FRANTICALLY [more of pathetically], my fingers type some good-vibe jargon on the radiation-smacking PC. I shouldn’t mention anyone or anything that sucks. It should be something divine that we both love doing together. Something sacred to both of us. Something like love, romance?
Visualize…[that’s how he always starts]…it’s all in the mind…hmm…
Dim. Scented candles. Smooth wine. Soft pillows. Satin sheets. Mick Jagger’s ex singing Night and Day. On original CD, of course. Neat sound system. Wish I could afford one. Nice flat. Wish I were really this rich. Rich can buy good music. Rich can buy soft. Rich can buy fragrant. Rich can buy what I can’t buy.
All I can afford is to rent this bug-infested, termite-ridden bedroom. Euwh!
So much for Visualize Program #1.
Again…
Wet and wild in the tropics. Fun in the sun. Skinny-dipping in some immaculate coast down South. Waaay down South…far from urban smut. No noise. No intrigues. No watchful eyes. Except maybe those hiding behind that bush. And that one, on the left. Yes, that too, on the right. What are those? What the…who? GMA’s minions tracking down the MIs? Aiieeee…
Visual malfunction…shutting down…
It’s hopeless. Even romance is damned by inequality, injustice, and war. Osho will never come to life for me again. To me, he will be Khajuraho for all eternity.
And I am doomed to sit a thousand years in silence just to meditate on his face.
Visualize…[that’s how he always starts]…it’s all in the mind…hmm…
Dim. Scented candles. Smooth wine. Soft pillows. Satin sheets. Mick Jagger’s ex singing Night and Day. On original CD, of course. Neat sound system. Wish I could afford one. Nice flat. Wish I were really this rich. Rich can buy good music. Rich can buy soft. Rich can buy fragrant. Rich can buy what I can’t buy.
All I can afford is to rent this bug-infested, termite-ridden bedroom. Euwh!
So much for Visualize Program #1.
Again…
Wet and wild in the tropics. Fun in the sun. Skinny-dipping in some immaculate coast down South. Waaay down South…far from urban smut. No noise. No intrigues. No watchful eyes. Except maybe those hiding behind that bush. And that one, on the left. Yes, that too, on the right. What are those? What the…who? GMA’s minions tracking down the MIs? Aiieeee…
Visual malfunction…shutting down…
It’s hopeless. Even romance is damned by inequality, injustice, and war. Osho will never come to life for me again. To me, he will be Khajuraho for all eternity.
And I am doomed to sit a thousand years in silence just to meditate on his face.
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