Synesthesia Problems
In Car
Me: I'm turning on my favorite song now, I love to watch it.
Mom: Watch it? WTF
Me: Um I mean listen.
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Keni
trying on a metaphor
No title available
Jules of Nature

JBB: An Artblog!
DEAR READER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Acquired Stardust

No title available
art blog(derogatory)
Today's Document

pixel skylines
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Claire Keane
tumblr dot com
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Kaledo Art
RMH
Three Goblin Art
seen from Bosnia & Herzegovina

seen from Puerto Rico

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Germany

seen from TĂĽrkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Belgium

seen from TĂĽrkiye

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@readingcolours
Synesthesia Problems
In Car
Me: I'm turning on my favorite song now, I love to watch it.
Mom: Watch it? WTF
Me: Um I mean listen.
I have synesthesia; a sensory disorder where I feel colors, and certain sensations cause different colors.
Awfully sorry for not having posted anything quality for ages. This may go on for a while, until things at school settle down a bit and I get some breathing space.Â
Current mood:
jennifer
A young lady trudged down a quiet road, the air drenched in an autumn twilight. She felt a cool breeze, and crossed her hands tightly over her beige trench coat. Her dark, straight hair undulated with the rhythm of her walk.Â
As she turned round a corner, she took a deep breathe as she came across a little cottage, with a fading, red roof, sitting comfortably among a family of golden trees. She was bewitched by the waft of apples that floated from the house. Memories of a distant childhood flooded her mind with nostalgia.Â
She knocked, and after some silence, was greeted by a creaking door and a plump, elderly lady wearing an emerald green dress which complemented her green eyes. She had a stern but warm face, that of a woman who has fought long and hard for the happiness of others.Â
"Mum?" Silence. "It's me- I'm home!"
Before she could think, the girl was engulfed in an embrace only a mother could give.Â
"SHE'S HOME, EVERYBODY!" called out the mother, and a volley of family members bustled out to greet the "city girl" as she was known.Â
Her mother's sister, looking remarkably like the mother, jokingly chided her for nearly forgetting the family. The twin uncles, square and brown-faced from serving in the military, gave her friendly pats on the shoulders. Her little brother, slowly getting over his fascination for all things black (he was now wearing grey) grinned widely. Her frail, tearful sister kissed her on the cheek.
Finally, her father emerged from the kitchen. His face was worn, as were his clothes. His tall, thin figure stood in utter disbelief as he stared at the beautiful being that was standing before him, just the same as she had been three years ago.Â
"Dad, I'm sorry to have left. I missed you. I was wrong, addled with my preoccupation for money. I never once forgot you when I was in London, Dad."
"I missed you too, honey." he said, as a silent tear trickled down his wise, calm face. He hugged her tightly, until finally the mother broke the moment and said that supper was ready, and if nobody came to have it, they'd have to starve for the night.
Everybody laughed. Supper was a cheerful occasion, with drinks and apple cider and jokes and more pats on the back. But for the young girl, a deep warmth was rising up inside her, warmer than the hot apple cider that her mother served, a joy that could not be expressed with words.Â
She was finally home.Â
_______________
It isn't great; I could do better.Â
But for your reference: the girl is 'J', the aunt and mother are the two 'E's, the uncles are the 'N's, the father's the F, 'I' is the sister and the brother's the 'R'. Hope you like it!Â
Hi everyone, remember how I asked you to send me a word and I'll give you its colour? Let's spice it up a bit, shall we? Send me your name, or your friend's name, or your pet's name, or your username or any word...
... and I'll make a little story for the letters in it, ok? Just like I did for this, but shorter. Around a paragraph or two, depending on the time I have.Â
Billy Joel
Singer/songwriter/composer (born May 9, 1949): Sound → color and grapheme → color.
I would say the softer, more intimate songs -- there's 'Lullaby (Goodnight My Angel), 'And So It Goes,' 'Vienna' and another called, 'Summer, Highland Falls' -- when I think of different types of melodies which are slower or softer, I think in terms of blues or greens...When I [see] a particularly vivid color, it's usually a strong melodic, strong rythmic pattern that emerges at the same time. When I think of these songs, I think of vivid reds, oranges and golds.
— From an interview with Billy Joel
Certain lyrics in some songs I've written, I have to follow a vowel color. A strong vowel ending, like an A or an E or an I, I associate with a very blue or a very vivid green...I think reds I associate more with consonants, a T or a P or an S. It's a harder sound. These [letters] are what I associate with reds and oranges.
— From an interview with Billy Joel
If you haven't listened to Piano Man, please do. :)
what color is Alana? :) I am also a synesthete, I have grapheme-color and OLP, and I also hear certain movements and vice versa. :D
Very, very blue. The As are all blue for me, and they dominate the rest of the word. It's the soothing type of blue, slightly brighter than, um, the Tumblr blue.Â
Send your name or any word you like in my ask, and I'll give you a colour for it!
Self-injury, according to a synesthete.
SELF-HARM: Blue and green. Calming colors, at first. Then comes the tinge of mustard. The kind that makes all things putrid, stale, worthless. The kind that makes everything worse. A chemical reaction which cannot be reversed.
Self harm is not a solution to your troubles. It is not a panacea to ease your mental pain. You are only causing yourself more anguish. More pain.Â
If something is bothering you, talk to someone. There is not a soul in this world who is not loved. Talking your way through something helps clear up the fog in your head. It helps when another person listens, and is able to give you advice.Â
Do not do something that you may regret. Think before you act.Â
(A lot has been going on about this on my dash, so I though I should write about it too. Spreading the message.)
Marilyn Monroe
Actress, singer and model (June 1, 1926 – August 5, 1962).
She has that displacement of the senses which others take drugs to find. So she is like a lover of rock who sees vibrations when he hears sounds.
— Norman Mailer Marilyn: A Biography p. 47
Her surviving niece, the author Mona Rae Miracle, confirms Mailer's impression although she admits they never called it synesthesia in their time: "Synesthesia is a term Marilyn and I were unaware of; in the past, we simply spoke of the characteristic experiences with terms such as 'extraordinary sensitivity' and/or 'extraordinary imagination.'"
Stars with Synesthesia
Hi everyone! Happy New Year!
So, I did a quick search about famous people with synesthesia (besides Baudelaire and Daniel Tammet), and the results were stupendous! I'll be posting a notable synesthete every now and then, under the tag 'stars with synesthesia', with a little description of their type of synesthesia.
See you around soon!
how long have you known that you've had synesthesia?
For about a year now. I knew I had it, I just didn't know it had a name. Plus, it's been about as natural as breathing for me, so I really didn't consider it something worth paying a lot of attention to. Until, of course, I discovered that not all people perceive things as I do.Â
Heralding the New Year!
He entered the empty room as if to make an assertion, an expression of determination, as if strange, clever little ideas were popping up inside his head. His young, buff face folded into a mysterious smile below his deep-set eyes as he examined the pale, sea green walls that were emanating the sharp odor of freshly applied paint, his hands still on the door handle, only one foot in the threshold of the room. He inhaled deeply, proceeding to rustle his dark hair with his bronzed fingers.
Behind him, the pattering of footsteps was heard, along with a little scuffling noise, and three figures came scurrying up the stairs below him. One of them was a pale, slightly chubby girl with arched eyebrows. She peeked curiously into the room, seemingly ignoring the presence of the figure beside her. She took a deep breath.
“So, what do you think?” said a clear voice next to her.
“Huh?” she stammered. “Oh-I-uh- it’s fantastic.” She nodded, as if acknowledging the validity of her own statement. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the empty space in the room.
The two others who had followed her strained their necks above the girl and the young man, trying to get a view.
“Could you move out of the doorway?” bleated a slightly exasperated female voice.
“With pleasure” said the man, with a touch of mock apology in his tone.
A gangly young boy in grey overalls shuffled to the doorway, his eyes wide with wonder. In a hoarse voice, he uttered but one syllable, thanks to his recently reduced vocabulary upon becoming a full-grown adolescent.
“Wow.”
“Humph.” A lady in clad in bright pink, the Bleater, roughly pushed him aside and scrunched her eyebrows as she took a good look at the room. “It will do, I suppose. But all of you”-she pointed at the other three-“will have to listen to what I say, is that understood?”
The young man nodded in agreement while simultaneously rolling his eyes when she wasn’t looking, thinking to himself how no one really ever takes her seriously, especially when he’s around.
He held the pale girl’s left hand, and she held the hand of the boy, who in turn held the Bleater’s hand. And just like this, holding hands, they entered the vast sea of new possibilities, new opportunities, and a chance to start life afresh.
“Happy New Year, everyone,” said the young man, looking happily at what lay ahead of him.
**************************************************************************
SO. This is a little story where I basically played around with symbols. The year is represented by the green room, because that’s how I see the word YEAR. The people entering the room (in the very same order) are the digits 2, 0, 1 and 3! That’s how I picture them.
It’s not very great, but I tried. I also feel bad for not having posted for so long, and since the New Year’s almost here, I feel obliged to. I hope you enjoyed it!Â
L'Invitation au Voyage
Mon enfant, ma soeur, Songe à la douceur D'aller là -bas vivre ensemble! Aimer à loisir, Aimer et mourir Au pays qui te ressemble! Les soleils mouillés De ces ciels brouillés Pour mon esprit ont les charmes Si mystérieux De tes traîtres yeux, Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là , tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des meubles luisants, Polis par les ans, Décoreraient notre chambre; Les plus rares fleurs Mêlant leurs odeurs Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre, Les riches plafonds, Les miroirs profonds, La splendeur orientale, Tout y parlerait À l'âme en secret Sa douce langue natale.
Là , tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canaux Dormir ces vaisseaux Dont l'humeur est vagabonde; C'est pour assouvir Ton moindre désir Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde. — Les soleils couchants Revêtent les champs, Les canaux, la ville entière, D'hyacinthe et d'or; Le monde s'endort Dans une chaude lumière.
Là , tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.
— Charles Baudelaire
Translation:
Invitation to the Voyage
My child, my sister, Think of the rapture Of living together there! Of loving at will, Of loving till death, In the land that is like you! The misty sunlight Of those cloudy skies Has for my spirit the charms, So mysterious, Of your treacherous eyes, Shining brightly through their tears.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
Gleaming furniture, Polished by the years, Will ornament our bedroom; The rarest flowers Mingling their fragrance With the faint scent of amber, The ornate ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The oriental splendor, All would whisper there Secretly to the soul In its soft, native language.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
See on the canals Those vessels sleeping. Their mood is adventurous; It's to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the earth. — The setting suns Adorn the fields, The canals, the whole city, With hyacinth and gold; The world falls asleep In a warm glow of light.
There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Let's have a bit of fun today!