I'm bein' metaphorical, hun. Philosophical. I gotta face, but it don't work too good -
So I built me a better one. And it's so good, sometimes the talkin' part o' my brain won't work without it.
That make any sense?

[He sure hopes it makes sense, because honestly, he's not sure how else to explain it?
There's all sorts of terms for what he goes through, but it's not like he remembers them. Whatever his brain is doing is a mystery to him even on a good day, he doesn't need big fancy textbook terminology to make it even harder to follow??]

That said... you ain't gotta worry 'bout puttin' things together. The chips they need, those're delicate stuff.
I gott go in with my magic to do it, me. Hands're too big otherwise.
I just wanna show'em to ya.

But it ain't like I got nothin' for you to do in there. You like music?
I'll letcha fuck 'round with my keyboard 'n shit. Got guitars, too.