Yes, Lavinia, sometimes drawing a breath is the most courageous act concievable. A hand of sticks will do when nothing else is available- like Billy Pilgrim's coat in winter, however, it is a badge of shame, worn with honor.
An aquaintance is slipping through the world without attempting to pin down the specifics, instead allowing the current to define this real moment, wherever it is and whatever it may contain- he is maddening to those around him who simply want to sleep, without the odd disturbance of this fabulistic sonambulist.
From St. Giroux: "I stick my head into the womb and make faces at the unborn"- Naomi Poems- Corpse and Beans- Bill Knot(?).