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Pt 1.

Thank God, it wasn’t cold. I mean it shouldn’t be, it’s early may, but maybe my standing on the Greek theater of campus without a shred of clothing had something to do with it. Some of the first-year students in the podiums are already snapchatting. I can’t really blame them, I’m flattered, and really the more people see this the better.

The hilt of this knife is cold, wood, and shaped like a large penis. It’s amazing what your local carpenter will do for you if you say it’s for a “project”. My thesis advisor is the one who suggested the guy, cute, but a bit of a creep. Speaking of my advisor, there she is, in the middle of the front row, gorgeous, short skirt and shirt with the first two buttons undone, god what a slut, a sexy, super-smart, chain-smoking, slave-driving slut.

“Hi, everyone, I am Halley Valentina, my performance titled ‘The Other Sex’ explores the woman’s body as an object of anatomy. I wish to show, that beneath all this objectified beauty, there really is flesh and blood. That behind all the poetry about the feminine beauty, there is nothing but filth and gore, same as the ugliest man alive. Accompanying this performance will be Michael,” I quickly gesture backstage to a male porn star naked but wearing a blindfold.

“This performance is my final master’s thesis in feminist performance art theory, under Dr. Kate Pappi.” My advisor nods.

“Let’s begin”, I say, and with the same breath gently press the knife just below my sternum. This is it, I think. The crowd is deathly silent.

It doesn’t hurt, like at all, not at first. I slowly and meticulously bring the knife down, keeping my eyes at the crowd. Everyone has their phones out, as blood accumulates and slowly drips down the blade. I must hold the knife steadier and dig deep down as I come nearer my belly button, to cut through my abdominal muscles. I feel a sense of pride that my abdominal muscles are giving the resistance that they are, all those months of intense training have paid off.

Once I’m past my navels, the knife travels all the way down to my pubic mound and I take the knife out. That wasn’t so bad. But this just the beginning. You can hear the trees rustling in the May air.
A sudden wave of pain hits me, and I bite my lips to hold myself from screaming. Not now, not after all the anatomy lessons I’ve had to go through, not after all the grueling training I had to endure.

I take a deep breath.

I take another deep breath.

Dutifully I lay the knife down at my feet. Now for the more complicated part. I poke two of my finges into my abdomen and pull apart like trying to take off a jacket. Instantly my eyes tear up in pain and I want to die right there. But I continue. 300lb deadlifts had made my core rather strong, but I powered though until there was a gaping hole running down my abdomen.

I put my hand in and pulled out a coil of intestine.


Intriguing start!


Would love to see more of this


Pt 2

I put my hand in and pulled out a coil of intestine.

This wasn’t so bad I thought. Suddenly, I vomited, well dry-heaved, all over the stage. This isn’t happening I thought, was it because of the pain? It had to be, right? I had interned for three months at a morgue, I heaved again, with tears coming out of my eyes. Thankfully, I had fasted for a week before this.

Oh god, I said, and instinctively looked up at my advisor. She gave me stern look, meaning only one thing…this had to continue. I took a few deep breaths, gulped some air and continued pulling my intestines out.

At this stage I was horny. I knew this would happen, but I had to ignore it. The intestines coiled and uncoiled and formed a steaming pile in front of me. This was for art. I had to remind myself. This is art. I reminded myself. At one point, the intestines snagged on something, and so I had to yank them out, but thankfully nothing tore. My art project had to be perfect, but what about the throbbing of my vagina? I would have to deal with that later.

Once my intestines were sufficiently out, and had started tugging on my esophagus, I picked up the knife and cut off. I had meanwhile also managed to take out my stomach. The pain was exquisite. I was sweating from pain and would have defecated had it not been for the fast. My bladder had given way midway though the pulling out, but only droplets trickled down my lag. I had been dehydrating myself for three days for just such a contingency.
This was stage one.

“Am I now skinny enough for the beauty standards of the patriarchy?” I yelled to the stage. My right hand was raised up holding the knife, and my left hand had taken the two flaps of skin and muscle that were my abdomen and scrunched them together. My abdomen was now narrow, narrower than any corset could make them, and for fifteen glorious seconds, I was the shapeliest woman on earth.

I took a deep breath. Stage two had to begin, but this would be quick. I quickly grabbed the knife with two hands and plunged them on my pubic mound. Thank god for painkillers. I at once started to slice sideways up to my hip bones on both sides. I delicately reached into the hole I had made earlier and gingerly started to slice through my skin.

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