Category: Blind Writer

Sometimes a Snake is Just a Snake, Essay 19 of #52essays2017

Last night while I was sitting on our bed talking to Alabaster about today’s plans to check out an open mic in Castle Rock, Alabaster stopped me and said, “Hold on a sec.” He had been standing in the doorway and stepped into the hall, grabbing something on the way out. I learned this thing was the little trashcan next… Read more

Jung, Individuation & the Collective:Unconscious, Essay 18 of #52essays2017

One cannot help but be aware of Jung; his collective unconscious is ubiquitous, and , for me, symbolizes the literal birthplace of my artist at Collective:Unconscious. My metamorphosis from an academic to an artist began at Rev Jen’s Anti-Slam, which took place every Wednesday night at Collective:Unconscious, a black box theater on Ludlow, before the Lower East Side squeezed out… Read more

Rocky Mountain Coyote Motel, Liquor, Pawnshop, Cannabis, Essay 17 of #52essays2017

We left our friends and drove according to my awesome navigation (with a little help from my iPhone) through Rocky Mountain majesty, seeking a place to stay. Using the fully accessible Google Maps I found and wanted a cabin on Bear Creek, but we were too late for that–disappointing not only because Bear Creek provided a marvelous soundtrack of white… Read more

Yes, Blind People Can Appreciate (and Write About) Film and Television! #16 of #52essays2017

At a recent birthday party for my friend Sarah, I met a playwright who also writes TV screenplays. I mentioned to him that I was working on a second draft of my film screenplay, and that I had just that very day received an email from Final Draft to become a beta tester in order to work with them to… Read more

The Hand That Extends: Lacan on Love, Transference, Plato’s Symposium, Essay 14 of #52essays2017

I first encountered the work of Jacques Lacan in my first year of grad school; I can think of no other theorist who more painfully highlighted my inadequacies by the impenetrability of their words. And the late nineties were not exactly a time in literary circles for transparency, if ever there was one. Derrida was still alive and well and… Read more

Drinking Monarch Nectar, AKA Milkweed (Asclepias), Essay 12 of #52essays2017

On the day of the hydrosols tasting with Cathy Skipper and Florian Birkmayer (offered through New York Institute of Aromatherapy), my daily hallucinations were painted blue, an electric blue that did not want to let go its hold on my visionscape. In recent years, I’ve found that strong scents can change my visual palette almost immediately, but somehow that blue… Read more