Paint it Black
This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.
Darkness alone in the mind’s eye, inner-blind.
To see what I see close your eyes. Imagine a mirror nailed up behind a small table, against the wall — a vanity, but whose? A gilt frame obscured all around by snapshots, held up with yellowing cellophane, or pushpins once bright, their edges crowding, a trespass, the dust littered surface, reflects. You go ahead — with your mind’s eye imagine these old photographs, see teeth bared, glasses near empty raised in a crystalline halo. Perhaps scents of candles, and pine. On second thought don’t bother. Take the tall can on the table in front of you the lid can be tricky, squeeze hard shake it well for a minute yes, a full minute before you press down the nozzle Start off in the middle Get the feel Hold the can back Then paint the whole thing black dead matte black
Note: you’ll get some on your finger
Thank you for reading. Depress this button to read another poem.
My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.
Please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.
—Alex
Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.