On this day, we tie the pig's leg across its chest.
It realizes it's in danger as we lug it around keeping it off balance. But its howling squeals garner it no pity. We struggle to attach a second rope and pull its legs back to expose its throat. One puncture begins an inexorable flood of blood, and death comes after a minute of unanswered trumpeting calls.
“We recognize the grandeur of classical art.”
“We don’t deny that it was great for its time.”
“We will move on the plane of the present, of today!”
“Victory over the rubbish past!”
We cover the pig with hay and set it on fire. This is repeated several times, scraping the hair off after each burn. Tuica in hand, we rest briefly, then remove one eye. As the blood pours to the ground, chickens gather at the pool. We continue to scrub away the burnt skin and peel off its hooves.
It takes everyone of us to lift the carcass onto the butchering table.
Next the legs are removed, torn off like pruned branches— cut and peel. We strain to crack the skull and remove the head. It finally splits open with a hatchet. We move on to slitting the hide and ripping off the fat. The intestines are piled into a basket.
Organs come out and go into the soup. The spine is lifted from the shrinking pile of flesh. We tie off one end of the bladder and wash the stones free of blood with the remaining urine. Its stuffed and stitched.
Women arrive to grind the meat and sort the entrails. One woman blows into them checking for ruptures. The other fills the extruder with meat, cranking to engorge the emptied tubes with the mash. The tough bits are boiled, the guts washed and fed to the dogs.
No one else eats.
Henceforth this burden will be left to those who have been unable to free their consciousness from the surface, those whose consciousness have remained flat because they could not overcome the familiar. We will keep our rivals with us or behind us.
We lift our glasses and toast our comrades. They raise their hands, each with a fig clenched in their fist. Our action is the path.
We reject all speculation
and all formalism.
Our path will be difficult. Very Difficult! Niemand sagte, es wäre einfach.