The body of fantasy is somewhere between the flow of unconscious desire and the eternal principles of reality. The body of fantasy lacks the definition of the real body; the difference between inside and outside and before and after is blurred. All of the opposing pairs which, in reality are clearly distinguished, remain in fantasy ambiguous; the vision of the fantastic body lacks clarity. Within the body of fantasy the separation of mother and child remains incomplete; the umbilical cord remains uncut.

I can't get real; reality remains out there somewhere beyond my technological grasp, somewhere beyond the clarity of my vision. The knowledge of the eternal principles of reality does not make me me real. I can shrink the fantastic body down to the dimensions of myembodiedself, but no further. I remain as I was when I was born, a monster in a real world.

If my monstrosity is incurable, how am I to proceed when I awaken from the dream? If I am not working on healing my disease, what do I do with my disease? Well, for one thing, I do this.