Maria Ilieva
Keywords: Digestion, Remembering, Absobing
This is a fictional enactment of the following of an urge until satisfaction.
The need to remember everything, collecting objects, and in particular - symbols of knowledge, leads one to a life of confusion, hoarding and sensless collecting-FOMO. But aren't these objects only valuale when they take on the role of evocative external stimuli for our memory? If we want to, need to, keep a thing forever, wouldn't the safest place for it be inside of us?
What if we were to eat our belongings - just to make sure they're with us always, a part of us always?
Dear Z,
Today I woke up with cravings. I wonder if I'm pregnant. It's those types of cravings where you don't really know what you want to eat - but rather, know that every option you have sucks. Everything in the fridge - gross.
Dear Z,
Today I realized I've felt this way all week. I have lost all appetite, it seems. I am working as per usual though, and nothing really seems to faze my day except that I feel very hungry.
Dear Z,
Today I was looking at the shelf in front of my desk with all my paraphernalia. I saw my binoculars. You know, I used to love them until I forgot they existed. You know, they've been sitting there for a few years now. They have a massive layer of dust, like a new layer of skin.
Dear Z,
Last night I dreamt about my binoculars. I swear, I cannot get them out of my head. Every moment I had with them in tow is coming back to me. I felt like an eagle, I felt more-than-human, superhuman, I felt like a wizard, I felt like a spy, I felt like I could see anything anywhere. It felt amazing. I feel my hunger more than ever, like the opposite walls of my stomach are stuck together.
Dear Z,
Would it sound crazy if I tell you that I looked at my binoculars today and salivated?
Dear Z,
I really think there's something about them. I washed them when I found them by the way. They're all clean now, and the gloss returned. In a way they almost have the same glow chocolate sometimes does when it shines under lamp light. I wouldn't want you to worry - I eat a bit, It's just difficult to swallow and I take no pleasure in it at all.
Dear Z,
Today I woke up and I just had to try them. They were much harder than I thought. I guess I completel lost sense of materiality. I almost broke a tooth, I think. If I could swallow them whole, I would.
Dear Z,
Today I took them apart, in smaller pieces, like you said. It's actually quite helpful but I think I have to break the individual pieces even smaller. They're still too big for me to swallow.
Dear Z,
What if I make them into a powder, and then into a pill?
Dear Z,
Sorry for not writing sooner. These past weeks have been difficult. I think I mentioned last time something about powder? I sent out the letter to you and took a lens and a piece of the focus wheel, to grind them up in my blender. I was so excited, Z, and then what - the minute I smelled the powder - all the appetite was gone. I should've known, I can't believe I was this stupid. I only wanted the binoculars in the first place, I wanted them because they looked so tasty in their entirety... a bit like a wedding cake, you know? When they serve you a piece of it it starts looking rotten and dumb. I only wanted to eat them because they looked useful, helpful. I only wanted to eat them because they helped me out those years ago, because I loved them, you know. Now what? Now they're just parts of a whole and some dust. Now I can't eat them anymore.