when I peered into the white sky, with my neck crooked upward I found that there was visual noise within my vision, and there are camera makers that seek to remove this aspect of visual art. I congratulate them on the ability to move past human ability, but I want to return to the utility of noise, and discover why each of our visions have this noise (for I am assuming that each of of experience this phenomenon).
(you need to describe the phenomenon fully)
(without depth there is no dimension. but what is the value of taking away the depth of the object. it seems to me that I begin to be confronted by my own mind, by my consciousness. flat surfaces, such as this sky have the fickle nature of appearing dimensionless, yet the mind reacts to it in an infinite way. I begin to wonder at the blank page. the flatness of the page that a poem is on mimics that flatness of the mind, the zero-dimensionality of the mind, the un-physical nature of the mind. the flat white page of a novel allows the reader to be washed away. have you ever read from a crumpled paper . the question always is where did this paper come from. you are aware of the page when it is crumpled.)
this quality in my vision reminds me of the blood that pumps behind my eyes. it sparkles, it keeps any image that I look at from being overly static. It reminds me that I myself am not a static object, and now I begin to wonder what compounded visual noise does to the viewer, when I look at a picture with noise and I compound that with the noise that I cannot escape. Here I see that I am not having direct access to the object in perfect visions, whatever perfect vision might be. but I will not call it perfect vision, but rather ideal vision. but what if the human vision is the ideal vision. could it not be perfect. what about my father who is blind? what about his vision is ideal. I think that physical details are not prone to idealism. I cannot seem to form a consistency of idealism within the physical world. that part of humanity is not immortal. only immortal things are ideal.
(figure 2 shows that a crumpled poem prevents the mind from entering the same trance a person experiences when gazing into the sky.)
but now I've digressed so far from the original point that I must return. (yet I believe that I have arrived at a sufficient insight to justify the tangent). but the visual noise within my vision serves as a constant reminder of the fallacy of my vision, at how limited it is. but I wonder what sort of noise there is to the mind's eye. could there be noise on that level that cannot be evaded.
I begin to wonder to what level my physical body is analogous to my mental capacities. could my mentality be tainted by my physical experience. have I too often fallen on the arm of the physical world.
I'm afraid that my thoughts have become so encumbered by looking about that I cannot focus