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Written on the day the bombs began to drop on Iraq from midday Aus time
My eye draws perspective lines, radiating out to touch the focus of what I can see, as I look around, they are as fixed rigid poles that follow my gaze without a seconds confusion.
I see with extramission, my eye reaches out to touch an image and it is sucked inwards to me, burning its image firmly on my retina, a process I see from each step at a time consciously seeing or feeling its progress towards interpretation in the mind.
I have finally learnt how to see with the Renaissance eye and also the Medieval eye.
I watch a chair with my perspective lines around it and then as I watch it, I flip the image over in a somersault in fast movement, I can repeat this as much as I like with the same realistic vision.
I have the control to manipulate what I see, to alter through my eyes and not my mind what that object does.
The sky is grey and smokey, it may just be the smog but it seems an echo of Baghdad, the sky knows, understands what is happening, and reflects this knowledge back to us. My eye, my seeing cannot quite compete with the skys determination to show the smokey haze that is far away yet something which we have let our nation become so embroiled in. Perhaps I see a flickering of flames burning on the horizon but the sky's vision is stronger in this, perhaps it is because this is something beyond control.
I take out a mirror in the night poorly lit by a nearby light, but I catch enough of it to see as I try looking for an eyelash that has got stuck in my eye and is irritating me. I'm having trouble finding it when I look and search and suddenly see scuttling across the white of my eye and into my pupil a speck of an insect. I squirm in horror before looking down at the mirror flecked with greasy spots, perhaps it was just an illusion, but I swear it was real...
Perhaps it was just an illusion, but surely it was real.
