elegiacl

[elegiacl]

going through the badlands archive for anniversary celebrations and found these New Americana stills from some set ups that didn’t make the final vid. I love the whiplash of moods lol little baby.

[elegiacl]

Kitchen Hymns, Pádraig Ó Tuama

[elegiacl]

I am hanging from a hook in the ceiling

like animal carcass.

I am splayed open, salted and tenderized.

My fatty bits sectioned off with bakers twine.

Red juices weep from my wounds.

Not blood, but the meat sweating

for better flavor.

A heavy palm comes down hard on my rump.

He lifts from the flank.

He samples the breast.

Hunger animates his body but he knows he must wait until the meat is ready.

He massages oils into the fibrous texture.

Working it in with the strong flat pads of his thumbs and fingers.

The meat is shivering.

The meat is shaking.

I’m told this is a chemical process.

Even once dead and removed from the body,

the meat dances on the table.

Due to the residual energy and nerve endings present in the tissue.

The flesh will twitch.

But it must be ready.

When it is ready he’ll carve it off in slabs,

and drop them into his mouth;

a mouse falling into the mouth of a snake

hanging by the tail.

He’ll glide the knife under the muscle

and it will slide down his throat

but it must be ready.

The meat is hanging but will not dry.

It drips

and drips

more juices.

The air is escaping.

The tendons are loosening.

He ties her off again and again.

Soon little lamb.

Soon.

- MEAT 2024

[elegiacl]

This is how I originally wrote it. One of those that starts as a poem and then begs to be a song. I posted a fragment of this on tumblr a while back, but here’s the initial piece in its entirety 🤍

[elegiacl]

[elegiacl]

“Combat—I’m ready for combat—“

“I know you want to—slip under my armor—“

“My armor can walk and talk and they look just like me. But you can’t hurt us anymore, because one of us isn’t real.”

armor, 1617

[elegiacl]

Song of Songs, Sylvie Baumgartel

[elegiacl]

“So proud was she to die

It made us all ashamed

That we cherished, so unknown

To her desire seemed—

So satisfied to go

Where none of us should be

Immediately—that Anguish stooped

Almost to Jealousy”

— Emily Dickinson, So proud was she to die, (1272)

[elegiacl]

The Awakening Of The Poet, Gabriel Ferrier (1899)

[elegiacl]

“tell me who you run to, when i’m stuck in your head?”

— “Feel the Shame”, Vaishalini

[elegiacl]

Death and the maiden, George Clark Stanton (1832-1894)

[elegiacl]

Orpheus and Eurydice (Nada Shvegovich, 1992)

[elegiacl]

the shores bend and break for her,,,, and she begs to be loved.

[elegiacl]

On the Seashore, George Elgar Hicks (1879)

[elegiacl]

[elegiacl]

round and round like a horse on a carousel

© Andu Artist

[elegiacl]

17.06.24