Sightless Scribbles
Sightless Scribbles
Robert Kingett
Meow. This is my blog and website. I'm scared of being famous but I love people sharing my work. I'm a totally blind, gay, author and accessibility consultant. I used to be legally blind. For more background, check out my about page.
Latest Posts
Authors note. This little something was supposed to bloom into something else, but it never did. Still though, I think it captures a moment, which is equally as smashing! We slowly draw closer in the enveloping blackness. My porch light...
Mood: Firery, cozy, and currently plotting the overthrow of capitalism via Romance tropes and cookies. I have a confession to make. A secret that sits in the center of my chest like a warm, purring cat. I write Fanfiction. I also read...
Mood: Intellectually combative but wishing I could have a masculine man hold my face. I was listening to a literary podcast the other day—a mistake, usually, as they tend to discuss books that don't have an audiobook version written by...
Listen to The Acoustic Signature of Weather. Sighted people have a casual, almost dismissive relationship with the weather. They glance out a window or check an app. The weather is a visual fact, a piece of data. For me, the weather...
Listen to A Field Guide to the Personal Space Violations of Public Transit Public transit is a marvel of modern engineering and a complete failure of human social design. It is a rolling testament to our species’ profound inability to be...
I have written about hands before. I’ve written about them as weapons, as tools, as instruments of casual violence and clinical detachment. My memory is a museum of the hands that have done me harm, a collection curated by pain. The...
Listen to A Map of My Scars, Read by Your Fingertips. My body is a secret atlas. Beneath my clothes, my skin is a map of a war I survived, with its topography etched in scars. There are small, circular burns, like angry, faded...
Listen to Third Grade Letter to Santa Hi everyone. Some context before we begin. This was a writing assignment by my then third grade teacher. Obviously, I took the assignment a tad too seriously. All the same, even if you don't...
There's a texture to grief very few examine. People talk about the loud grief—the kind of grief that shatters your soul and rattles your cage of will—but there's another kind of grief that's rarely explored. Watching and listening to...
There's a texture to grief very few examine. People talk about the loud grief—the kind of grief that shatters your soul and rattles your cage of will—but there's another kind of grief that's rarely explored. Watching and listening to...
Mood: Like finding a bird that can finally sing. The morning felt like a bruise. Not the sharp, immediate kind, but the dull and aching throb that settles into your bones and makes the air feel smothering. I canceled all my accessibility...
This essay was published in the local college newspaper when I attended-- what was then known-- as TCC. Tallahassee Community College. I can vehemently say—given some slight word changes perhaps—I am, overall, still proud of this essay....
This was previously published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Making me Time. Reading is essential for those who seek to rise above the ordinary. ~Jim Rohn "I noticed something," my friend Ashley said. "Your bookshelf is empty." I nodded...
At this time of the year, my world always begins to lose its voice. Not because the crushing weight of bureaucracy muffles it, but because the elements are putting the acoustics of my soundscape to sleep for a little while. At least,...
The air in the bank was thick with the scent of old money and new anxiety. It's a smell I know well. But today, another element was added to the mix: fear. It wasn't my fear. It was coming from the teller's window, and it was pointed,...