So it is with Horse: Consumed for eons during the late paleolithic period, as we started to tame the wild horses we slowly stopped eating them.
Lead you back into yr table
Napoleon’s army, hungry, and advised to do so by the Surgeon in Chief, began cooking the meat of slain war horses in the breastplates of their armor using gunpowder as seasoning.
Killer buyer
http://web.vet.cornell.edu/public/oed/horsedissection/Search.asp?Fun=SBM
Art out of leisure time
The Universe as a Sacrificial Horse
It might have been easier to ride but
here she is, bellied up. Dumb, pregnant thing
and hollow still
- What a hard thing it is to kill! Where is you, heart?
The hardest part is bone, and starting.
A mare will kick if you surprise it from the back,
so we told her we were coming.
On your rear, we said.
We're behind! we said.
Then I ran from the front crying
No one's name and knocked her,
up on the head.
here she is, bellied up. Dumb, pregnant thing
and hollow still
- What a hard thing it is to kill! Where is you, heart?
The hardest part is bone, and starting.
A mare will kick if you surprise it from the back,
so we told her we were coming.
On your rear, we said.
We're behind! we said.
Then I ran from the front crying
No one's name and knocked her,
up on the head.
Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future. Instead of being made of natural materials, such as marble & granite - plastic, chrome, and electric light. They are not built for the ages, but rather against the ages. They are involved in a systematic reduction of time down to fractions of seconds, rather than in representing the long spaces of centuries. Both past and future are placed into an objective present. This kind of time has little or no space; it is stationary and without movement, it is going nowhere, it is anti-Newtonian, as well as being instant, and is against the wheels of the time-clock.
ROBERT SMITHSON
At the setting the sun had a diminished diameter and an expiring brown, rayless glow, as if millions of centuries elapsing since the morning had brought it near its end. A dense bank of cloud became visible to the northward; it had a sinister dark olive tint, and lay lower and motionless upon the sea, resembling a solid obstacle in the path of the ship. She went foundering towards it like an exhausted creature driven to its death... The far-off blackness ahead of the ship was like another night seen through the starry night of the earth - the starless night of the immensities beyond the created universe revealed in its appalling stillness through a low fissure in the glittering sphere of which the earth is the kernel.
JOE CONRAD
Our vision is...determined by our weight and oriented by the pull of earth’s gravity, by the classic distinction between zenith and nadir - the original reference point for sight, one bound up with the delicate balancing act of a universal attraction which imposes on us its gearing towards the centre of the Earth, at the risk of our falling.
PAUL VIRILIO
The rope doesn't hang, the earth pulls.
VICTOR HUGO
ROBERT SMITHSON
At the setting the sun had a diminished diameter and an expiring brown, rayless glow, as if millions of centuries elapsing since the morning had brought it near its end. A dense bank of cloud became visible to the northward; it had a sinister dark olive tint, and lay lower and motionless upon the sea, resembling a solid obstacle in the path of the ship. She went foundering towards it like an exhausted creature driven to its death... The far-off blackness ahead of the ship was like another night seen through the starry night of the earth - the starless night of the immensities beyond the created universe revealed in its appalling stillness through a low fissure in the glittering sphere of which the earth is the kernel.
JOE CONRAD
Our vision is...determined by our weight and oriented by the pull of earth’s gravity, by the classic distinction between zenith and nadir - the original reference point for sight, one bound up with the delicate balancing act of a universal attraction which imposes on us its gearing towards the centre of the Earth, at the risk of our falling.
PAUL VIRILIO
The rope doesn't hang, the earth pulls.
VICTOR HUGO
Under what, a spell? Or,
what we assumed were some few who cared
what we did, and looked up to? We ate her,
ate them, spat, and spent the night failing
to please an idea of what might be true, later.
I mean to say that we worried, saw
the map and who’s lacking,
what we'd shackled ourselves to what’s bound to happen -
And with taken faces, they look sore.
We thought of them and they took more :
Most often the mirrors, then brothers, our wives,
and the stained heroes we’d gather to watch shutting doors.
Can’t bear it, I say,
Let’s drown ‘em,
for good.
So we watered each other and they starved us of food.
Turned swollen, verbose,
leaking out of our pores,
we drank up to our eyes and then spilled out some more.
It gets boring, Above us
the thing giggled and writhed 'til
we saw it was nothing and started inside.
Gripping sopped livers and squeaked in the feat,
we rusted our mouths despite wanting to eat, and
agreed on tomorrow, dripped into our beds,
and draped our wet blankets on top of our heads.
what we assumed were some few who cared
what we did, and looked up to? We ate her,
ate them, spat, and spent the night failing
to please an idea of what might be true, later.
I mean to say that we worried, saw
the map and who’s lacking,
what we'd shackled ourselves to what’s bound to happen -
And with taken faces, they look sore.
We thought of them and they took more :
Most often the mirrors, then brothers, our wives,
and the stained heroes we’d gather to watch shutting doors.
Can’t bear it, I say,
Let’s drown ‘em,
for good.
So we watered each other and they starved us of food.
Turned swollen, verbose,
leaking out of our pores,
we drank up to our eyes and then spilled out some more.
It gets boring, Above us
the thing giggled and writhed 'til
we saw it was nothing and started inside.
Gripping sopped livers and squeaked in the feat,
we rusted our mouths despite wanting to eat, and
agreed on tomorrow, dripped into our beds,
and draped our wet blankets on top of our heads.
Dead Hand
We started by dividing the universe
into what can and cannot be named.
Me, and everything else. And
Everything happened, especially you
who believed - to a fault - the shamed
distortions of our personal spaces.
The dictionary was one of them,
once completed, and eventually worn soft by the words
we read most: Is now broke.
We fucked a bit to keep it coming,
but what? I’m not sure.
- Me neither.
On the weekends, or occasionally
after work if the mood was gamey,
I’d chase old untellable things
that we’d failed to define or crammed
into small pronouns that meant little.
Hard work,
considering the ethereal ambitions
of what moved us back then, and now backwards
towards nothing. I never found anything,
but was glad to not come home.
All at once tired - smoked and stalked by the hunted
I curled up and slept in the dead hand
of a body of what that wept,
but would never be living.
into what can and cannot be named.
Me, and everything else. And
Everything happened, especially you
who believed - to a fault - the shamed
distortions of our personal spaces.
The dictionary was one of them,
once completed, and eventually worn soft by the words
we read most: Is now broke.
We fucked a bit to keep it coming,
but what? I’m not sure.
- Me neither.
On the weekends, or occasionally
after work if the mood was gamey,
I’d chase old untellable things
that we’d failed to define or crammed
into small pronouns that meant little.
Hard work,
considering the ethereal ambitions
of what moved us back then, and now backwards
towards nothing. I never found anything,
but was glad to not come home.
All at once tired - smoked and stalked by the hunted
I curled up and slept in the dead hand
of a body of what that wept,
but would never be living.
the Detectives
Gritting our teeth
with guns, down to the gums -
we're spat mouthfuls of crumbles,
fully loaded.
There were long trial periods
between our investigations,
legs. Let's just say
every place became somewhere
to shove something into.
The organization was arduous;
We could barely keep track of each other,
let alone the insipid things below, and
I ain't allowed to keep innocents,
according to God - But I've seen him
spew forth our own flesh
and make a big mess of the selves.
I've seen him gnaw on his tale
as if it were our tale and then
throw 'em a bone.
We had once, with great efforts,
tried to explain what lies
under there - in sight and shame,
plus love and pain and all the other
blah blah blah that was popular
(and against the law) last year.
All ears!
I said, then,
but it’s no use - they want
themselves and don’t
need to hear or see or be
any of us, unhappy.
with guns, down to the gums -
we're spat mouthfuls of crumbles,
fully loaded.
There were long trial periods
between our investigations,
legs. Let's just say
every place became somewhere
to shove something into.
The organization was arduous;
We could barely keep track of each other,
let alone the insipid things below, and
I ain't allowed to keep innocents,
according to God - But I've seen him
spew forth our own flesh
and make a big mess of the selves.
I've seen him gnaw on his tale
as if it were our tale and then
throw 'em a bone.
We had once, with great efforts,
tried to explain what lies
under there - in sight and shame,
plus love and pain and all the other
blah blah blah that was popular
(and against the law) last year.
All ears!
I said, then,
but it’s no use - they want
themselves and don’t
need to hear or see or be
any of us, unhappy.
something w/ the fall of somebody
I woke to the windowpane, licked
by rain. Busied in the tedious exit of dreams,
I first failed to separate his noises from
the spattering of weather and walls.
But I could taste thirst -
air worn thin like the inside of a balloon.
In my dumb coarseness
I felt a trembling from the formless above,
And then knew the panting of a shrunken mouth carried
through faint and quieter seconds.
Why was it born
here in the belly outside of its desire -
Pissing blood and swollen
against the floor, dry heaving
in the eyes, senseless from a dead gain?
Hungry ghost
one hundred ears made
For drips not drunk,
For water spent over my roof
under the spell of his old itch -
The moon-burnt and skinned old thing
it hurts to pity.
by rain. Busied in the tedious exit of dreams,
I first failed to separate his noises from
the spattering of weather and walls.
But I could taste thirst -
air worn thin like the inside of a balloon.
In my dumb coarseness
I felt a trembling from the formless above,
And then knew the panting of a shrunken mouth carried
through faint and quieter seconds.
Why was it born
here in the belly outside of its desire -
Pissing blood and swollen
against the floor, dry heaving
in the eyes, senseless from a dead gain?
Hungry ghost
one hundred ears made
For drips not drunk,
For water spent over my roof
under the spell of his old itch -
The moon-burnt and skinned old thing
it hurts to pity.
It seems that this is a difficulty pertaining to our times: there is as yet only one possible choice, and this choice can bear only on two equally extreme methods: either to posit a reality which is entirely permeable to history, and ideologize; or, conversely, to posit a reality which is ultimately impenetrable, irreducible, and, in this case, poetize. In a word, I do not yet see a synthesis between ideology and poetry (by poetry I understand, in a very general way, the search for the inalienable meaning of things).
The fact that we cannot manage to achieve more than an unstable grasp of reality doubtless gives the measure of our present alienation: we constantly drift between the object and its demystification, powerless to render its wholeness. For if we penetrate the object, we liberate it but we destroy it; and if we acknowledge its full weight, we respect it, but we restore it to a state which is still mystified. It would seem that we are condemned for some time yet always to speak excessively about reality. This is probably because ideologism and its opposite are types of behavior which are still magical, terrorized, blinded and fascinated by the split in the social world. And yet, this is what we must seek: a reconciliation between reality and men, between description and explanation, between object and knowledge.
Roland Barthes, Mythologies
The fact that we cannot manage to achieve more than an unstable grasp of reality doubtless gives the measure of our present alienation: we constantly drift between the object and its demystification, powerless to render its wholeness. For if we penetrate the object, we liberate it but we destroy it; and if we acknowledge its full weight, we respect it, but we restore it to a state which is still mystified. It would seem that we are condemned for some time yet always to speak excessively about reality. This is probably because ideologism and its opposite are types of behavior which are still magical, terrorized, blinded and fascinated by the split in the social world. And yet, this is what we must seek: a reconciliation between reality and men, between description and explanation, between object and knowledge.
Roland Barthes, Mythologies
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