I was a living subject, but I have become a wreck – inevitably and irrevocably. I fell, yanking the neural bundles of wires out of my gut.

Skeleton’s Feast - the embodied dimension of the passing of time irrevocably. A gutted interior with ribs sticking out, once covered with curves. A skeleton intended only for tearing air apart and making moaning whizzes. The vocalization of the squeaky hinges, not needed by anyone, with functions that have become a thing of the past. My psyche is also very corrosive. Processes proceed with shuffling and grinding sounds. I am unperturbed to see that there are still red outlets somewhere else, as if there are still sources of circulating blood at the bottom. But this blood will not revive anything anymore - it will flow downward, subject to the will of gravity. I no longer deny universal heaviness.

The ginger calmness stiffens with a premonition of transformation - from me there will be barbed wire, which will tear living tissues apart, isolating and separating; from me shall be made harrows that will tear the earth apart, and axes that will kill the trees.

Hammers that crush the softness of existence.

I soak the ground with used black grease from the inside from the organs immobilized in the cavities of the torsos. Even the smell does not bear witness to the former life. I run down the oil without being slippery. I spend soot and dirty scraps of old softness, having as a witness and companion a motionless raven.