and slice off the fatty layers to dig deep into your muscles, carve out the parts that twitch, bore into your spinal cord, swim around in the fluid to find the sinister cells lurking there, take off the top of your skull like a hat and take a bow in front of an exorcist who could cast out whatever’s eating away at the insulation in your brain, pluck out your faulty parts, stuff working ones back in and sew you up like a scarecrow, to live in your new body, because you ache to know if then you’d feel whole.