Notes on Blindness Page #4

Give us an A.

Give us a P.

Give us another P.

Give us a Y...

Happy Xmas!

Because now it's party time!

Immy!

Come here for a minute!

'Ello, 'ello, 'ello, look what I found!

Another one of these.

What's this, Tom?

Oh, I know what this is.

What?

When you hold it in the light,

you can see all the colours

really brightly. It's beautiful, look.

Oh, that's nice!

What I remember about you

most vividly in those years

was your amazing practicality.

You never expressed regrets.

You just got on with the next thing,

step by step.

The way you did that,

I always thought was quite incredible.

Dedicated To The One I Love

by The Mamas & The Papas

# While I'm far away from you, my baby. #

Would you take Imagine by John Lennon?

An obvious choice.

No. Dylan, you'd surely want to take Dylan?

Well, I know, but there

one is completely stuck.

I know what you'd take

and what we'd both take!

- What?

- Jacqueline Du Pre

- playing Elgar's Cello... whatsit?

- Yes!

- There you are.

- I think we've got one.

# Each night before you go to bed, my baby

# Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby

# And tell all the stars above

# This is dedicated to the one I...

# Love...

# Can never be exactly like we want it to be

# Love can never be

exactly like we want it to be... #

# Love can never be... #

A huge wave crashed down, separating us all.

There was a debris of

floating merchandise and dead bodies.

I searched for them everywhere

in despair and found nothing.

It was hopeless, they'd simply disappeared.

Somebody had reminded me

that part of the human brain

specialises in the reception

and processing of visual material.

Now I would like to know what happens

to that part of the brain

when optic stimulation ceases.

Could this perhaps account

for the sense of suffering

I have experienced over

the past year or two?

The feeling I am describing

is a sense of hunger, of aridity.

A feeling that one's brain longs for

optic stimulation,

as the body longs for food.

The brain itself thirsts for that

to which it is accustomed.

Part of my brain is dying.

Say Merry Christmas to Mummy.

Merry Christmas, Mummy!

Merry Christmas, sweetheart.

Let's have a Christmas kiss.

What's that? My word!

What is it, Tom?

What is this?

- A mouth organ.

- Good Lord!

That particular Christmas was the worst.

- Dad, look at these.

- What is it?

What is it?

I don't know.

I think it's probably bubble bath.

Father Christmas must have smelt you

all the way from the North Pole.

I was stuck.

You know, I couldn't get up and leave.

How could I walk out on Christmas Day?

- No...

- You know?

But I couldn't stay, either.

Wait for me. How do I look in these?

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