Rotten to the Core For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to find a dead body. A human corpse left out to the elements—taut, tanned and broken over the jagged caliche. A half buried human face with the dirt compacted in the nostrils, mouth agape and pouring with stinking earth, limbs floating around in a conspicuous shallow grave. The classic alabaster heap of the impossibly surreal mannequin lying in direct contrast to everything you could ever comprehend. The skeletal remains of an obscured burnt offering in decaying ill-fitt…