Musings of the Tired Brain at the theatre

PREFACE (that you can skip)

There are plotters and there are pantsers. The ones who write more deliberately and the ones who write more instinctively. The ones who, “think before” and the ones who, so to speak, “think after” the act of writing. Those who write without excessive intention and planning tend to get a bad rap. However, understandable in some cases, this opinion that the so-called “discovery writing” is worse than “meticulously planned writing” seems to be founded on a lie that pantsers don’t think hard enough about the story’s greater implications. Pantsers rely much more on the brain’s miraculous coincidentalness in generating ideas and mechanisms governing its unconscious processes, true. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t care about what they can have an impact on through a conscious effort.

If you ever come to think about it, the brain is often disobedient and that’s where pantsers trust their gut (a.k.a. brain). What is meant by such a strange sentence, though? I suppose, some writers would confirm it to be true that the brain tries to hijack the story and on a frequent occasion succeeds in doing so. Not to feel particularly sorry for the pantser-author or otherwise, but the author who chooses to submit to the brain’s path towards the end-goal seems to be the only one enjoying positive results of this interference of his subconscious such as lucky coincidences OR suffering negative consequences such as unlucky coincidences, solutions implemented on the brain’s whim that age badly (with passing it over to the reader). 

***

“My mind starts to wander off. I’m more of a figment of imagination than anything else.”

“You are disjointed from the body? Is that what you’re trying to communicate?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I’m thinking.”

***

Real people and real stories of real people populated my very own self. Seemingly. It’s an infection. Or, better yet: infectious disease. Be careful while we talk, you might catch something. There’s a danger ahead, something in the air - and you don’t want to know what this is. Distant sound of coughing. Husky voice. So fucking lazy. I’m on the verge of giving up. This will be a wild ride indeed.

Okay, can you see this woman in the front row? This woman is holding in her hands this little thingy, your life depends upon it. Do you see it? Right, I thought so - you are not equipped too well for that sort of “seeing.” You have to think metaphorically. Seeing above and beyond what’s seen by eyes. What can we do to improve your seeing? I think that there’s no escaping a major surgery. Talking. Yeah, in truth, one cannot help himself but see you as an extension of me. Babbling. 

Just to remind you, we are in the theatre. The play is suspended, then resumed, nonetheless, it feels like nobody gets agitated, nobody shows any interest, weirdly enough, for the play should have everybody’s attention. This lady sitting a couple of seats from you is one heck of a mysterious person. Whacky. She’s wearing this long-sleeved top, which in and of itself would be nothing too extraordinary or extravagant wasn’t it half-soaked in what looked like blood. Let’s call her “Bloody Mary” after the Queen of England from the times right before Shakespeare. But is she to be held responsible for burning people at the stake? Is she to die in her early forties as well? She’s probably around thirty at the present, and the future is unveiling as slowly as it could.

Now, come a little closer. Now you can see that she’s carrying a book on her lap, can’t you? Is it a book, though? No. You’ve been taught that one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. It seems it’s more of a notebook. Why would she take notes in the theatre still? Is she making an account of what’s going on? Some sort of journal entry? Oh, maybe she’s not taking notes. She’s making a list. A list of what specifically? It’s divided into two columns. If we were to zoom in and have a convenient view, we would be able to guess from just a couple of words. The first column is containing tools, and the second is filled with names. Is it some sort of performancy joke, or is she serious? Judging by the dirty stains covering her from the waist up, perhaps not… Perhaps she has some secret agenda unbeknown to anyone but herself. Yet, agenda appearing to be so obvious that we have an insider’s look on it. Why are mass murderers guilty of being so easy to read once you know what they’re up to?

Now that you came a little closer, you can look her in the eye, don’t do it too intrusively though. You don’t want to land on the list after all, cause you are a rational human. Act your part there - the one of a ghost trapped in third-person perspective, the one of someone whose body is there but whose mind is weakly connected to its physical habitat. Good. You ask: what is it all about - and rightly so. This all is a punishment for your not paying attention. Dream-like sequence of snippets of reality that makes you unsure. Are you real? Am I - the voice in your head - real? Frankly speaking? Do you wish to know the answers? You might choose to know, but there is no returning, you know… Red-pilled forever, you cannot revert to the status quo. “Red-pilled” means you finally get to separate truth from fiction. Will you be brave enough to decide? Oh, “which way to go?” It depends on many factors, but remember that your brain is not always your ally. Your brain has its own drive and its own thinking. Not that much left in store for you, huh?

You most likely wonder what the parts in italics signify… They denote your brain’s turning against what it thinks is a useless mental process. Sometimes it appears to be at the helm of itself. Most of the time, however, it sits leisurely at the back and lets you think you have a total control over whatever happens. NOT TRUE. Don’t let it allure you into oblivion. 

Bloody Mary stands up, eventually. It leaves you with a puzzled expression. You thought this deadlock would never cease to be. That it is permanent. That your glancing over at her or in her direction would never stop. And her hunching over sheets of paper would never stop. And ostensible inactivity of everything except for her, and you would never stop. Everything came to a halt, though. That’s what we ought to call coming out with a bang - she faces the crowd now, the crowd is not delighted to say the least as she stands in the way of its seeing the stage, but she makes another move, she rips her top off and everyone then can see… 

The countdown is activated, and the bomb attached to her body is one minute away from exploding, Bloody Mary is called Bloody for a reason. Unfortunately, there’s no “and then you woke up” bit. Might be that we’ll never know what happens next in this set-up. Let the magic linger and don’t ask stupid questions, please. 

Oh, well, nothing as pleasant as the sound of terror. BUT DON’T READ IT AS AN ASIDE. I’M THE CENTRE, I’M THE STAGE, AND I’M NOT A MERE ACTOR.