Saturday, July 14, 2012

BLOG: Live Flesh. Photoessay by Temo Bardzimashvili. (


A friend of mine once told me a story: in the days of his studentship, for whatever reason, he really wanted to visit а morgue (well, we all have something we could be called weirdos for). Being an engineering major himself, organizing such a trip did not seem an easy task for him. Finally he managed to find some students from the medical department, who offered him to join them during a group practice. When the students entered the mortuary, they were nearly knocked out by strong smell of formalin. The following scene they observed was not too helpful for their stomachs: next to a freshly dissected body a group of people in what was supposed to be white robes were having lunch, chasing home-made sandwiches with shots of vodka. Neither my friend, nor his stomach are sissy, but for the first time in their lives the latter felt rather uncomfortable. The group of future bad-ass doctors, and my friend among them, stamped hesitantly by the door, as the dissectors warmly invited them to the “table.”

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