No Eyes

They say a person cannot use eyes to create a story.

That hurts, people! Folx need to know that those organs are the paramount sense, closest and dearest to our hearts and powers of reason. One cannot feel the deep melancholy of the northern aurora, or the torment of the deepest sunset. Or read a story, as Yours Truly types madly.

When you lose that faculty, you lose most of your esteemed senses, how you understand your world. But there are those that cannot see, and they steer through the loss. So, what to do?

Study your world through the other senses:

The ears. The power to take sound waves and run them along nerves to the cerebrum, to gauge the length of objects towards yourself, and to learn to talk and trade thoughts and concepts. What a phenomenal resource! To be vocal (bad pun, yes!), to hear the notes made by lovely tonal gadgets, flutes and saxophones. So much technology, so many tools, funneled through acetyl-based structured nerves to respond to the world around us.

How much pleasure do you get from the rehash of past messages among colleagues? How many days have you spent wreathed by headphones, to concentrate on melody and beats, not work? Stress melts, chores pause, and the world holds breath as the song plays.

The nose. What an organ! Take a group of molecules, so small they cannot be seen by naked – oh, can't use that word, correct? - and suspend among a wet gel made by organelles, to taste the atmosphere exuded by other creatures, plants, and even ground and water and sun and blends of all of the above. Scents are closely bonded to memory, so much so the correct combo can pull past recollect to very present thoughts. So powerful, the present can be erased and replaced by the memory alone. Specks of smoke, flecks of pets, wreath of smoky odor from spouses, speak of love, and health, and home, and food, and safety. Other smells, of course, can speak of danger or other hazards, and we can take steps to retreat or dodge.

Do you see how many turns of phrase allude to the other senses?

The sense of touch can be composed of more than those phalanges that dangle at the ends of our arms. The complex nerve network weaves a net of sensory contact that holds wonderful splendor on the neural level. We crave the urge to connect to others, to feel, to cuddle, to come together. To meet, handle, hold, move to the rhythm of each other, to dance to a complex pattern of exposure to a world larger than just one person. We can feel the shape of objects, wonder at softness or hardness, agree on borders of form. Darkness, and lack of, are the same when you feel your way around. The pleasure of a comfortable bed, the feathery caress of a down comforter. The embrace of a loved one, the press of hands to the peel of a conveyance of such strange awareness. How unexpected a method we employ to feel an ecosystem that surrounds us!

Feel the drum through your feet? Your chest? The heartbeat of a planet, slow and sure. What caused our ancestors to develop such a potent dynamo? As weapon or tool of war, the drum beckons; a yearn to dance, a hunger of movement. Stomp, stomp, turn, gyrate, feel the rhythm and sway as late as morn.

The tongue. Ah, the sensate tastebuds! The delectable foods that pass to our stomach, to be destroyed by very useful enzymes enclosed by mucous membranes, to supply hydrocarbon-based bonds to our body by way of blood, to supply healthy sustenance to our organs. How do bundles of bone, fat, and muscle perform all these purposes? The breakdown bestows good fare, but we call the act such short, gruff, words. Grub. Nosh. Eats. Chuck. Sorry, Charles, there seems to be no reason for the snub. Food endows us, generates all our parts to perform well.

Food forms communal bonds. When we are open to share our bounty, we deepen attachments. Food allows us to form general groups we would not have thought of beforehand. Food collects a populace, and urges us to be aware of people nearby that may, else, be extraneous to our approach.

Food boosts our mood and helps us relate better to others, whether strangers or mates or parents and such. The strength of a meal translates to strength of body and soul. Just don't take my cheese, please. MY cheese. Love love loves me my cheese...

But be moderate when you consume, because heart attacks are no joke. Your author knows well of what she speaks on that score.

What?

You want a story? You were pledged a story, you say? You don't even care for my jests? Does my senses essay not sate enough to assuage your hunger for more?

Excellent! A chance to pour more absurd and crazy data upon you! Perhaps a related subject?

Here you go:

My pet octopus was moody. Those suckers play for keeps! Yes, bad puns, they happen frequently around here. When the cephalopod gets the sads, everyone gets the sads – and wet, because Octo prefers the mood to be on the splashy end of the pool, and acts out. Only one meal that we have found can soothe the savage beast, and that was the most tender chunks of lobster a person could buy.

Costly! Lucky, too, because we care for our octopus so much, we feel we get our reward returned octo-fold by tender cuddly hugs.

Whatever you do, do not, for any reason, take your octopus for walks. They do not care for dogs or cats, and tend to shake the small pups when they get too close. We purchased a movable tank for safety, but maybe we should not have elected to add the motor and wheels?

Well, our octo now scares the walkers more than any mutt woof or moggy mew ever could. Dare we take the keys? Then come the sads, and we are soaked - floppy soggy messes. We should just get a beach house, for all the wetness by the cage. Perhaps a sand bar? We need a beer or two, to wrap our head around what an absolute catastophe the plan has become.

What happened?

A screw? By the road?

Unfortunate wheel bump, crash around tree, smashed glass?

Total loss of tank car? Awwwwww! Too bad!

And now our octopus has another round of the sads....

See, a story that houses no “eyes!”

Oh, well, you may need them to read the story, because my faculty to narrate these passages, well, cannot be fathomed. Surely you can relate?

So many puns...