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{methinks i am too savage} bruce mcrae Reading Macbeth is the same as not reading Macbeth. It’s as if I have two apples and you’ve given me five, or I’ve been locked overnight in a department store. Reading Macbeth reminds me of a train station in the drizzle. It’s the equivalent of a lifelong nervous disorder. It reminds me of a job I had in ’79 and disliked intensely or when our dog ran away and was consequently hit by a car. I’m reminded of a regrettable past and the ones I’ve loved. I’m quite tempted to pencil in a plan for tackling the future. Reading Macbeth has over-stimulated my imagination – great thoughts but in tiny and unremarkable circumstances. You’re forced to ask yourself some awfully big questions. There are long walks by the seaside and letters to be written. You realize your own tragic history is nothing exceptional and come to appreciate our planet’s natural beauty. Once, you laughed so hard you wet yourself, then began to cry. Once your father raised his hand to you, Cain to Abel. It’s suddenly becoming apparent you’ve misused your time. That lives are for wasting. |
