Every Single Thing I Know and Remember

Is assumed to reside in some form or other in my brain, physically, just as the following few examples also reside in a server somewhere, physically, by virtue of the fact that I have typed them using this application, even if we may characterize them as residing in the amorphous "cloud:"

• The surprising clarity and purity of the water inside the "tar bubbles" that I used to pierce with my friend Johnny Mackey in the gutter, on Cottage Park Road in Winthrop.
• The call of a mourning dove.
• How long to cook spaghetti.
• What a flying instructor means when he says "more back pressure!"
• The difference between the "hard sign" and the "soft sign" in Cyrillic.
• The tidal range in Ipswich, Massachusetts.
• The theme song of "Bonanza."
• The taste of sea water.
• The prescribed viscosity for the engine oil of a Subaru BRZ.
• The difference between a double paradiddle and a paradiddlediddle.
• How long it takes by train to go from Dublin to Galway City.
• Whether a straight flush beats a full house.
• What part of the eyeball is pierced when an eye doctor pierces the eyeball with a needle to resolve a hemorrhage.
• Which side of a horse is the mounting and dismounting side.

We say with confidence that these factoids reside in my brain, physically, because how could it not be so?  Where else could they be?

But this implies, of course, that within a week or so of my demise, when my brain turns to mush, all of this information will be gone, from me at least if not from the cloud.  Before this happens, it is said that the pineal gland will release a strong dose of the powerful mind-altering substance DMT, to ease my transition to ... what exactly?  Nothing?  What could be the evolutionary purpose of such a psychic blitzkrieg when one takes into account that I most assuredly won't be producing any offspring after it kicks in?

Or is this whole model just incorrect in some fundamental way?  

The world waits for an answer.