be something similar to “Paul the Octopus” who keenly and under duress accurately predicted the outcome of eight games in the 2010 World Cup.
    I picture Lenin’s brain, immersed in primordial fluid, grasping poled with evolved appendages developed by a booming and unregulated bio-engineering sector. He, or it rather, is asked simple yet important yes or no questions to guide the fate of Russia. These questions transmitted by electrical pulses guided by an intricate mechanism of Korea, Soviet, Singaporean and Estonian design.
    “Lenin, should we increase ties with China?”

A pause. *Glub*

Lenin’s appendage reaches for the “yes” flag a brilliant green while the “no” bears fifty stars and thirteen stripes.

A murmur, the sound of clammy palms moving together overtakes the brain chamber.

    But poor Lenin’s brain has no way of following up on his decisions. The communication is a one way street. This reason for this isolation is because the inventor of this amalgamated apparatus  tragically died in an insane asylum. After the influx of western media into the former U.S.S.R. he developed an obsession     with the Walt Disney classic “Honey, I Shrunk The Kids.” After his first viewing this brilliant scientist believed that he could develop a shrinking ray (his wife confessed it had always been his dream to ride an ant).
    Driven by this bizarre compulsion he, upon numerous repeat viewings, also began to take on the character traits of Rick Moranis. This was about the time he was committed. Believing he had finally cracked the problem (the doctors thought it would be healthier for him to continue to immerse himself in his delusion) and was now “shrunk” he died while trying to escape from a cricket by wedging himself in a drain pipe.
    This is why Lenin’s brain just floats aimlessly, awaiting the next affairs of the state. In times of political ease the underutilized engineers in the confidential locale occasionally ask for relationship advice (Lenin being quite the ladies man in his day).
    “Lenin, should I bring chocolates to Sasha on our first date?”
    *Glub*
    A full five minutes passes before the brain moves. It ponders longer than the bulk of the decisions it made before the last G8 summit. Lenin’s brain moves carefully to the “no” flag and grasps it firmly, eventually the engineer was married.
    I saw Lenin today.
    He looks like Christian Bale.