Think of it like this: Your brain has an incessant hunger for input, and if it's not getting its fill from your now-defunct eyeballs, it'll simply make a stale snack of your memories "reassembled and scrambled in peculiar ways" -- meaning you could "see" anything from a beloved childhood pet to an ephemeral clone of yourself dancing the robot to "Pink Elephants On Parade."
And while we're on the subject ...
Written Words May Suddenly Transform Into Complete Gibberish
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Imagine you wake up one morning, retrieve the newspaper from the front porch in your bathrobe and bunny slippers, and sit down to read it over a steaming mug of coffee. But when you unfold it, you find that the text is nothing but gobbledygook -- the pictures are there, the letters are there, but the words make not a flea's butt of sense. Realizing that you're the victim of a practical joker with access to a printing press and also that we live in the goddamn future, you toss the paper aside and break out your smartphone ...
... but it's the same. You can't read anything. Oh dear lord, you can't read Cracked.
*cough* just gonna leave this here ...
That's precisely what happened to Howard Engel, a man who makes his living writing detective novels, in 2001. The words in his morning paper transformed into "Oriental-looking script," which sounds like your racist uncle describing a particularly Glenn-heavy episode of The Walking Dead. But rather than trying in vain to write "HELP ME" on the walls in his own excrement before running into traffic in the nude (our default reaction to anything even vaguely traumatic), Engel calmly thought, "I have suffered a stroke."
At the hospital, his assumption was proven true: A stroke had affected the visual area in the left side of his brain. But even though he couldn't read a word, he could still write -- ask him to read back what he'd just written, however, and you may as well have asked him to lick his own elbow. The technical term is alexia without agraphia, and to oversimplify it, it's what happens when one specific part of your brain -- the reading bit -- comes unplugged. After months of rehab and teaching himself a whole new way to read (tracing the letters with his hand and moving his mouth, or "replacing reading by a sort of writing"), Engel was able to write a memoir of his experience.
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We assume his copy editor got a pretty hefty bonus for that one.