VISUAL CLOSURE (Journal 1)

Sitting in the waiting room at the neuro-optometrist (Dr. Blanc’s) office and eavesdropping on her appointment. She is telling the patient about different kinds of tinted, prism glasses and vision therapy.

Overhearing a woman’s clear, didactic voice in the room next to Dr. Blanc. She is giving instructions on filling in lines and closing visual gaps to a garrulous man.

Remembering two weeks ago when I tried and sometimes failed fill in those same lines and gaps.

Wondering if vision therapy and special glasses are all part of a grand scheme to exploit the pockets of the concussed.

Dream world images from last night pop up and trigger real-world feelings of rejection and past exclusion from friends.

In Dr. Blanc’s room. Holding left hand over left eye while my right-hand points at a nickel size piece of green tape on the wall in front of me. The tape is in the center of a circular formation of other pieces of green tape. Dr. Blanc calls this her clock.

Walking in a straight line in Dr. Blanc’s office, looking at the dot on the wall in front of me while turning my head to the left. Eyes stay on the dot.

Walking in a straight line again, one foot stepping closely in front of the other, eyes remain on the dot while I throw a ball above my head and catch it.

Dreamworld images of real-world people I worked with

in the spring: Edison, Tim, Racha, Agathe. They are just a few of the 16 actors that appeared in my “Audition” project, the film I made right before everything changed. Sigh. I miss them.

In my house, throwing a tennis ball in the air, then catching. 5 times on the left side, 5 times on the right side, 5 times on the left side again. I miss most of the time.

Lying on a massage table. Melissa, my concussion rehab angel is telling me about her history as a champion competitive BJJ fighter while she sticks tiny needles in my body.

Tiny needles in my ears, tiny needs above my eyes, tiny needles on my wrist. Ahhhhhh.

Giant headphones on my ears while I stand in a small, enclosed room with glass windows. Salima, the warm audiologist is giving me instructions that I can barely hear. “Press the button every time you hear a beeping sound.” “Okay, I say. Let’s do this.”

Sitting in my living room with noise cancelling headphones on. The sounds of birds chirping outside is so loud and every chirp feels like a piercing, painful needle in my head. The headphones aren’t noise canceling enough. Nothing can protect me from the birds.

Hitting a small wooden mallet on the rounds of a tuning fork until it vibrates. Putting the long vibrating end on different parts of my head. Melissa tells me it’s good for the concussion. Maybe it’s a scam, but it feels nice and soothing.

My partner Anson covering my ears when a motorcyclist passes by us outside the AGO.

The lights in the AGO are too bright. Anson and I leave.

Lying in my bed with a warm compress on my forehead. The lights are off, but I still need the sleep mask to protect my eyes. It’s been over 8 hours of solitary time in the supposed silent dark. Room sounds keep bad company.

Thought forms, lines and shapes have replaced my inner dialogue. I think this is what deep meditation is supposed to accomplish. I just feel hungover and a little hallucinatory. When is Anson coming home?

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

A nurse practitioner is lightly tapping on my knee with a mallet in the ER.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

I’m at a film screening in Christie Pitts. The lights look brighter than usual and the sound seems extra loud. I need to lie down on the grass for a bit.

OWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

I’m DJing a party full of strangers on a Saturday. My head feels The beats are hurting.

..............POWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!

I’m bending over to get a cable from my bag and then I stand u…..............

The Time Before Now

I’m in the waiting area at the neuro-optometrist’s office. It is polished and sterile and feels expensive. All the glasses in the display cases are high end: Tom Ford, YSL, Gucci and the like. I’m proudly wearing my $5 Value Village sunglasses; the ones that Sabrina at the front desk told me looked exactly like the Vuittons they sell for $800.

I’m happy to be in the far back waiting room, far enough away from the loud and thumping RnB music playing in the front. I always loved being close to the bass and relished in pulsating, pumping beats. The harder the better was my motto.

Now even soft and tender beats bring on a surge of pressure in my head and panic in my bones.

2,2,3,4

Spiral thoughts

Jaw clenches

3,2,3,4

Eyes close

Breathe in

4,2,3,4

Breathe Out.

Ahhhhh

The last two times I’ve been at this place, I had to ask them to turn off the music. As a former DJ, it hurts my heart every time I make this request. But for *%&^* sake, I know they treat other people with concussions here, and yet the music is always loud and pounding.

5,2,3,4

Anger rises

Spiral eyes

Jaws clench even more

6,2,3,4

I can’t be the only one that asks them to turn it down.

7,2,3,4,8,3,4,5,2,6,7,7,80, 9, 10, 11, 12, 12, 14,17, 19, 14, 20, 150, 23, 4235, 3, 176412305t458

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked various people to turn off their music. I’ve stopped being embarrassed and profusely apologetic about it.

I’m proud of myself for learning how to ask for what I need.

8,2,3,4

In the background I hear a loud, instructive voice:

“If all the lines were filled in, which figure would look exactly like the one on the top?”

This sounds familiar. Ooooh. I know, I know! It’s the Motor-Free-Visual Perception Test.

1,2,3,4

Ding Ding Ding Ding,

2,2,3,4

I hear a belligerent male voice respond with counter-questions. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but I think he’s attempting to confuse the optometric assistant, who’s administering the test.

“If all the lines were filled in, which figure would look exactly like the one on the top?”

“Well, since B is slightly askew and C has diagonal lines pointing on a 45 degree angle and the half circle on D is further to the right, and well, mumbly mumbly, and if you were to reverse the triangle, mumbly mumbly, of rotate this part, well then, it’s OBVIOUSLY A,” says the man with renewed confidence..

I’m struck by how sure he is of the answer. I remember when I had to take the same test. I doubted all of my answers and just wanted to put my VV sunglasses back on, shroud my head with my scarf and leave the room.

2 Weeks Before The Time Before Now

“If all the lines were filled in, which figure would look exactly like the one on the top?”

Me: "Can you repeat the question please?"

" If all the lines were filled in..."

"...I think, it might, be...

3,2,3,4,5,6,7………hmmmmmmm………99, 100, 101, 102, ….let me see here…... 999, 1000, 10001,

"Maybe it’s, well, I think it might be, hehehehehehe…..

It’s nearly 5pm and the optometric assistant does not look amused.

Hehehehehehe…..I’m gonna guess A?"

"Good! Next one. "

Nooooooooooo. I can’t.

“If all the gaps were filled in which shape would look exactly like the one on the top?”

The Time Is Now, or Just Before Now:

Belligerent Male Voice: “Well, if I rotate it around, why do they all….? Well, Clearly it’s C!!”

Good! Next one.

I wondered if we both felt similarly confused and alone but had different ways of showing it.

Listening to the man try to fill in the gaps of the Visual Perception Test, Shapes, compelled me to fill in the gaps of my dream memories from the night before.

DREAM MEMORIES FROM THE NIGHT BEFORE

- Edison

- The Audition

- Images of a protest on one side of a highway and a counter protest on the other.

- Protest has angry people waving flags of Canada.

- I'm part of the counter protest on the other side of highway.

- A$ap Rocky getting wrongfully arrested

- Cops being violent.

- Playing my movie at a fancy art museum.

- Art crowd and curators loving it

- Playing my movie for my documentary filmmaker friend Ali in the basement of my mom’s house

- Ali says she needs to leave before we even get to the second half.

- I say it’s just a teaser.

- Ali says it’s a long teaser.

In my dream, my “Audition” film looked like more of an assemblage of images and voices. It was kind of essayistic, in a Chris Marker, Trinh T Minha kinda way.

In real life, I think the film still might be considered essayistic, but in more of a Jean Rouch, “Chronicle of A Summer” kind of Way.

Finally, Dr. Blanc calls me into her office. I notice a rough circular formation made of pieces of green tape on the wall.

• Put your right hand on over your right eye. Can you see the tape at 9 o'clock.

• Point to the tape at 3 o'clock with index finger, keep your eyes on the centre piece.

• Walk in a straight line and turn your head to the left. Keep your eyes on the dot while you turn your head back and forth.

• Now walk backwards while keeping your eyes on the dot in front of you.

Sometimes I wish I could walk backwards and erase the whole damn chronicle of my summer. I wish I could fill in all the empty gaps of time that my concussion left me with; time lost, time stolen, time vanished. I wish I could fill in those shapes with the sweat of a finished project and laughter from my gut, heavy, hard thumping beats and DANCE, DANCE, DANCE,

DANCE, DANCE

DANCE

DANCE