A Dead Thing That, in Dying, Feeds the Living
(18+)
I’ve been thinking about the anatomy of the egg, about the two interior membranes, the yolk held in place by the chalazae, gases moving through the semipermeable shell. A curious phrase, the anatomy of the egg, as if an egg were a body, which it is, as if the egg could be broken then mended, which, depending on your faith, broken yes, but mended? Well. Best to start again, with a new body, voided from a warmer one, brooded and turned. Better to begin as if some small-handed animal hadn’t knocked you against a rock, licked clean the rich yolk and left the albumen to dry in the sun — as if a hinged jaw hadn’t swallowed you whole. What I wanted: a practice that reassured that what was cracked could be mended or, at least, suspended so that it could not spread. But now I wonder: better to be the egg or scaled mandible? The small hand or the flies, bottle black and green, spilling their bile onto whatever’s left, sweeping the interior, drinking it clean? I think, something might have grown there, though I know it was always meant to be eaten, it was always meant to spoil.
2020-04-30 19:09:19
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Enok Mayeny
@JENOVA JACKSON CHASE hey, I appreciate warm welcome.
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2020-05-01 09:27:56
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Enok Mayeny
@Valour And Faith thank a lot.
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2020-05-01 09:28:08
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JENOVA JACKSON CHASE
@Enok Mayeny thankyou.
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2020-05-01 20:36:22
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