Toro as a Christ figure

If I were to become a matador, at the end of the spectacle, the arena doors would be locked shut. Every spectator would be given a plate and a fork. There would be one narrow exit. Over the door would hang a plaque reading 'He died for our sins.'

I'd invite the spectators to stay, and to eat the meat of the toro that had just been slaughtered for 'sport' — because yes. He died for our sins. Our own delight in rapture through violent means. Our appetite for suffering, so long as it isn't ours.

The toro was selected, tried, tortured, humiliated and executed publicly. For the price of a ticket. And you bought one. You sat down. You watched.

I'd ask the remaining spectators — those who hadn't the decency to leave — to sit quietly with their plate. I'd ask that they taste humiliation, indignation, and wrath in each and every forkful. That they chew slowly. That they consider what it means to have enjoyed themselves.

The only crime the toro committed was being fully himself. Much like Christ was fully himself — fully human. And we know how that ended too. Publicly. Humiliatingly. To a crowd that had also bought tickets.

If you have the stomach to watch such a thing, you have the stomach to eat it. All of it.

To criticise the toro becomes blasphemy. To discard its flesh becomes sacrilege. To have attended at all and feign innocence afterward — that is simply bad manners.

What a waste of spilt blood.

Clean the plate.