FilmVomit

It is easy to forget that this suit is made of meat, and it is easy to mistake this meat as foreign. We rarely are confronted with our status as meat-bags; rarely are we confronted even with the very real fact of our own demise. One must see, one must touch, one must stick the hand into the wounds like Thomas and take nothing on faith. Such beauty even in death, the human body has. Such hideousness and such beauty that can be brought out in tandem- no, that exist always in tandem. 

It is easy to forget for a moment; watching the scalpels arc gracefully and the glistening reds and whites, watching red liquid that must be blood drip slowly or gush in cascading torrents, that these are people. Were alive, once, not long before the camera caught their bouncing photons. And then a hand, a breast, a nose. These fine lines so easily crossed. 

It is strange to think that even the living on film are likely dead, have likely passed through the hands of someone else quite similar to themselves. 

The Act of Seeing with One’s Own Eyes