A performance artist is left contemplating his art, his legacy, his purpose in society and the universe, when a recent performative piece (centred on cutting his virginial left wrist) reveals a religious light. I have cut into my wrist and expanded the body meat into something far more cosmic than I had initially assumed such body mutilations can provide. I have broken down my pitiful performance artist guise into too many fragments, that I am merely, human.
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