What if stress were something physically you could strangle to death each morning? The possibility of introspectively peering inside yourself and witnessing innards as part of your whole is probably devastating. Like, e-mailing your respiratory system for an update. Or sending in a swab of your DNA to people you don’t know, but their commercial seemed like they wouldn’t sell your cells to some laboratory for cloning purposes, and then they got extra organs for you, so when you’re dying of kidney failure, you’ll hear a knock, followed by, “Remember us?” as a hand emerges through a crack in your hospital door holding the q-tip swab you sent away 15 years ago is being dangled like it were a plug for one of the many machines keeping you alive. And then the cellphone companies are probably owned by all the hospitals and we’re all just being duped and followed by-way of GPS and sneaky biological identification techniques. When I die, could you do me a favor? If you find my body, you’ve my 100% consent right here in this post: burn me until I’m no more. Burn my ashes until they’re dust like you and her and him and every last modem excreting wifi into our ever depleting atmosphere. “I Know How It Feel.”