Something about this stir stick stuck in my head. Or was it a spoon? Dull gray steel flare, it leans forward from my angle. The cup steams, thinly dancing shapes only survive the surface, becoming nothing the further up they float. As I stare at it intently I see the reflections made in the dark rich surface of the liquid. Rim, rim’s reflection, and then this enormous thrusting metal pillar ascending out of the careful composition. Everything above the surface is mirrored in it, and I shake the table to agitate, upsetting the smooth retelling of a simple arrangement.
All of everything is where focus is. If I stare long enough at this one object, on this one table, in this one room, in this one building, on this one street, in the one city, in this one state, I can deny the fact that whatever the circumstances, no matter how much it doesn’t matter in the scheme of things that something in my immediate perception of reality is intolerable in some way, that beauty, order, and certainty can be gleamed from the simplicity of function right in front of my nose.