From the skull-cyst’s interface, the pilot guides her Body towards the mouth of something hungry enough to make use of its spent mass.
Endometriosis, migraine, and the associated neuromuscular strangeness has forced me into an understanding of my body as something into which I am rather sturdily buckled, but which I do not always control. Loss of control – of dreams, of a leg, of the ability to lift – feels somehow less like death when the body is not self but something self uses to get around.