Judith knows I want to die, now every conversation orbits that fact as though moons were merely a symptom of planets. ‘If it’s intense enough to include the whole body and any attachment to physicality, then it goes beyond body dysmorphia.’ Her own being hovers in a place of passive composure, the particulars of our personal space navigated with seriousness and compassion. Inside the nebulous philosophy, I wonder if there’s not a sort of freedom in it for her, in charting the defects of others. Under the surface calculations, her voice is always smiling. ‘It’s the death dream again.’

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