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Have you ever danced on MRI sounds?

I prepare for the performance I have done too many times before, an involuntary ritual etched into my mind. Once I enter the building a familiar transformation begins: here I am for you to see, to look at and to gaze upon. The journey starts with that metallic, sweet liquid, a prelude to what comes next. I caution: "I might throw it up. It happened before." But my words dissipate in the sterile air: "We have to SEE!" they echo back, indifferent. It pours into me, illuminating all that is wrong, all that is missing, each drop a spotlight on my frailty.

I lie down, my body a canvas for the cold, unyielding machine. Another liquid flows into me, a sharp chill spreading through my veins, leaving a bitter, iron tang on my tongue. I have to lay completely still each second an eternity as the machine captures my form, layer by layer. But what I dream of is movement. With each pulse and echo my body keeps twisting and jumping through the magnetic waves. I sweep and I spin, a slight movement, and then another and another until my body is finally free, evaporated from this world, melting into the machine, with the photograph it was supposed to take.


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