Editorial Foreword
The following list of sentences was composed by an unknown male author; all that is known of this writer now is that he was almost certainly blind.
No additional information on the extent or duration of their blindness has been confirmed, yet it remains likely that the author was not born that way.
Though the exact year in which this list was composed has not yet been confirmed––and perhaps never will be, it is nearly beyond any doubt that the list was penned in recent years. It is also worth noting that the list was probably written in secrecy: certain details regarding its discovery suggest that the writer of these sentences had kept the affair private; nevertheless, some or all of the sentences have made their way to the public. I believe this might have been pleasing to the writer, but who knows what pleases a recluse.
At any rate, what follows is a minimally edited compilation of the list in its original, that is to say, chronological order. No other editorial work was necessary.
Of their meaning or of any other form of significance they might have, we leave that to the philosophers, and we most certainly invite the reader to speculate.
Muhannad Hariri
Beirut, 2014
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JAN. 06 – I saw a man on the street today; he looked like a pair of stray dice.
JAN. 07 – I spied a kid in a tree today; she looked like 3 or 4 constellations.
JAN. 08 – I saw two boys on slick tricycles today; they looked like wet matchsticks.
JAN. 09 – I saw a clown today; he looked like a cracked light bulb.
JAN. 10 – I saw a writer of novels today; he looked like a half-stretched accordion.
JAN. 11 – I spied a seamstress at her window today; she knitted spiders from hair.
JAN. 12 – I saw an architect today; she sketched chiclets and twizzlers.
JAN. 13 – I witnessed lovers fighting today; they stood limp like unbundled socks.
JAN. 14 – I saw a faucet drip today; each drop splashed up like old conversation.
JAN. 15 – I met a teacher today; he laughed, smiling like a deflated balloon.
JAN. 16 – I saw a salesman sell today; he spoke like a rattling jackhammer.
JAN. 17 – I saw that you were lost today; I did not speak because I could not.
JAN. 18 – I watched a butcher hang meat today; it looked like a neglected promise.
JAN. 19 – I saw a waitress resting today; she smoked like a deserted lighthouse.
JAN. 20 – I observed a pervert today and quaked like a padlocked jack-in-the-box.
JAN. 21 – I caught sight of a mirror today; its reflection received a name: Muhannad.
JAN. 22 – Time was this marble today: glinting, it rolled, then it flattens to a coin and –
JAN. 23 – I saw a jigsaw puzzle today; it looked undone.
JAN. 24 – I saw a little suitcase today; it rolled away like a tear.
JAN. 25 – I saw a boy shine shoes today; on his can he sat like a clenched jaw.
JAN. 26 – I heard hard wind blow today, and Beirut was a 100,000 slammed doors.
JAN. 27 – NONE.
JAN. 28 – I saw some towelled men perspire in the sauna today; they dripped liked a row of half-spent candles.
JAN. 29 – Today I made a wish upon a skidding car.
JAN. 30 – I watched a person park his car today; he swung in like a rocking chair.
JAN. 31 – I saw a fight on the street today; the drop fell, rippling concentric circles.
FEB. 01 – I saw a napkin dispenser today; it dispensed and never requested a thing.
FEB. 02 – I saw men carry a coffin today; they moved like a snail and its shell.
FEB. 03 – I saw an open pair of shutters today: a stiff hug tossed to the street.
FEB. 04 – I stepped in a puddle today; the sky wrinkled.
FEB. 05 – I gambled on a sunrise today; it came up like the face of a card.
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[Notes: The 27th of January is not an entry, the author seems to have merely neglected to write one that day, and the word NONE was an editorial addition; finally, there appears to be no particular significance in the list having been begun on 6th (rather than say, the 1st) of of the month; perhaps the author merely began this compilation on that day.]
idiotic investigations 