More about Memory and Visions

"Your lab report won't taste good."

-Mr. Zigby

My grade five teacher, Mr. Brown, once told us that he had a blackboard inside his head. When he closed his eyes, it was there; he could write things out on it, and erase them, watching the letters appear in his deliberate but fluid handwriting. None of us in the class understood what he was talking about, but somehow the comment lodged itself within the dark recesses of my brain and very slowly trickled into my subconscious.

The idea lay somewhat dormant until a short time ago, when my piano teacher explained to me his own particular perception. He sees a keyboard when he shuts his eyes, sees his fingers spreading over the monochromatic levers, sees the familiar groups of three and two. I understood what he meant, but I couldn't share in his vision.

It was only last week that I was speaking to a boy now in the seventh grade and I had the presence of mind to inquire as to whether he, too, had anything imprinted on the inside of his head. He informed me that he sees gears, and I accepted this without comment, pensive.

There is a reason I take so many pictures. I don't have a very good visual memory. I will always recognize a face as one I have seen before, but I cannot easily summon an image of a particular person in my mind. There is only one image I can retain without any effort at all, and this is my own recurring vision, a vision that I cannot control.

Ah, the suspense.

I see printed words. I see letters and sentences parading past me. I see the curve of the m in smile, the particular purplish tone of the ou in colour. I see marsh and mouse and precipice, but I do not see the things the words describe. I cannot listen to a song I know well without simultaneously reading the lyrics. I do not associate characters in books with the physical characteristics they are described as posessing, but rather with the appearance of their names.

At my second or third piano lesson with Earl, he spoke to me of how, in most cases, human visual memory far exceeds auditory. He asked me to hear an E in my head, which I did (an entirely different subject which I have doubtless already mentioned).

For comparison's sake, he then asked me to picture the colour red. I couldn't. I couldn't picture red. All I could see was the word.

I am extremely pleased that the week is over. I apologize for the lack of a decent conclusion, but you have doubtless become accustomed to that on my blog. Endings are my favourite, but they are also very diffcult.

You know, I'm just going to twist everything until it suits me.