Little men are invading me (not too many women,

but that’s another story for another time). They are

replacing me with a broken vacuum cleaner. Names

like Parkinson and Alzheimer and Angelman (that one

sounds OK, actually) are siphoning blood from body

for their own nefarious purposes. Herr Reiter and Herr

Wegener lead the parade down to my deepest darkest

secrets (h-hey are theseĀ Nazi doctors coursing through

my veins?) to dismantle the forest, to take what they

need and leave behind granulomatous rubbish. It would

seem like they are united in purpose, but sometimes they

squabble, you know. At night the whispers become my

assailant, each man (on Marfan, on Turner, on Sjogren,

on Vincent) boasting to the stars: “I shall be the one to

kill him first, truly I shall be remembered forever!”

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