Nov 23, 2005

Drawing a bloodbath

I enjoy images that provoke. I also love the colour, texture, and symbolism of blood. Not all anthropomorphic art is designed to give you the warm fuzzies.

Though it does bring back memories of a few years ago, when I was walking down the street and happened to witness the outcome of an unattended horse attempting to escape from its trailer. It got its head stuck in the rear door, and ended up severing its neck. Deeply. Potent scarlet blood streamed down steadily from its throat, forming a thick, warm puddle beneath the trailer that slowly trickled down the steep concrete driveway. Most horrific were the gurgling sounds escaping from its throat as it tried to gasp for air, instead sputtering blood all over the cold steel trailer frame. I could see through the haze and the dampness in its eyes the agony and terror it was suffering, confirmed further by the sharp spasms of its body. Its legs dangled uselessly, hooves stirring up the thin layer of straw on the bloody trailer floor. All hope was lost. To watch the life force rapidly drain away from a half decapitated horse was a mesmorising sight. I could smell its ensuing death. The odour offended my nostrils. I pulled myself away and asked the closest neighbours if they knew who owned the horse. They didn't. Eventually the owner showed up and furrowed his brow, speechless as the world around me. I shall never forget the images. His facial expression and inability to utter a word. The river of blood that flowed down the driveway and into the pasture. The couple who passed by slowly in a car, the driver gawking at the scene, the passenger looking down and using her hand to shield herself from the terrifying vision. The horse's last attempt at drawing a breath. All I could do was stare. It was a beautiful and sickening and riveting and embittering and scintillating spectacle of unfathomable cruelty. The animal was dead, its head hanging idly from the trailer like a Christmas stocking from a fireplace mantle.

happy holidays.

Well go on now, go to the supermarket and purchase your pre-packaged, pre-inspected, pre-butchered turkey. Pour some champagne and celebrate your ridiculous American tradition, and give thanks that God has been so kind to you.

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