Jovian Fantasies

Dark clouds are gathering once again in the desert. They are a welcome sight because they only venture this far into the interior a few times a year. Temperature drops. All living things feel good and expecting and are eager for life-sustaining rains. There's a sense of joyous anticipation in the air, a crackling electricity coursing through the environment or at least that's how you feel or think you feel. Reality is all perception. You are aware of that, especially as far as simpletons are concerned because they foolishly think what they believe in are absolute truths, instead of merely their mental constructs. They don't know what absolute truths are if the truths hit them over the head because they either lack sufficient gray matter or they are full of fears and wishful thinking. You are different from them. You know that and  most of the time you don't bother to hide that fact from them. There's an unresolved anger inside you. You have tried hard to keep it under control. It has been your biggest enemy.

It's now seven in the evening. Rains have not arrived yet, just the air laden with moisture. A loneliness tries to climb onto you. You kick it away, but it is persistent. It keeps jumping back to the bed. Finally you let it curl up next to your heart, heavy and warm and purring like a baby in dreams. You are rereading a letter from her, a precocious 17-year-old girl finishing her master's thesis on John Keats:

Dear Heart

How have you been doing? I hope your cold is gone by now. At your age, you must take better care of yourself, please. Stop putting your body and mind through such a punishing regimen.

The thesis is almost over. Now I'm wondering what I'm going to do with it. Teaching is an obvious choice, but I'm not sure it will be my calling. I'm not keen on going on for a doctorate. I want to write, but have serious doubts about how wide my readership would be and thus success.

My roommate is heavy into sex these days. That's all what she talks about. She rhapsodizes about the size and the configuration of the member of her boyfriend and the prismatic catalogue of his erotic experience. She is into onanistic practices and fantasies. She imagines enormous organs; she's having congress with horses, bulls, elephants, camels, and giraffes. She is positively Jovian in her imagination.

All her talks about sex and outrageous fantasies have had an impact on me. Honey, are you aware we have had only 11 encounters in toto, and the last two you had to resort to manual manipulation?  Please consider asking your doctor for Viagra or Cialis. I know you are a proud and stubborn man, but  please be considerate of my passion for you and my youth.

Anyway, while my roommate ponders and pines for the configuration of the member of her boyfriend, I ponder the configuration of molecules in the walls. I meditate upon the nature of matter, a prevalence of void within the whirling electron rodeo. I try to vibrate between the packets of quanta, phasing at exactly the opposite wavelength, so that eventually I will exist on between the pulses, and matter will become wholly permeable (does all these make sense to you? I copied them down from a book about quantum mechanics since I liked the sound of them). One day, I will walk right through the walls of your house, kidnap you from the prison built by Laura, and make you permanently mine.

Your girl,

Judy