LJ Idol Exhibit A - Topic 05 - I Saw So Much I Broke My Mind
o/` "I woke up this mornin' with the sundown shinin' in
I found my mind in a brown paper bag, but then...
I tripped on a cloud and fell eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in" o/`
-- "Just Dropped In (to See What Condition My Condition Was In) performed by Kenny Rogers
I adored a fresh box of crayons; they felt like the first day of the school year and smelled like chalk dust. My favorites were the ones with names I could taste: granny smith apple (but when I held it in my chubby little hands it tasted more like a tall blade of summer grass, the kind you snipped off to make into a whistle); salmon (which smelled like Pepto-Bismol but tasted pleasantly of bubble gum); sky blue (with its pleasantly wet feeling, like a round river pebble you sucked on to keep your mouth from drying out in the summer time). I would pick up the brown one, its point still pristine, and lick the tip. It felt like the roundness of the coffee drops my grandmother always carried in her purse and tasted like a malted milk ball.
*munch munch*
The flavor breaks apart in to shapes and textures, first to my favorite corduroy pillow and then to the stretched and scratchy velvet of stretched cowhide on our dining room bar stools.
It disappears suddenly, the sudden separation of senses hurting as badly as having a nail ripped off, when Teacher jerks the crayons out of my reach. She's screaming and I stare, bewildered, at the broken and chewed brown wax. It still smells faintly like coffee but now it feels like an expensive silk which has been shredded and ruined by the house cats. My crayons get locked up in Teacher's desk, to be used under her supervision only when she gives them to me, and yet another note goes home. I don't get to keep my crayons at home, either. My Ma is tired of replacing the whole box after I've eaten the ones I like best.
When I'm older and an adult, I don't eat the crayons any more but much of the world is still the same bizarre blend of scents, textures, colors, and sounds. An individual item rarely has less than two additional sensory experiences attached to it besides the one with which it is traditionally associated; some of the more complex items, such as music or paintings, have no less than four. Busy or complex items, such as city streets or crowded malls or parades, engage all five senses to the fullest...just not in the order or association in which you'd expect them.
I would find myself browsing the refrigerator for a snack but mentally discarding various foodstuffs in favor of others: no roast because I'm not in the mood for arches or shadows; no orange juice because I don't want sandpaper; sandwiches get nixed because I don't feel like eating rectangles or points and I find the smell of the jungle repulsive. I finally settle on the last piece of mint chocolate, which tastes like a cool breeze and feels like the warm pink and black granite you often find on courthouse columns or other official public monuments.
It's something I've learned to live with: I perceive the world completely differently than most folks. I consider it a blessing of the gods, a sixth or seventh sense gifted to me so that I may experience everything the world has to offer in ever deeper layers. Shameless hedonist that I am, who am I to say no?
Author's Note: Synesthesia is a rare condition found in approximately one in every ten million people. It means 'combined senses'. Neurologists don't know what causes it, but whatever the cause the senses do not separate or integrate properly. The person therefore perceives the world in combinations of sensory input instead of just one. A scent might trigger a texture or numbers may have fixed color associations. The experience and the colors assigned to various objects and items will deviate with the individual but the associations for that individual do not change over time. The condition is lifelong.
I found my mind in a brown paper bag, but then...
I tripped on a cloud and fell eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in" o/`
-- "Just Dropped In (to See What Condition My Condition Was In) performed by Kenny Rogers
I adored a fresh box of crayons; they felt like the first day of the school year and smelled like chalk dust. My favorites were the ones with names I could taste: granny smith apple (but when I held it in my chubby little hands it tasted more like a tall blade of summer grass, the kind you snipped off to make into a whistle); salmon (which smelled like Pepto-Bismol but tasted pleasantly of bubble gum); sky blue (with its pleasantly wet feeling, like a round river pebble you sucked on to keep your mouth from drying out in the summer time). I would pick up the brown one, its point still pristine, and lick the tip. It felt like the roundness of the coffee drops my grandmother always carried in her purse and tasted like a malted milk ball.
*munch munch*
The flavor breaks apart in to shapes and textures, first to my favorite corduroy pillow and then to the stretched and scratchy velvet of stretched cowhide on our dining room bar stools.
It disappears suddenly, the sudden separation of senses hurting as badly as having a nail ripped off, when Teacher jerks the crayons out of my reach. She's screaming and I stare, bewildered, at the broken and chewed brown wax. It still smells faintly like coffee but now it feels like an expensive silk which has been shredded and ruined by the house cats. My crayons get locked up in Teacher's desk, to be used under her supervision only when she gives them to me, and yet another note goes home. I don't get to keep my crayons at home, either. My Ma is tired of replacing the whole box after I've eaten the ones I like best.
When I'm older and an adult, I don't eat the crayons any more but much of the world is still the same bizarre blend of scents, textures, colors, and sounds. An individual item rarely has less than two additional sensory experiences attached to it besides the one with which it is traditionally associated; some of the more complex items, such as music or paintings, have no less than four. Busy or complex items, such as city streets or crowded malls or parades, engage all five senses to the fullest...just not in the order or association in which you'd expect them.
I would find myself browsing the refrigerator for a snack but mentally discarding various foodstuffs in favor of others: no roast because I'm not in the mood for arches or shadows; no orange juice because I don't want sandpaper; sandwiches get nixed because I don't feel like eating rectangles or points and I find the smell of the jungle repulsive. I finally settle on the last piece of mint chocolate, which tastes like a cool breeze and feels like the warm pink and black granite you often find on courthouse columns or other official public monuments.
It's something I've learned to live with: I perceive the world completely differently than most folks. I consider it a blessing of the gods, a sixth or seventh sense gifted to me so that I may experience everything the world has to offer in ever deeper layers. Shameless hedonist that I am, who am I to say no?
Author's Note: Synesthesia is a rare condition found in approximately one in every ten million people. It means 'combined senses'. Neurologists don't know what causes it, but whatever the cause the senses do not separate or integrate properly. The person therefore perceives the world in combinations of sensory input instead of just one. A scent might trigger a texture or numbers may have fixed color associations. The experience and the colors assigned to various objects and items will deviate with the individual but the associations for that individual do not change over time. The condition is lifelong.