When I was ten and lived with my grandfather, I remember pouring over his medical textbooks, engrossed in the excitingly horrific illustrations that exposed the inner workings of our viscera. Sliced open chest cavities, skulls that doffed their caps, cross sections of reproductive systems, all depicted in airbrushed perfection and meticulously labeled— they were my first form of porn.
I made this particular drawing during my lunch break, in my meeting notebook, with ball point pens, crayons, highlighters and a Sharpie. It’s the sort of violent image that’s still quite deliciously enticing to the prepubescent boy crouched inside me, snickering. I probably drew the same sort of thing in my fourth grade notebook.