Phosphate and Feet

This morning just before I woke, I dreamed that I read in the Sunday Independent an article about two pop star icons Elton John and Celine Dion both talented with flare and how they shared a popular but exclusive guru from the far east with an impossibly long name (impossibly spelt) whose claim to worship was nothing less than that he could milk the universe of its assets. So twice a year Elton and Celine separately visited the guru whose name ended in eeeeeeeee and gave him all their wealth and Celine who in my dream had a degree in geology explained the benefit in a soft single word “phosphate” she said “phosphate”. Elton himself didn’t say much at all but repeatedly kissed the guru’s feet as therapy for himself, not for the guru, with a slight show business pretense that made me smile. And at 6.45am, as the sun was about to illuminate my curtains and as the rain trickled from the tiles, I whispered your name again and imagined you were laying beside me holding me down on top of the pillow, trapped helpless complete free, and for some indefinable reason it all made a quaint common sense.

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