Charlie Reynolds, @wackoes7
fatelephant2222@gmail.com Encased in an ornate glass box, a gaunt, mummified head sits, its mouth slightly open, eyes closed and sunken in their sockets. While obviously inanimate—its emaciated flesh dried and leathery—it also appears to be resting in repose, its expression lending it an uncannily life-like aura. The case in which it sits is ornamented with gilded columns and trim, its top angled upwards like a church’s roof, an ornate crucifix adorning its peak. At the base of the case, engraved on a gilt banner in elegant script reads the latin words, ‘Beato Olivero Sacrum.’
“Such wastes drop so that I might live, until, from loss to loss, nothing remains in me and my entire body falls beyond the limit—cadere, cadaver. If dung signifies the other side of the border, the place where I am not and which permits me to be, the corpse, the most sickening of wastes, is a border that has encroached upon everything”
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