Nothing existed before his blindness. The past too was sightless. For uncounted time he lay enclosed in darkness alone with disjointed thoughts in his dark world. A voice said wake and he stood, a boy in a lighted room next to his father in bed who slow exhaled a tubercular life. A voice said sleep and again his eyes filled with unyielding black. He breathed quiet and slow another long time in the dark. A voice said wake and the final fire in the world entered. Illuminated his cell. He sat alone, naked, adult. Skin translucent and spotted. Clothes lay nearby, he dressed. A stairwell, descent. A sign read Hospital St. Thomas. He pushed open the door to a city street filled with nimble light and life.
This may sound narcissistic...ok ...it is. I attempt to find myself among your words. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse and a muffled "hmmmm" escapes my throat. You can barely hear "mmm" the silent 'h' got left behind. Then I look for you, Victor. Are you all the characters or just one of them. If your story was a dream shared in a dream analysis, group, I'd say, they are all you. But what do I know. I may be blind, too. ps.. thank you for surprising me (re-posting)
What I love about your writing, Victor, is that there is so much metaphor, so much allusion - quite a lot for the reader to hang her/his/their own personal interpretive hats on. Does my interpretation match yours? Perhaps not. No matter - you have given us agency in your invented worlds.
"There must be reason here, said Arthur and a young man tugged his sleeve and said I heard what you said. You have branded our city senseless. What has happened here? asked Arthur. Freedom, said the young man. From what? Reality. Why? Each his own. Why? asked Arthur but the young man placed his hands over his eyes and ran away."
☝️I am hanging my interpretive hats (one San Diego Padres baseball cap, and one tattered Stetson) on that.
This may sound narcissistic...ok ...it is. I attempt to find myself among your words. My peripheral vision catches a glimpse and a muffled "hmmmm" escapes my throat. You can barely hear "mmm" the silent 'h' got left behind. Then I look for you, Victor. Are you all the characters or just one of them. If your story was a dream shared in a dream analysis, group, I'd say, they are all you. But what do I know. I may be blind, too. ps.. thank you for surprising me (re-posting)
What I love about your writing, Victor, is that there is so much metaphor, so much allusion - quite a lot for the reader to hang her/his/their own personal interpretive hats on. Does my interpretation match yours? Perhaps not. No matter - you have given us agency in your invented worlds.
"There must be reason here, said Arthur and a young man tugged his sleeve and said I heard what you said. You have branded our city senseless. What has happened here? asked Arthur. Freedom, said the young man. From what? Reality. Why? Each his own. Why? asked Arthur but the young man placed his hands over his eyes and ran away."
☝️I am hanging my interpretive hats (one San Diego Padres baseball cap, and one tattered Stetson) on that.
I wrote a response. It was published twice and when I intended to delete ONE of them...both went away. Recess is over for me. I will circle back.
Gracias por esta maravillosa metáfora...ahora ya los martes son mi momento para la introspección.