Wednesday, December 29, 2004


Hiram and His Visions

It's hard to find braille in prison. Hiram, a lifer without sight, is forced to run his fingers over the cinderblock walls every night to feel some sort of stimulation, allowing the cracks and divets, bumps and grooves to become misspelled words, jumbled poetry, drunken rants. It wasn't that hard to do anymore; he no longer had to close his eyes and concentrate--he could just stand there and absorb it. Each jumbled word was stoically written in capital letters on the black canvas of his mind's sight, except for the once in a while discovery of a risque patch of wall. Then it was cursive. Then it was stimulation. Then it was romance in the abyss.

Photograph by Thomas Wheatley/"Venetian Hostel Tiles" Venice, Italy 7/04 Posted by Hello

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

HI - I read your eulogy about Pooper tonight in the Flagpole. I too had a cat that lived for many years, and he was the same way - sleeping under the car, misssed getting hit a hundred times...Godspeed to Mauli & Pooper, may they together frolic through the wildflowers in Kitty Afterlife!
Natasha in Athens

Thomas said...

Thanks, Natasha.