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Our Stomachs – Are Graveyards[1]

This Raw Flesh Reeks of the Butcher’s Cleaver[2]

One Unversed in such matters can have no Notion of

The many Tragic things that can happen to a Chicken[3]

Healthier, Fitter, & more Productive: a Pig in a Cage on Anti-Biotics[4]

The Meat, whether Cooked or Raw – keeps on making a Noise just as Cows do[5]

Do not Desire as Food the Flesh of Slaughtered Animals – or the White Milk of Mothers who intend

Its Draught as Pure Draught for their Young … Spare the Honey which the Bees get Industriously[6]

You have just Dined, and however Scrupulously the Slaughterhouse

Is Concealed in the Graceful Distance of Miles, there is Complicity[7]

With Bright Knives he releaseth my Soul – he maketh me to Hang

On Hooks in high places – he Converteth me to Lamb Cutlets[8]

Women Wear the Trauma of Other Creatures around

Their Necks in an attempt to put a Pall on their Own[9]

Empathy must be Limited to Herbivores[10]

[1] Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness

[2] Sylvia Plath, Street Song

[3] Sherwood Anderson, The Egg

[4] Radiohead, Fitter Happier

[5] Homer tr. Samuel Butler, The Odyssey

[6] Al Ma’arra, Do Not Unjustly Eat the Fish

[7] Ralph Waldo Emerson

[8] Roger Waters, Sheep

[9] Sally Wen Mao, Nucleation

[10] Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

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