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
The world always has a unique way of slapping me when I least expect it. Things go really well, and then, SMACK. The universe has plans for me. I can't decide if spirits read Sightless Scribbles and my life is a tragic vat of content...
The world always has a unique way of slapping me when I least expect it. Things go really well, and then, SMACK. The universe has plans for me. I can't decide if spirits read Sightless Scribbles and my life is a tragic vat of content...
Mood: Tired. Ranty. In need of a hunk of a man to bake me cookies so I can stress eat. There is a specific, suffocating hell to a conversation with a leftist who has decided that voting is a moral failing. It feels like trying to explain...
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....