star fruit cream pie
ten or eleven years ago, my friend ryan made large ceramic forks when he was a second year at cranbrook. i was living in california (i had already graduated) and first learned of the forks on the internet, where images of them circulated. i asked ryan about their context —— how and why he went about making them and what they represented to him. he told me that he was eating dinner one night and began thinking about how the fork is a grotesque and violent object in all of its iterations (metal, plastic, etc). he added something about the fork being entirely transparent; it’s not hiding its motives —— it is what it is, unapologetically. this makes me wonder,
what would you say or do if you were like a fork? not violent like a fork, but unapologetic like a fork? what have you not said that you would say, if you were my fork? how would you say it, and what would you do or say afterwards? where might your words take you when you’re a fork?
in english, the word “travel” has its roots in struggle and arduous labor, while in arabic, the root “travel” can morph into an ambassador. the roots are tainted by hardship and pain in the former; sprouted and supported into action in the latter. i’m sure there are examples in each language that contradict my hollow argument, but i don’t care.
my ass takes up more space than it did two years ago, despite the things i’m thinking of and lamenting.