Seeing Things

Adam Bignell, April 2023

There are things you shouldn't see.

I used to flit from image to image, collecting mental snapshots like an optical lepidopterist, pinning their frozen forms into my neural folds. I thought to see was to know. I thought seeing could only be good. A little hue never hurt anyone, right?

Wrong. Your eyes are vectors for infection. They're open wounds and pathogens are pumping into the world at unparalleled pace. Pathogens with alluring, alien names. Thulian and phthalo. Carmine and aureolin. These viral wavelengths demand entrance through the dilated holes in your eyes, those collapsed stars that demand ever-more pixels in ever-weirder permutations.

And your pupils are learning what they like best. Charcoal on off-white won't suffice. They demand gloss, shine, direct injection of every nanometer from 400 to 700 as often as possible. More light, more waves. Go ahead, gorge yourself.

Ask yourself this question: Did I want to see that, just now? Did I choose to see that? If I could go back and see it again, would I? Would I want others to see it? Would I want my mother to see it? My children?

The master enchanter is always invisible, for the key feature of hypnosis is that the subject can't see beyond the confines of their trance. But occasionally I feel a moment of lucidity. The power fails, and I see the enchanter flicker out of existence, slip into the black glass along with whatever stream has just been terminated. I wonder how long I've been watching. I wonder why it's so hard to turn the power off myself…

The answer is that I'm already infected. I am exactly like the people on the screens. My lungs play the laugh track between jokes I don't find funny. I chuckle to stave off the silence. The screen fills with bodies and I perform my duty, sucking in every inch. I stow their forms for later. Hot pink and bulging. Glistening with oil. Rotating graphics and bouncing scores. "This week". I memorise their sound bites.

Blink three times fast. I mean it, do it now. At the end of this paragraph, you'll look away from these words. You'll look around whatever room you're in, and you'll choose something to look at. Really choose, perhaps the first time today, perhaps the first time this year. Look at what you chose for 10 seconds, and see it. Listen with your eyes. Go ahead, right now. I'll be waiting…

… You're back? Good. What did you choose? Why did you choose it? Would you show it to your mother?

The blacksmith's hammer shapes the sword. Ask yourself this: Does your blade feel sharp?