two lenses
november 13th, 2000

I entered into the world this morning with a new set of eyes that notice 
everything. The sum of the world reproduced in detail. A universe of 
angles, shadows, and reflections. It takes some getting used to. 
Unfocused, my reality existed against the backdrop of an Impressionist 
atmosphere, of Renior landscapes and Degas shadowy bodies hanging in some 
undetermined distance between myself and the horizon. I am unuse to 
precise boundaries, to actual edges. It was always an inference that they 
were there, an assumption. And now, with my new set of eyes, there are 
edges, shapes, refined geometery.

We live in a very linear world, and I'm not used to seeing it this way. 
Surfaces seem harsher, more pronounced. Distance becomes an absolute. 
There is no more guesswork. There is no more of the subconsious mind 
filling the blanks, of colors being placed where they seem to make the 
most sense at. My eyes, in their natural state, tend to blur the spaces 
between objects - a very soft dusting of color, in and around, that makes 
you not entirely absolutely sure, but really doesn't hamper your vision, 
either. As an experiment this morning, I shoved a pair of glasses onto my 
nose to see what the world looks like through lenses. I am stunned. I feel 
as if I have some sort of extrasensory vision, but I suppose everyone else 
has been seeing the world this way for a very long time.

It's no wonder I spoke of reality as a malleable substance in my youth, 
and my peers cocked their eyebrows at me. The world in its linear form 
seems very solid, very definite. Yet to my unaided eye, the world appeared 
as dangerously hanging on shadows of color, as if one huge gust of wind 
could dissipate everything.

I'm not entirely sure I like my glasses. This new vision of the world is 
so painstakenly detailed it almost seems like it hurts. Everything with 
its razor edges and its textured barriers. But then, I've always been more 
partial to Impressionism anyway.