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- The Paradox of Now #4
The Paradox of Now #4
Butter the toast, eat the toast, sh*t the toast.
Scott Mayo
February 21, 2025 • Estimated Reading Time: 8 minutes
Chicken Tin-Can Bruise!
Howdy reader(s)! Presumptuous of me to think people actually open and read this thing.
Check out one of my favourite pieces of correspondence from last week.
Childhood game of the Week:
Chicken Tin-Can Bruise! Basically just kicking around a tin can but it’s really good fun
This game recommendation came from the other side of the world - New Zealand!
This is exactly why I write this newsletter - to stay connected with amazing people.
No matter where we are, we're more alike than we realise.
Now let’s have a goosy gander at what’s to come:
A ‘Batty’ better than mine
Shadows that don’t disappear
How do they make pink custard pink?
A fact about Pringles
🥚Eggstra News🥚
Your weekly dose of some fascinating and fun finds:
Sid Batty - a guy who goes around the world with his duck teddy. I feel like the TEMU version of this guy. Don’t worry Haiku – we’ve got this!
1984 - The George Orwell classic. I only read this for the first time a few months ago. A classic for a reason. It really put into perspective the freedom we have in our lives.
Case UK - Provide free and funded mental and physical health support services to individuals and businesses, including workplace well-being programs, employability support, and accredited training.
The Paradox of Now
My preferred love language: Gift Giving
And what better gift to give than one that is as thoughtful as a handmade gift from SassyGifts. A perfect gift to show someone you care and can brighten their day!
Special offer for The Paradox of Now subscribers:
Use the code ‘TPON10’ at checkout to receive 10% off!
Visit the Etsy store now: SassyGifts
I currently have more people that read my newsletter than follow me on socials, so shall we try level the playing field? I get lonely over there ☹️
Message me on socials if you’d like to feature in this section. 🙂
Story Time! 📖
This is the part of the newsletter where I take you off to an imaginary world. Go let yourself be free and find the poignancy.
The Same, But Different
The same alarm.
The same tablets.
The same shower gel.
The same deodorant.
The same commute.
The same gear changes.
The same parking space.
The same litter.
The same woman you half-smile at who works in the estate agents with the cute dogs.
On the same pavement slab, at the same moment, every single week.
The same man smoking outside of his convenience store, exhaling his morning ritual.
07:48. Like clockwork.
But wait…
Something shifts in this familiar scene.
A vape now rests between those pursed lips, not the usual cigarette.
It’s compelling, isn’t it…?
Change.
It awakens your senses.
The world around you suddenly speaks in new frequencies.
You no longer hear the Tuesday chorus of bin men.
Not the theatrical warfare of seagulls over split bin bags that spill their secrets like crime scenes.
But this time - the pub.
Its sign conducting a solo in the wind.
The same pub you’ve passed hundreds of times before.
You stop and look gaily upwards at the sign. Unashamed.
Let them stare at the person frozen on the pavement, neck craned skyward.
This moment of peculiarity is merely a drop in your ocean of eccentricity.
The creaking sign speaks to you in cartoon voices.
It transforms into the swinging doors of a dusty saloon before your very eyes.
A Wagon Wheel wrapper tumbles past like destiny's own tumbleweed.
Even the litter knows its cue, its moment in this impromptu street theatre.
And what a nostalgic throwback.
Your mind tries to wander to pink custard and chocolate cake, to playground whispers of cockroach blood in school desserts...
NO! Stay present. Stay here.
The saloon doors beckon.
You step through into manufactured darkness, your eyes struggling to adjust like a camera finding focus.
The regulars are there, of course. Their presence worn into the bar like grooves in an old record.
If shadows could outlive their casters, these would be permanent fixtures.
That’s how regular they seem to you.
Your eyes meet one of theirs unintentionally across the room.
Every micro-movement becomes a sentence in this wordless conversation.
His hand moves for the holster - a gesture of such perlocutionary effect.
You claim your space at the bar's far end and order a whiskey.
The bartender abandons his endless polishing, pours with the confidence of muscle memory.
Your inner voice tries for humour: 'Done this once or twice, hasn't he?'
The glass slides across polished wood, and your hand moves on instinct.
A movie moment made real.
You swirl the amber liquid, taking a contemplative sip.
Because that's what people do, isn't it?
It burns warm against your tongue.
Maybe you should have asked for it ‘on the rocks?’
But would a cowboy ask for that?
Reality shifts back into focus and you remember where you are…
Cardiff. Cathays. 2025.
End scene.
There is beauty and a potential story woven into every thread of life. We are the architects of our own reality, crafting the world around us through the lens we choose.
I know this truth intimately, because I discover these stories in the industrial estates of Newport and litter-strewn streets of Cardiff.
Always remember that you can decide the lens in which you look through to the world.
You have the choice. So make the correct one.
I'm not suggesting we live in constant fabricated fantasy - this story is merely an amplified version of what I'm trying to convey.
Instead, I ask that you choose beauty and love and play and creativity because there’s already plenty of people who will only ever look through the distorted lens of negativity.
Begin by painting your immediate world with strokes of positivity. Watch how it radiates outward, how it catches and spreads.
People around you will begin to mirror this perspective, often without conscious awareness - yours or theirs.
It has the power to spread like wildfire. And I'd rather be engulfed in flames of joy than inhale the ashes of cynicism.
Choose to be the catalyst in your small corner of the world cowboys and cowgirls.
Or should I say duckboys and duckgirls?
No. No I should not. Because that sounds sh*t!
The Saloon Door Swingers
Haiku’s Haiku 🐥
Our resident duck poet is back for some more wonderfully whimsical word wizardry.
Haiku 4
Saloon doors swinging,
And modern day tumbleweeds,
Choose your lens wisely.
Palm Tree Euphoria 🌴
A couple of weeks ago I met someone with the surname Pringle – incredible.
A lovely lady who I had never met before, and one of the first things she said was how interesting my nose was – a brave opening line. My sort of person.
This was the type of person I could vibe with, so we got chatting.
I then went on to share my favourite Pringle-related fact:
"A Pringle's shape is called a hyperbolic paraboloid"
Hyperbolic Paraboloid/Pringle
Please now shower me in the factual crumbs of all thing crisps and confectionary.
Send your own facts to me via email or socials and they may appear next week!
And if this flavour of brain chaos makes your brain happy, come and find more insights, weirdness, and everything else in between on my socials.
See you dashing ducks over there! 🐥
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