talking to write, I absently finger and roll my testicles
this voice stuff is getting better, about ten words a minute.
I feel sinews and structure, I reflect on doctors, they get to cut these things open and see how they work from the inside.
So did Leonardo, he lived in a different age where stealing bodies was perhaps frowned upon but not impossible;
today, to have the opportunity for human dissection, hands on, I can imagine only these bleak scenarios (though stealing bodies from graveyards would be pretty narsty to be sure)
be a doctor: requiring years and tens of thousands of dollars; in all likelihood I would have to study biology.Computers might provide some simulation dissection, but if I really am to stop eating french fries, I should really roll some fat between my fingers.
I could experiment on myself: that would draw the boundaries of exploration pretty tight. As weird as they get, I don't imagine my friends would be down with helping me out on this one. Forrest Bess did it himself though, there's hope for all of us yet.
(strange texas artist dude who had visions and painted them. he studied and eventually performed a semi-successful sex-organ operation on himself. see texas monthly, june 1982 (thanks kathleen))I could try filching bodies from graveyards, but that would be potentially offensive, and I might be mistaken for Edward Gein.
it would be pretty intense, cutting into cold flesh. I was thinking of asking for physical donations, but storage and workspace could get pretty messy. I guess it would be good to have medical school deal with all that, maybe I can take just a cadaver class. I guess then background would be nice. Maybe I should go to medical school. I'd have to take biology then. Rats.
(this is all likely related to my working over the tape/transcript from my interview with my exceptional hand doctor over break. that was great. he was wild. its going to first end up selected on eminds, then published here in its entirity. amy took photos on assignment with me. she's so rad. i got a great poem from her today, like little pointy swizzle sticks poking me in the butt. how do i love thee.)