The Blind

I saw the shadow—

Sweep it away! I said, hushed

now it's gone; hush, now

How many times have we heard it said, "I'll believe it when I see it?" There is something quite action-orientated about visual perception. Or, seeing is doing. Doing is being. Are we what we believe, or is this a myth?
Maybe we are mere byproducts of our experienced environment? The answer lies somewhere in your choices.

If you're blind, does your periphery expand to the horizon?
You can't see your skin... so do you just go on and on forever with personal space as broad and void of any firmament as the clouds?

BLIND ROOMATES: A MASKED MAN COMIC

I met her having a round and she said she was a chef downtown.
I am Spartacus, I said, and her friends all but left us.
I could cook for you if I knew what you like, she said.
To achieve intellectual honesty, I said
She frowned.

I followed her home and the angels were on our heels.

Her roommates.
Time mixing with alcohol, dimensions skewed on a summer evening.
I'm moving out in a fortnight, she said, these three are becoming the death of me.

We all listened to the living room radio. Crude dramas from the 30s. Horrifyingly urgent.

They jumped at the gunshots, gasped when the cop turned out to be the killer.

Her eyes were closed. Time for bed.

See an empty curve and fill it. Lights out. Hands rushing where eyes cannot.
Breasts like hanging fruit, legs long full of contour and texture.

What she turned out best was a recipe of regret
And once she had gotten her fill I dressed and left before my own meal was finished.

I never saw her again, although I heard her a few weeks later.

Seems I'd bit off more than I could chew, and in my haste, left behind a hoodie with my number on the tag. She called in the middle of a lonely night.

Hello? Why haven't you called me back?

I'm not here you can't see me, I said, and hung up.

I'm never going to see that hoodie again.

She was moving out within a fortnight. God knows to where.