Cirrus@Austlit

'Let’s talk about needles, their steely eyes and sharp tongues. In an earthy smelling white room full of glass jars, Chelsea sticks the first one in the top of my head. Next, she moves to behind my ears, the backs of my hands, the tops of my feet. ‘This will take a lot of sessions. Maybe six over the next four weeks.’ Because I am sick. Because I have been sick for years. So I come back, again and again, because the only thing I have to lose is my health. At this point in my illness, there is a second baby, Sunny, who needs me, as I need him. I am desperate. I swallow two cups of steaming crap every day, the raunchy herbs in the glass jars that smelled up Chelsea’s workspace and now my home. I want to spit them back out, splatter their goodness all over the kitchen and, finally, belch.' (Introduction)