Week of November 2-6 by Lamia Haque: Pick up the object closest to you. Describe it in the utmost detail possible. Use your five senses. Find symbolic meaning in those details, and relate the way you describe it with ways you might describe yourself. Its short arms were artificial, plastic, rigid. Coldness is not the opposite of warmth: rather,
a lukewarm indifference echoes with the most resonance in a hollow touch. Black ridges are perfectly symmetric, every curve deliberate. It appears the hard surface is wary of hurting those in close proximity to its skin, as all of the sharp edges are reduced to benign stubs. The black is uniform, filling every crevice of the body with expert monotony. But there is a certain sadness in the way there is a slight sheen of reflected light on the plastic, as if it cannot absorb all the tentative rays from the cloudy afternoon. Black is said to be the knight of all things dark, all things pitied. But that is false. Black is what absorbs all light, the king that swallows it whole in a brave embrace. White is the coward, as he adorns a skin of mesmerizing illuminations and purity at the expense of truly digesting these shards of virtuous beauty. The metal clips are the lowered hands at the ends of these black, rigid arms. Pinch them, and they shall open, ready to hold whatever weight you give them. But is that how it should be? Why do these hands not open from a few gentle words, or from the vibrations of unsuppressed laughter? But pinching them is always easier than such tactics. And so we resort to this dictatorship, or forcing openness and responsibilities. The head is impeccably thin, of the shiniest silver metal. It is thin, yes, but it cannot be mistaken to be fragile. Delicacy and slimness are often associated with weakness, when these things are traits that only those who are powerful enough to be brazen and sturdy can handle. It is in the form of a thin question mark, with mechanical curvature. It is almost translucent in brightness under the foggy light. The head is what hangs onto a supporting bar as the clips endure the weight, strong and silent. Are all questions what keep us hanging on some bar, what keeps us from falling and dropping the important things in our hands? Its smooth surface is unrelenting, and reassuring in its coldness.
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