Weekends Are Taller Than Weekdays

A DECADE: is a three-dimensional rectangle in a bluish-gray color like that of the uniforms worn in the Civil War. It is shallow (like a gun box – don’t ask me why) suspended in space, in front of me slightly to my left in a horizontal position. I can see it as I am writing this, and notice that it is situated right in front of the city of Chicago. I know that sounds funny but this is how it works. The spatial plane where a decade is suspended is transparent  which is why I am able to see geography behind it.

Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the reason synesthetic images are never intrusive or confusing is that each has its own naturally designated place in my universe while the universe is infinite with a multiplicity of planes. So there is no need for a synesthetic image or symbol to overlap or compete with another. I see everything I experience, and there is room for everything I see. 

The synesthetic visions (like my other synesthetic responses) only appear when they are beckoned by whatever stimulus elicited their creation in the first place. When more than one synesthetic response is elicited at once, each one still has a specific location suspended in space.

While other people fix their coordinates in space, I anchor mine in time which is topographical and alive, as opposed to geography which is synchronic with no life in it or I should say no time in it. Geography, like any measurement of time, is just a symbol that is manmade, that has nothing to do with the experience of time.

MONTHS OF THE YEAR: I see in the shape of an oval though the months themselves do not move. Starting with January which is situated in the center at the bottom (closest to me), the months are arranged in a counterclockwise direction so that February (light green) is to the immediate right of January (pinkish white) while December (royal blue) is on the left of January. At the top of the oval are August, July and June and so forth. Each month has a unique shape and size. Click on the following link to see a drawing of the months of the year.

HISTORICAL TIME: I see in the shape of a loaf of bread which I view it in my left peripheral vision. The plane on which it appears is spatially much closer to my face than a decade which I see in front of me, quite close but still at least a foot away. In contrast, historical time is so close, I honestly have trouble saying if I see it inside my mind or projected outside my face.

Also, when I see historical time, I don't see anything on any other screen; i.e. there is no other active screen nearby like Chicago which I see behind the decade though their relationship has no meaning I am aware of; rather their spatial proximity works the same as longitude to latitude.

EACH CENTURY is a thick slab within the loaf. I can only see the face of the 19th century, which is brown but I "know" the others are there, arranged in descending chronological order reaching back beyond where I can see. After around the 14th century, they become so small they are hard to decipher and further back than that, they disappear from view, but I can always tell where I am in time by the lighting. When the shapes are too distant to make out, the lighting looks like it was produced by Caravaggio.

PRESENT TIME: I cannot see at all. What I see instead is this: that the past is in front of me, while the future is behind me, only that difference doesn’t have much meaning, since they don’t stay there, fixed; rather, they are both in constant motion and wash over me in opposite directions, meeting and mixing above me. I am bathed in their commingling. The past washes over me from front to back, the future washes over me from back to front, and somewhere above my head, the arcs of each intermingle (picture merging rivers).

The sensation of being bathed in their commingling is what present time feels like to me. Inside of their commingling, each particle, each atom, each individually distinctive piece that says this is past or that is future, dissolves; all identifying features are lost and they become indistinguishable from each other, losing their discrete boundaries. Within this experience, I have no self, I become what I am experiencing, just as I become what I am looking at when I take my pictures.

I suspect there is a loss of self because a self, like a concept of time, is synchronic, flat and meaningless in time. Everything that is not the experience itself (as it is felt) is a mere mask or icon designed to represent that which is unamenable to explanation or mathematical translation. When those icons, masks or symbols are used well (by Dostoevsky, e.g. who thought about this too), at their best, they can evoke the experience for another person.

I'm reminded of parable called Zeno’s arrow in which the ancient philosopher asks his students this question: “When you shoot an arrow, you can measure the distance it travels, but how do you measure the quality of its flight?” Defining the quality of the flight is like defining synesthesia.