One day in Byers, we had finished eating dinner and were about to start our lecture, and everybody was scrambling. This hilarity frequented us: 10 artists percieving, understanding, constructing, and then when it comes time to take notes nobody can find a pencil. Benja saved my butt on this particular night. I spent a while looking at his pencil in my hand. It was a special byproduct of his imaginings. The red clip was half broken off, the text on the clip rubbed away, the eraser had nulled his work for a while, and it had the special grey grime of backpack life. I used his pencil to take this note: Benja’s pencil, using somebody else’s magic tool. Ben has said in every round table name/schoolyear/interest introduction that he’s interested in objects and their significance. I found his pencil very significant.