Each fragment is a vertebra in the spinal column of fear, and at the top, supported by the obscene mechanism of the axis driven into the atlas, is the bone cupola where I was born and which has no exit. I climb inside it, I scamper across its porous bones, I cling to the spinous process and the transverse process, I press my ear to the blade of the vertebral curve and listen: the marrow flows inside with a roar, like a waterfall. Above is the great neural basin, I am a water tower that feeds fear to the distant neighborhood of my body.
