She had a laugh like a beefsteak.

—Mabel Dodge Luhan, describing Gertrude Stein

1.                                                                                   

I am thinking about dead meat when my boyfriend finishes licking my asshole. I am thinking about oxidation, how a blood-red steak will turn brown after it has been exposed to the air for several hours. The color change, I will later discover, is due to the presence of a protein called myoglobin, which is found in the muscle tissue of most mammals. But at the moment I am consumed by this line of inquiry, and my boyfriend notices. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, peering out from behind me. "Do you want me to finger you?" I let him finger me. As his pointer and middle fingers slide in and out, in and out, the muscles contract and expand, moving me almost to tears. I close my eyes, allowing the center of my body to reorient itself ever so slightly. I focus on the cluster of nerves in my asshole and try not to think about dead meat.

2.

The anal sphincter is only one of many sphincters found in the human body. Other kinds include: urethral sphincter, ileocecal sphincter, sphincter of Oddi, pyloric sphincter, lower and upper esophageal sphincter, and iris sphincter. A sphincter may be broadly described as any circular muscle that can expand and contract to regulate bodily passages. We are constantly expanding and contracting, more or less against our will. I switch on a light, turn my attention to an object in the distance, and my pupils shrink in sympathetic response. I eat a heavy meal and grimace at the awkward weight of the food in my stomach, which has yet to be released into my lower intestines. Tonight I make the choice to expand ever so slightly. I ask my boyfriend to buy me three cuts of steak from the supermarket. He takes a finger and presses gently on the tip of his penis, drawing a thin, spangled line of precum in the air. "Taste?" he says, and I do. My body is almost perfectly seasoned, a delectation of meat. We will go to the supermarket tomorrow, when the sky is forecasted to open like a fresh wound.

3.

There are rows and rows of meat, stretching for miles. Sliced meat, cubed meat, frozen meat, minced meat, skewered meat, glazed meat, tubed meat, boiled meat, ground meat, candied meat, fermented meat, dried meat, seasoned meat, whole meat, stewed meat, canned meat, uncanny meat, brilliant meat, wretched meat, the meat of love, silent meat, dishonest meat, whodunit meat, rough and ready meat, sexy meat, irradiated meat, haunted meat, mystery meat. There is meat on ice, meat on platters, meat on Styrofoam covered in a thin layer of plastic, vacuum-sealed. So much meat that the shapes retreat into colors, and the colors take their time fully exposing themselves. A worker in a starched white shirt and hat gestures to us from behind one of a series of low wooden tables. "Good morning," he says. "You look like you're in need of a little nourishment." On the table, a metal tray lined with deli paper displays around twenty pieces of disfigured meat, impaled by toothpicks. I do not know how to play this game, but my boyfriend does, he has been shopping for the two of us since we first got together, and so I let him nod affectionately and hand me a piece. "Delicious," we say in unison, mouths full, glancing around at the other shoppers. The worker continues to stare, tongue pressed between his teeth.

4.
 
Variations in the sensoric quality of meat include the following: tenderness, juiciness, type and depth of flavor, and so on. These variations depend not only on the choice of cut, but also on the conditions in which the meat was raised. A well fed, properly cared for piece of meat will produce a healthy tissue and fat with a white or creamy yellow color. On the other hand, pink or reddish fat is a good indicator that the meat experienced either acute excitement or stress prior to being slaughtered. Discoloration should not be taken as a sign that the meat is inedible.

5.

Unless, of course, you are well acquainted with the realities of the situation. Which we should hope to be.

6.

The character for meat (肉) derives from a pictograph of an animal's ribcage. It is one figure (人) removed from the character for inside (內). I like to imagine that meat equals one figure nestled inside the body of another. I like to imagine this while I am being fucked by a half pound of ground meat stuffed inside a condom. We have made it something of a ritual, my boyfriend and I. Every morning, usually just after waking, he takes a section of meat from the fridge and prepares the meat-dildo, which will rest in the freezer for several hours. When he returns, he folds his body lengthwise next to mine. We do not speak a word to each other until the time has come. This word must be tactical, some sort of command; it must locate itself first and foremost in the flesh. My boyfriend's favorite: "Open."

7.

We notice, first, the hands moving along the upper thigh, a consistency of intention that could almost be mistaken for nourishment. We readjust the angle. We follow with our eyes the proceeding movements, which occur in rapid succession: The toes flexing, then curling. The muscles of the anus expanding and contracting. A series of kisses that begins at the neck ends along the perineum, prompting relaxation. Lube is applied; although at this point the meat has been sufficiently primed to expect a certain level of discomfort. Finally, at long last, he inserts the gleaming tube, still half-frozen, but soon to be thawing quick. We stare, open-mouthed. We remind ourselves, even as the pain arrows and splinters and turns into something else, that the characters for carnal desire (肉欲) correspond with the English—a lust for meat.

8.

Does he dare to peek inside? Do we dare? Somehow the act feels anathema to revelation. A betrayal of the outside, which is (after all) the ground upon which we tread, toil, fester. He blushes, and we know our answer. You have to look into the meat's eyes when you kill it. 

9.

He receives a notification that the appliance has been delivered at precisely 7:04 PM. On the company website, he had scrolled through countless product reviews, seen the products described with adjectives and exclamations. But what he noted most was the thrill of authenticity. Meat tastes more like meat! Vegetables retain their vibrant color and molecular integrity! He makes a careful incision along the center with a serrated knife. He licks his lips, grips both sides of the box and pulls, revealing the contents within. The appliance resembles a large metal box with another, smaller box on top of it. The smaller box wears a dial and many buttons on its face, indicating power, temperature, and water flow. According to the instruction manual, the appliance can hold around eight gallons of water, and reach a maximum temperature of 200 degrees Fahrenheit. Meat that has been properly seasoned and vacuum sealed may be deposited in the temperature-controlled water, where it will cook soundlessly and without smell for anywhere from 15 minutes to 48 hours. The result: a perfectly done piece of meat with a distinctly smooth texture and shine.

10.

Rub the inside of the pouch with your choice of seasonings. In this case, rosemary, garlic, salted butter. The meat has already been seasoned with cum and a twist of cracked black pepper. Place the meat in the pouch and vacuum seal it. Choose the appropriate settings. Wait for each component to change completely, invisibly, from something raw and disambiguated into something mouth-watering. Hesitation is understandable, but unnecessary. So much life vanishes and reappears with each turning of the sun, most of the time we simply cannot help ourselves. We eat and eat and eat until one kind of hunger rises to replace the other.

11.

But let us say you wanted to pay attention. What better way than by describing a landscape, dotted with cows. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Sixteen, maybe, if you want to count that shape—the floating rectangle half-shrouded by a sheet of corrugated iron. Sunlight throws the rest of the landscape into sharp relief. Green grass, hay bales, a concrete platform girded by fencing. Water pools on the platform and muddies the ground, emanating from an unknown source. The cows do not seem to notice, or care. Their nonchalance is horrendous. Their number is growing. You could try and subtract them, hold a cow between your pointer finger and thumb, close one eye, say "Poof!" And where are you headed, exactly? I subtract everything and still there is not enough.

12.

If we were to open ourselves, truly open ourselves, it might look something like what we see on the screen: a shining red mound, gently radiating from a (we would rather not acknowledge this) fathomless dark center. A finger trembles at the center, delicate, almost bashful. Somebody adjusts the camera, and what we are actually looking at comes into focus. Two clean-shaven ass cheeks spread on either side. The inner thigh shimmering with fluid. From around the side, the white pornstar's face contorted into a smile, or a grimace. He has been talking to us this whole time. Saying: "Look what I did for you," and "It's all yours," and "Do I have a pretty pussy, baby?" None of his words are for us, but occasionally we try to hold them in our mouths, savor their uncanny taste. "Pus-sy," the two syllables like a pillow of air sliced clean through by a hot knife. We know that our imitation is a parody. We could not bear to expose ourselves like that, certainly not to each other. No. (The laptop shuts. The light switch is flipped off.) We keep our innards to ourselves. We keep ourselves contained. Until the appropriate time and circumstance. Then we must rapidly dissolve. 

INTERLUDE: MEAT OVER MATTER

To uncover the "true" identity of an animal behind its adaptive temporary color is not unlike the unmasking of the hypocrite. But what then appears under a deceptive surface is not an inside self, an authentic appearance, changeless and reliable in its thereness. The uncovering destroys a deception; it does not uncover anything authentically appearing. In other words, you have two options. Continue, and risk bewilderment; or shut down, close off, turn away, and remember nothing. Either way you're cooked.

13.                                                                                   

He is wearing blue gloves, a starched white shirt and an apron. He looks up at the skylight, at this moment the only source of light apart from the meat, and fixates on a patch of clouds marbled against the pale blue sky. The clouds move imperceptibly, inciting panic. He needs to speak to a manager. He needs to understand what he is doing and why. Until he gets an explanation, the senselessness of forms (or lack thereof) will not abate, the meating will not abate, the oxidation will not abate and finally make a mess of them all. A meat saw has appeared in his left hand. When he looks down, the floor is covered in blood, and it is spreading, spreading.  

14.

Vats filled with vacuum-sealed meat line the hallway, evenly spaced and evenly working. The water inside the vats looks perfect, antiseptic, like it couldn't possibly contain a single living organism. Shipments are due to be processed in a matter of hours, after which the cycle must begin all over again, ad infinitum. An announcement blares over the PA system: "All workers are reminded to keep your hands and eyes to yourselves." The manager's voice trembles with emotion. "Remember that cleanliness is next to godliness." The godliest among us readjust their goggles, tenderly fondle the dials on each appliance. No process, bodily or otherwise, can be successfully enacted without the cooperation of every participant, right down to the meagerest cell.  

15.

Meat thinks in pictures. Colors. A gray coat hanging on a fence. A flash of jewel green swimming in blue shadow. Eager as a threat, or tender as a promise. In their present state—baking in the sun, waiting for any kind of discernable change—the black bag with its rhythmic expulsions of air could be either, or both. The meat follows for want of anything better to do, and in following they order themselves. Certain signs indicate that the environment has been specially designed for their benefit—the easy tread of the flooring, for example, which seems to resemble molded plastic. The concrete walls that rise like gutters. Rather than follow a simple straight line, the walls curve to the right, left, right again, providing an illusion of return: they are going back to where they came from. We know better, of course.

16.
 
"Everything is state of the art," I say, guiding him down the musty hallway. To our right, the shuffling of meat is audible just beyond the walls, which are situated at eye-level. He nods along nervously. He has never done something like this before, he says, never waded so deeply into the unknown. A shiver thrills up the base of my spine. "You'll notice the efficiency of each component. We've left nothing to chance, not even the grisly bits." I pause, bleary-eyed. "It's good work. Ugly work, yes, but necessary and good." We turn a corner, and he marks a point where the hallway's muddy brown gives way to a piercingly bright light. He thinks to ask a question, I can see it forming on his parted lips, but I am already so many steps ahead of him. "Don't worry. I know what you're really looking for," I say, unbuttoning my lab coat. He has no choice but to feast his eyes on what comes next. Neck, collarbone, shoulder blade, pectoral, nipple. I move downwards, heart beating between my teeth, and cup his testicles firmly with my left hand while massaging his shaft with my right. He is already hard. When I turn him around, my mouth waters at the sight of his perfectly ripe ass, the tender hole begging for violation. We fuck in full view of the soon-to-be-dead meat, which will be transported via chain to the evisceration station. There, the innards will be removed and the pliant flesh separated into cuts of various grades, primals and subprimals.

17.

The movement is almost imperceptible. One moment we are treading on solid ground, the next we are floating. We relax, keeping our eyes trained on the light. (What could it be? A rolling pasture? Or some other wide-open space, empty and waiting to be filled?) We think in pictures, and this is one still image, rushing headlong towards us with the thrust of a prayer.

18.

I pull out briefly, giving him a chance to exhale. Both of our uniforms have been carelessly draped over the nearest wall. We pay no attention to the frenzied noises coming from the other side of the wall, the patter of encroaching footsteps. "Let's keep this between us," I say, pressing my palm flat against his sternum. He tries to open himself wider, then wider still; he tries to open himself so wide that his entire surface becomes a depth, a hole, an absence—something you could lose yourself inside. His empty cow eyes glisten as he begins to form the word.

19.

Proper voltage ensures that the bolt can penetrate directly into the brain. The eyes roll back, the tongue lolls in apparent ecstasy. Oftentimes a muscle in the hind leg continues to spasm—an entirely normal occurrence, so long as the head remains immobile. The meat looks remarkable at this stage, poised on the threshold between life and death. Their bodies are only just beginning to truly relax.

20.

Restraints may be necessary. Containment may be necessary. All manner of deprivations, sensory or otherwise, may be necessary to ensure maximum freshness. Use discretion when choosing the method of cutting.

21.

"Carnal desire is a violation of company protocol," the manager's voice tells us. "As of today, regulations demand that all violators be dismembered immediately." First, the crush is released and a chain securely fastened around our ankles, hanging us upside down as the conveyor belt continues to roll forward, its grooves sticky with various fluids. These fluids drain into a sluice, which is rinsed with cold water every twenty minutes. The grading machine then scans each body for its component parts. Once the areas of highest quality and tenderness have been ascertained, the line continues to transport us deeper into the belly of the factory. In the next room, a low buzzing, followed by the cold blue ache of metal on bone. "Poof!" The industrial-grade meat saw slices us in half.

22.

After the meat has been properly cleaned and cataloged, the final act of packaging and distribution can begin. The workers mill about in their identical uniforms, pulling levers when necessary, checking their clipboards for any functional abnormalities. They look up occasionally to admire the elaborate system of steel chutes, the many undifferentiated arms that turn over the meat, prod it, reshape it, wrap it tightly in a diaphanous layer of plastic and stamp it with a label. ("100% organic. Freshness guaranteed.") Everything is going smoothly enough. The workers yawn. They do not envy the meat. They do not even desire it at this point. If they could, they would prefer to eat just by looking. A single glance would be enough to live on. As it stands, there is nothing left for the workers to do but stare, gaspless, as we slide onto the conveyor belt and are transported into the wider world beyond.

23.

We lie head to toe, hands curled around one another's ankles, sighing softly. To an outside observer, our cleaved bodies look as though they were once part of the same whole. Just beyond the window, a highway. Just beyond the highway, a graveyard. In every graveyard in every town in every country in the world, there is an inside and an outside. Or so we like to tell ourselves. The change the dirt, not to change dirt means that there is no beefsteak and not to have that is no obstruction, it is so easy to exchange meaning, it is so easy to see the difference.

24.

It is so easy to see the difference.

Deep Cuts

1. Araki, Nobuyoshi. "Untitled (Banquet Series), 1992." Cibachrome print.
   
   
2. Hannah Arendt, The Life of the Mind (New York: Mariner Books; First Edition, 1981).
   
   
3. Gertrude Stein, excerpt from Tender Buttons, in Selected Writings of Gertrude Stein (New York: Vintage, 1990).