Life is a series of non-linear narratives.
INTRODUCTION
This book consists of a collection of both logical and irrational encounters and confrontations between a variety of narrative texts, poems and images that do not necessarily explore identical or even similar themes.
Why this voluntary incoherence? Simply because life is not always coherent. Even the most meticulously planned actions inevitably encounter diverse forms of uncontrolled interference that deviate them from their objectives, frequently in ways that are far from what even the most active imagination might have been able to predict.
In fact, we are often lost. Some admit it, others do not. The latter group is largely composed of those who consciously or unconsciously seek solace in some form of affiliation with philosophical, religious or political dogmas that they feel bring some degree of relief, if not solutions, to their problems. The former group is composed of two groups: those who think it is necessary to seek ways to escape being lost and those who accept this state of affairs as inevitable and who believe that the secret of leading a fulfilling life is to learn to manage this state of mind in a productive manner that promotes exploration and discovery.
I belong to this latter group. I do not actively seek or expect tranquility and/or coherence in my life. I seek to explore, to discover and to understand seemingly insignificant and often incoherent everyday situations that I believe may be capable of nourishing a more comprehensive understanding of broader, more universal questions.
Life may sometimes seem futile, but carefully exploited, such situations may constitute renaissance moments capable of reigniting our creative spark and of provoking the development of innovative perspectives on almost any theme.
R. Scott MacLeay
Florianópolis/SC, Brazil, March 11th, 2022
Let us begin ... somewhere unknown to both you and I
What you said ... what I heard what you intended ... what I understood ...
WHAT YOU SAID
They all laughed at the idea, but no one said I shouldn’t, and everyone thought I would …
I wanted to,
I really did, but I couldn’t.
I tried … well, actually ... I didn’t really, I couldn’t!
I wanted to, but I knew otherwise ... and so did you.
“Thoughts are ‘sometime’ things,” you said, “sometimes clear, sometimes useful, but only when they are yours,” you said. “Otherwise, they are but second-hand solutions to problems that only seem to pass.”
As your problem brushed by mine you murmured, “Life takes practice ... it doesn’t just work.”
That’s what you said ... to me. You were always a bit cruel.
But we both know none of this is truth. None of it is real.
It couldn’t be ... it just tried to be, it yearned to be, for a lingering divisive moment suspended in the smoke-filled backroom of an old motel that seemed so real, like you and me … so much to do, so little to lose with no time for pregame warm-ups.
And so it goes ... on and on and on and on, in the two-bit boardroom of my tired mind.
Sometimes it is overwhelming.
I called out “stop the confusion,” but nothing happened ... not a sound, not even the gentle movement of air carelessly brushed aside by a close encounter.
No one was listening.
I cried out slowly “please … help … me …” and nothing happened ... not a sound, not even the furtive glance of an uneasy passer-by.
Nothing was moving.
I hesitated, inanimate, cold and confused, unable to utter a sound … and in the uneasy ecstasy of solitude
I learned that … no one cared what I said or what I felt …
I was an island.
So I yelled with all my force “free beer!” and well … you know …
Sometimes it is overwhelming.
Which of these two shapes will succeed?
childhood memories
zone of maximum confusion euphoria
relatively safe area
hallucinations
Informed fears
unused rarely used
I am here now X
numbness panic
comfort zone
irrational fears warm souvenirs
irrational fears
unused unused
I used to be here X
daydreams hallucinations
zone of creativity
unused
very safe area
risky, but interesting area
vague souvenirs
relatively safe area unused
childhood memories
euphoria
Graphic representation of a typical contemporary mindset at any point in time
Continue to advance but choose wisely
... think clearly
Every moment counts
... or does it ?
THINK AGAIN…
“Well, well, well,” I mused, “so you think it was difficult, do you? But do you think that you’ve mastered the basics? ... understood the essentials and are now in a position to handle things?”
“What things can you handle?” I asked.
“Just what is it that you are capable of?” I uttered, tossing back a glass of malted paradise and wondering where in the hell such a person could have been born, raised and educated ...
“Well, well, well ... think again,” I whispered softly, “because I had a dream, an important dream ... and you were not in it ... not even a bit part, because you are not real, you are me.”
“What’s the score?” I asked.
“Your soul is out of focus,” you replied, “a wink and a nod you’ll be gone.“ You were right and ... you were wrong, perspective being relative and understanding rarely contagious.
Sublimation is inevitable when a cold north wind is your best friend.
TIMES ARE TOUGH
“I know what you are feeling,” she said, looking down at the floor.
Anger mounting slowly, I replied, “I know … I know!” I repeated, almost believing myself … but even this deceit could not relieve the tension.
“I saw that look,” she remarked sarcastically.
“I know what you are thinking,” she touted, provoking the worst in me and revealing more of her cruelty and mine with every breath.
“Running over the dead is redundant, the idle pastime of refugees of the heart,” I mused … ”Just ignore her.”
“I can’t,“ I replied, and realizing I was speaking aloud to myself, took a quick sip of a foamy companion.
“I dislike almost everything about you,” I muttered with intent ... “You smell of musty darkness.”
She walked away without a single hint of regret.
I was alone again, more wasted days and secluded nights of deep blue moons and sorry stares from strangers, some bearing gifts ... alone again in depths I grew to cherish so dearly that I slowly grew to fear myself ... a sobering thought for a heart intoxicated by unrequited frustration and glory long gone.
“Bartender, one more foamy friend if you will.” The voice came from so deep inside me, I didn’t recognize it ... A blond hooker in the corner booth made eye contact and warm beer in hand, I sighed and turned away, staring into the darkest corner of the room to ensure no further sharing would ensue…
Would have much preferred a whisky or a brunette ... but times are tough.
Scribbling rivalry ... the art of babbling to oneself
A TRUTH AMONG MANY
I am not what I see, just what you feel. You are me for a moment, but I am not yours.
I am not what you think, just how I feel, but ever so briefly, even I am not mine.
This is not what I see, it’s an image you steal. This cannot be me, it is just what appears in a mirror of sorts, to reflect or abort an instant belonging to no one but you.
What I start, you finish.
Where you go, I am not.
This is my world, a truth among many. This is my life, a lie among plenty.
This is our world, not happy, not sad, just empty or full depending on moods that live in a wind of gentle despair, without grace or pardon for the damage they do.
This is the end of another beginning. I can’t help what I do or undo what I’ve done. Be one with me in twilight’s last breath, I am naked confusion disguised as a friend.
UNDISCLOSED
One thing is abundantly clear. I do not want to go, but I do want the experience ... but not now, not in the present, but sometime soon, but only if I can touch darkness as black as coal, feeling nothing.
But no, not now, it is too soon, too soon to pass judgement ... perhaps one day when minds are open and all doors closed. Too soon to tell right from wrong ... too late to know if might has spun a tale, One so cruel that even fools will take the vow to end the game in peace one day.
Concentrate? I’ve forgotten how. Hesitating, I slip into a blind spot so warm, so transparent ... my hostage breath, complacent, losing ground, stranded, but feeling somewhat relieved, the water gently rolling over me in this foreign place so far from home.
You’d say that I was strong, but you’d be wrong ... for wounded compassion grows dark in headstrong hearts too bold to compromise, too late for them to learn the trick. No hope is lost where none was born in a secret place that is mine alone, intact and unshared.
May I resist, forgive, but never pardon myself or another.
www.scottmacleay.com
Sincere thanks to all the incredible people that I have encountered around the world over the past half century. Your thought-provoking interference in my life pushed me to discover and explore universes, concepts and cultural perspectives I had no idea existed.