Oyin Da’s mind is as elegant as a French horn, thoughts moving in whorls and evoking fresh mint leaves.

Maybe humankind was meant to be sick from time to time. Maybe there is something to be learned from illness.

We read classics to flood the xenosphere with irrelevant words and thoughts, a firewall of knowledge that even makes its way to the subconscious of the customer.

It is a certainty, not just a conviction, the way believing in God is a conviction, but believing in gravity is a certainty.

This is a psychofield, a thoughtspace, essentially unstable. While most people conceptualise thinking as this straightforward linear thing, I see ideas spreading out into alternatives before one is selected. In this place every notion can potentially become reality.

No good thing renders its possessor happy, unless his mind is reconciled to the possibility of loss.

I can’t,’ I say. Her mind closes like a shutter, with finality.I wish, at that moment, that I had said something else.

I let go of the tenuous control I had and scream into the void. Without lungs you can scream forever, and I do.

...even the Gujarat-bot dreams of electric sheep.