How to Make a Cake & Eat it Too.

What to buy:

1 8x8 inch, 2 ½ profile canvas
1 6x6 inch, 2 ½ profile canvas
1 8oz. tub of while acrylic paint
2 small tubes of blue & gold finishing acrylic
Zap super glue
colorful buttons
thread

What to do:

glue 6x6 canvas on top of 8x8 canvas
heavily spread white paint over it
put buttons on it
wait to dry
thread around the buttons

What may happen:

She purchased a cake, or rather, an idea of one. She took it home, watched it and showed her friends. They too, wanted to try it. One of them said “I bet it tastes just like one”, another said “Don’t touch it. It might get all over your fingers.” “Try it”, she said, and handed them a fork and knife. Only, it wouldn’t cut. “Close your eyes”, she said, and a slice came out.

They are seated at a birthday party, whose, we do not know. The birthday did not belong in the room, it was the room that had nothing to do with the person, whose birthday they were celebrating. A room which gathers opinions; the space interior, a square. In this square people are inside it, puncturing the air, voices begin to thread a long line of talk; it is in talking that a line begins to define several points, these points that wrap around several buttons.

He unbuttons a white collared shirt in the dark of a smaller room on the second tier of a house. “Do you have a needle”, he says. She is standing on the opposite end of a threaded sentence. In every instant they are separate until their inflections had potential to rip a seam. At an interval on the line, he approached her and cracked a button and there appeared another definition of pink, one that couldn’t be spoken.

In spoken parts, degrees of pink emerge; a common denominator is needed for the story to agree to, though color might be a state of motion. The telephone rings as constant embroidery, unnecessary when no one is there to pick up. All have left the party. No one is inside the birthday of the one who never came. In the center of a room, a cake; the cake which guests stood around to wait collectively. Someone says “How shall we eat it?” Another says “I don’t want to wait my whole life to eat what can‘t be eaten.”

At mass, a child coughs during transubstantiation. The priest drops the host onto the ground, unsure if the gesture was reduced to accident, flesh or art. Would Christ be present in any of these after hitting the ground? People stood in line to receive whatever came of it, believing for different reasons, each standing in their own body to eat an idea eternity.