have i figured out what is wrong? maybe but most unsatisfyingly. you can’t get the wood, you know. what the fuck is wrong with me. i can’t absorb it and i’m too sick from too much of it. who has ever heard of such a thing. fucking no one. and will i eventually succumb to its weakening me, inch by inch, how many more years left, when i think of the future there is just nothing there, or will it just ensure that they are all feeble, anaemic, joyless . . . . is there anything left in me that wants to create, play, feel joy, fuck, read, cook, bathe, shoot, sing
cobalamin