…while the impetus to a vicarious possibility might be a metaphor of a more evolved, hence, complex credence, as it can be nothing of this at all, but only an expression of light irony and humor (which I enjoyed in both cases, and the third which I haven’t figure out yet, only to taste at a later time my evasive observations) still, I have read of people that could really see through their feet. I was informed on these portentous curiosities through some translated Russian bulletins on vulgar science, of which writers, under the narcotic urge to promote evolution theory, would spare no length of going far, and thus often entering into cabalistic domains, into regions of occult seen through the myopic light of ideological science as new territories of joyful discoveries. So one of the articles were about blind people that could see (discern) colors through their feet or palms. The author made a fairly articulate (although pathetic enough) case to let the reader believe and understand that the most rigorous measures have been effectuated to assert the truthfulness of the miraculous pretenders. And …it was true! So he wrote! But then – I am reminded – this word, ‘the blind’, brings a glossy, eddied, color mixed series of associations.
A parenthesis here – it has become quite an unchallenged creed, that I have never read something that would stand out as something wholly new to me, except as adding something unexpected – this is to say that; from my childhood readings, which have provided me with few subjects, – ideas or visions if you will – everything that came afterwards, that happened to be read by me, unsought, was organically connected with these first apparently accidental interests. Those readings seemed to be from the beginning as threads of the same tissue, only, not in the sense of weaving, but of unmaking it. It was a call.. I could have in view in their entirety the intricate designs, of which patterns I could manage to distinguish, however, without being able to put them together, to discern where they fit, except for only recognizing their existence. I mean that it was difficult to be aware and perceiving of the overall view and the details at the same time. I had to go at them one by one, taking them way, unweaving, undoing them, while promising myself to remember everything, and at times forcing or alluring myself to that effort. This, in the hope of recreating it in my mind as by a sense of touch, not as a recollection of something seen.
As I was saying; the first thing remembered was ‘The report on The Blind’, a chapter in ‘On Heroes & Tombs’ of the Argentinean writer E. Sabato. And immediately after that this passage, form another book of his ‘Abadon, the Angel of Darkness’. The author, who is a character in his own book, is in a café when somebody approaches him:
He wanted to write e thesis: Sex, Evil, Blindness.
S. looked at him in surprise. “It’s a complicated subject, I don’t know much about it myself. This is to say, everything I know is in the Report”.
“I understand. But there is one other thing. I believe I read in a biography on you that your Albanian ancestors fought the Turks in the fifteenth century. Do you know the legend of the city of the Blind?
S. was very much taken aback. What was that?
“I’m not terribly sure about this, I still have some looking into it to do, but somewhere in that area there’s supposed to have been an underground city of the Blind, with kings and vassals and everything – all Blind.”
