12 Objects
Thom sits in the dark with his eyes fastened. He knows he can open them if he tells his brain to send a message to the muscles and nerves surrounding his eyes, yet he doesn’t. He lets his facial muscles lie comatose, like caterpillars inert but full of potential.
He feels an object with his shaky fingers. He has spent two days looking over the objects collectively and hours scrutinising each object’s every feature. With this brush it’s the plastic body with rubber welts that has embedded the pattern into his palm, the stubbly beard that has pressed into his pores until they sting and remind him of his own unkempt face, the curled lip of its head like a sneer. He has devoted hours to using all his senses to analyse this object and now he has spent half an hour holding it in hi
