Do you ever feel two dimensional? I think I've turned into a cardboard cut out. Somewhere along the line - possibly years ago - I got steamrollered and all the blood, all the fury was flattened out of me. I think I watched it run down the drain and into the sewer with something like momentary relief. Why, why did I swap salt - purifying, savoursome brine - for dessication? I keep trying to suck moisture and flavour out of things to reconstitute myself, but to no avail. I listen to music and read palimpsest. I look at my palm - can you self-administer the kiss of life? - but nothing seems to trigger more than the faintest flicker, the weakest palpitation of a heart that used to beat loud and fierce like a war drum. I remember what living wild felt like. I remember the exhilaration, the wild swoops from deepest despair to mountain high. I remember how fast and furious the synapses sparked. A year ago I thought it must be the pill that's robbed me of my senses, so I stopped. I was dry for months, I cloistered myself as much as I could - fallow is the word I'd use. I'm allowing myself to be fallow, not daring to recognise I was lying with fallow, when I should have admitted I was sterile. So if it's not an external dosage that's keeping me doped, tell me have you ever felt two dimensional? And if you were flattened, what brought you round?