DIARY
Can a teabag think? Can a spoon remember? Is a cuppa alive? These have all been good kvezjenz* with which to spend time. In the end, I spent days, years, even minutes, in pursuit of answers to these apophasistic, ectomycorrhizal and cadastral inquiries. That pursuit brought me into contact with scores of brave and visionary human beings – lawyers, potters, yodellers, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, artists, ecologists, plumbers, stylists, community leaders – who are working to redefine the ways in which the teacup and its contents are perceived; who are working, indeed, to redefine life itself.
* Ancient Finnish word, meaning a group of words formed and/or expressed so as to elicit information: eg “we hope this leaflet has been helpful in answering your kvezjenz”.
The kitchen has awoken. The eyes of the kettle are watching. The ears of the toaster are listening. The bread-bin is performing its press-ups. The pepperpot exchanges pleasantries – plejandrish – with the jamjar. Beyond and in all directions spreads the immense kitchen island, seamed by tiling and seething with sound. I locate the box on the shelf. The words imprinted upon it are clear: they possess a fine clarity. Phoo.
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