White.
Three spins to the right. Twist. Four spins down. And all of a sudden the whiteness you were staring at is red. Then green.
Each color is perfect. The edges of the paint blend uniformly into the edges of its pure cubic form. The edges meet with the air on the outside, and shallow black valleys on the inside. They make the flatness not so flat and the layout into a grid. The symmetry of each square combines with other squares to make a larger square that orient themselves to make a shape with six identical surfaces. It is perfect. And yet, with each whirl I am taken into an inescapable abyss where the red sea parts further to permit a blue wave. Amidst every motion is the accompaniment of a click, followed by a click, and then another click.
Enough clicking goes by and all of a sudden I am staring at a face—a collage of dye. The red, the white, the green and the blue, say hello to the yellow and the orange. No panel of color wants to find its brothers and sisters. But I want every colorful family reunited—all nine family members together on one facade. Except, may I add, the white family, who only has eight members because it was screwed right in the middle.
I always stare at the screw. It dares players to turn it, to place a screwdriver upon its Phillips head and turn counter-clockwise. Each component of this community crumples to the ground in a sea of black. The baby cubes that comprise the agonizing rainbow cube are measly six-sided pieces with five black faces. Only a measly one has color. And that color is torture. But it is also comfort when one red, meets another red, meets another red and the clicking is not worthless anymore.
However, there are still more sheets of cubes to turn before all nine reds are facing east. This journey with this toy is far from complete. To spin the left nine pieces down or up, to spin the top nine piece right or left—that is the question?
The above is an original piece of work by the author of this page. Any attempt to reproduce it will be deemed plagiarism.
Made me think about my young days playing with a cube. HAHA!
ReplyDeleteWhen you sit down to write do you focus on a single frustration and then replay that emotion in your mind as you write? I know you are a wicked fast typist but I could never pay enough attention to my own emotions for long enough to focus on one subject. It's great that you included the picture of the pigment-less nexus of frustration, but does this writing process unveil itself? Appreciating your fastidiousness (and of course literary style) I'm sure you actually edit your works, an act of purposefulness I never imagine as part of my identity.
ReplyDeleteThis style of yours is intriguing; frustrating in your brevity, but rewarding in your continued postings. Keep writing!