Liselotte Watkins — CFHILLGigi: I love you mealy tomato. I love you scaly swordfish. I love you mealy tomato and even if the tomato’s banality is true it does not make the tomato less loved.
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Paola and Gina (calling): Gigi, save all the shells from the shellfish to make a stock and then pour the stock into ice trays so it freezes into cubes. Then you won’t have to use stock from the shop because it doesn’t taste right. Gigi, you should dip the aubergine in egg and breadcrumbs first, you can’t fry it straight in the pan. Ava, there is no reason not to iron the sheets. Ava, why did you say are you tied to that ridiculous string. Your daughter can’t be worse than Gigi’s daughter even though your sons are real pests too! Palermo: The mosaic is millions of fibres between the city’s physical objects, it enfolds us like the bark enfolds the tree in Ava’s story about returning and Gigi, all the trees outside your kitchen window are looking in at the fishes’ fishiness and wishing you would run the knife along the scales.
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All the jars in memory like mosaics under the trees, you can scale yourself and Ava, you can scale Gigi and Gigi, you can scale Ava and Paola and Gina, you can scale the fish. Ava: Each jar has its own temporality. I must understand each vessel according to the vessel’s own potential.
Ahaa, now I see why there’s a cut between the outside and inside and that’s so we can keep what we intended to keep, haul me in now so I can show you. Haul me in again and I’ll fix the fish. Gigi: Each crisp has its own crispiness but also its own temporality and when I put the crisp in my mouth it crumbles even if I were to resist.
Each body also has its own temporality and that temporality consists mainly of saliva, that’s why the crisp crumbles. The crisp’s crispiness entails that it cannot resist the salivaness of the saliva. Ava, what do we know about the mealy tomato and other things that resemble it? Ava: We know the body’s extension in space. We know the object’s extension in space.
We know that every jar has its own temporality and that the jar does not have the body’s given finality unless the body drops the jar on the floor when the body moves the jar from one counter to another. Perhaps Gigi will drop the jar when my children suddenly shout and run through the hallway. Perhaps Gigi will drop the jar with intent because it seems unfair that the jar should only listen but is never expected to say anything.
Perhaps Gigi will drop the jar to find out what it looks like inside. Gigi: I love you mealy tomato. I love you fishy fish. I love you jarry jar and I love you crispy crisp without love necessarily pointing back at me because I am dissolved into millions of mosaics and water chromosomes, into stock molecules and milk atoms. I, or what was previously called I, am inside the jar’s jarriness and it laps so cosily, light casts shadows of the waves on the walls. Ava: When someone hauls me in I’ll take the fish out of the fix.
Gigi: When someone hauls her in I will chew the fish in the mouth. Paola and Gina: Look Ava she’s insane. Look Gigi has gone mad! They love a mealy tomato. Palermo: Crinoline- coloured scale fix layers, sunset songs and the deepest aubergine purple, the jars aligned in family dining rooms. The colours of the embrace and cask infatuations.
Miami hues in terracotta kisses, women’s stories decanted in large jugs are served in cups around the oak cask tables. A gentle caress of fluorescent wallpaper pattern that takes off from the walls. Palermo one afternoon, September bordering on October.
October, bordering on Ava. Ava, bordering on Gina.
Gina, bordering on fish. Fish, bordering on water. Water, bordering on the jar. The jar, bordering on Palermo that borders on the sea and sun, the whole world in that acid, Palermo in that jar.