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Grotto

Remembering synesthesia

And here I am again in a perhaps-doomed journal. It's like a habit I had as a child of scratching messages into fallen leaves - you know you won't be able to hold onto them, but the words had to get out, somehow...

Tonight I watched a film with a character with an eidetic memory and another with congenital analgesia and flickered back in my head to my own sensory peculiarity, touching colors as a child.

I don't remember it as a universality - and I do remember it being most prominent involving my uniformly yellow blanket. But certain textures (satin with a high drag) were deep rose red, others (grainier lighter-drag slippage) watery pink. I lost it, somewhere around preschool. I remember the feeling of being half-out on hydrocodone and sleep deprivation after dental surgery years ago and experiencing it again, and being sad when upon resumption of normal chemical status it went away.

It's very similar to a series of intrusive but remarkable thoughts I possessed and exploited in my teen years as the source of my artwork - I'd have a visual climb into my head full-formed, and try to hash it out as quickly as possible.

1:44 AM - Intermission - suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion and I might as well ride it to the sea.

8:32 AM- It's always strange how differently the chemistry of the brain renders the mind between night and morning. In daylight - even today's bleak foggy daylight - thoughts are discrete and edges are sharp between ideas. At night everything flows together, which tends to be conducive to creativity for the same reason as I had started writing this piece - the ambiguous distinctions between "this" and "that" are a lot of where my creativity used to come from. I miss synesthesia the same way I miss suddenly putting reality on hold, seeing a completely different place with all the clairsentience of a dream, the established knowledge of context and meaning as tangible as the visual and auditory and olfactory - and how when I came to myself seconds later in possession of a fragment of something that felt so incongruous in my own mundane life. Losing distinction brings the capacity for that sort of conception, but dreaming is immersive, and one often has to choose. For so long I had to shut it out I never thought I'd have it back, and now I realize the object of shutting it out for a time was so I would not have to again.

May it be a quick five years.

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