(no subject)
Does seeing everything through a protective glass affect the way in which you see, the way you think, the way you feel? How could it not? It's a constant presence on the tip of your nose, just behind visibility, casting a shade on every thing and every person. It inspires an objectiveness and aloofness less common in clearer visioned people. It becomes natural to assume that there's something unseen making everything seem beautiful, some external force twisting light and reality into a more recognisable pattern. Wearing picture frames inspires the habit of seeing everything as a series of photographs to be observed, analyzed, and enjoyed, but never touched or joined.
When I take my black rim glasses off, besides the world looking blurrier and un-uv-tinted, it looks more real to me. Harsher and more beautiful. Color is brighter, rooms are more whole, ideas are more whole, ideas are more real, people are brighter. And there's the wind hitting hitting my eyes and lashes. I'm more a part of the world and less of an observer than I ever am with those damn glasses.
I've always liked the idea of a physical manifestation of an emotional characteristic.
Flirty superficial girls who look like birds with wispy hair, flat faces, and beaky noises.
Stern woodcutters whose strong jaws reflect their set mind.
Old women whose unsteadiness of character is perfectly seen in their layers of constantly shifting robes and teetering pince nez.
I wish I was a character in a book.
When I take my black rim glasses off, besides the world looking blurrier and un-uv-tinted, it looks more real to me. Harsher and more beautiful. Color is brighter, rooms are more whole, ideas are more whole, ideas are more real, people are brighter. And there's the wind hitting hitting my eyes and lashes. I'm more a part of the world and less of an observer than I ever am with those damn glasses.
I've always liked the idea of a physical manifestation of an emotional characteristic.
Flirty superficial girls who look like birds with wispy hair, flat faces, and beaky noises.
Stern woodcutters whose strong jaws reflect their set mind.
Old women whose unsteadiness of character is perfectly seen in their layers of constantly shifting robes and teetering pince nez.
I wish I was a character in a book.