TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.24.05, tuesday night
I read cookbooks and books by people who love food the way others window-shop: as if the (re)presentation of the hungered-for thing was a succour for hunger. It works, I think, as long as you like to be hungry. As long as you like to smell something knowing you might never taste it (ever again). As long as you understand, deep down, that you would never be happy if you were sated. Full of everything you've ever wanted to eat. What's to eat after that? That's right, nothing.