so many times i've been on the verge of tearing today.

and so many times i've held back.

but when i saw the bullfighter deliver that fatal stab, i just couldn't hold it in any longer.

as the bull's knees buckled beneath it and collapsed under its weight, bloodied and lifeless, i wondered aloud (for the umpteenth time in my lifetime) how bullfighting ever became an art form.

the bull is speared many times before the matador actually tries to deliver the fatal blow on horseback. it's teased and tired out and stabbed...time and again. though these causes mere flesh wounds, the gargantuan creature is, nevertheless, worn out.

by the time the matador brings in the "death blow", the bull's already half gone.

and you think the fella just waves his piece of red cloth around. DEAD WRONG.

under the cloth, he holds his sword. everytime he flags the cloth swiftly past the bull, he slashes the bull.

for someone as gung-ho as me and seemingly eek-less, it's odd that i'd turn on the computer just to write this down.

but you know it's really gotten to me when in this fight, the one that left an impression was the bull. not that good-looking latin american matador.