- Vol. 04
- Chapter 06
Hoc Est Corpus Meum
This is my body it transforms it is transformed by pain, nausea, hunger and morbidity it transubstantiates reconstitutes bone into sticks it is less than hope can hold it convulses and folds it is the real presence it is Actaeon after the feast and it sheds flesh like death.
What nourishes me also destroys me A blind conspiracy of t-cells A dissonance within, a mute fluttering the dolorous baying of ravenous entrails the moxie drawn from reticulated limbs and the world shudders down under black wings to void all memory to disgorge all resonance to vomit all in an exegesis of viscera.
Even in paradise there is death Tumor necrosis factor alpha slaved to the monolith cytokine a malfunction in stone and all broken once again, once and for all, broken hollowed out and broken
Hoc Est Corpus Meumslow to reassemble from twig, rust, wire and wax tottering up through the black, broken eyes of the starved carcass my memory is mute.
No more pain Hand me the knife and I'll do it myself cut deep to the dark nucleus below bone and sinew, entangled viscera, rusted entrails expose the locus of pain to my inimical eye an exorcism of self evisceration vivisection without anaesthetic to quell the quixotic arrhythmia of pain’s functionless utility pain is a landscape a psychogeography of acutely attenuated persecution language articulates the self, but pain annihilates language.
No one is free who is slave to his body Bone pinioned to broken wood a murmur in the marrow, warm perturbations some distant sobbing in bones, branch and tendon a dissonance within slick twine pulling at the emetic compulsion equanimity is deferred as nausea’s compassionless leviathan rises.
Some day this pain will be useful to you One moment ... no, it will not it will neither enlighten nor inculcate it will not invoke contrition it has no utility, no sagacity, no wisdom