by Natasha Burge Bahador In the room with the clawback ceiling they gave me the serious news that my brain was a cloud. I minded their mouth, the muffled lunge of their tongue, and I studied the way they molded their words with bindings of mundane truth. The facts: I saw the world as a magical world, that for reasons of blood or salt or mineral imbalance, my mind revisioned itself in endlessly spiraling permutations of radiance. This was my factor, my secret contribution, and