The Fictitious Sadhu

Dwelling nowhere is an art. Let your thoughts ramble on, let them get disorganized, stop trying to chain in your entropy and you are there. Where, you might ask. Nowhere I mean. Its so pleasurable to be here. Come, join me, give it a try. If there is a heaven in any patch of the universe, its right there in nowhere.
Now listen, listen carefully. Some idiots might come and interupt your pleasure. They might ask you to get out of your slumber. May be one of them is your boss, may be its the nerd who works harder than you, may be its your father who wants you to work. Ignore all of them. Because they don't understand you. They can't understand you. They are crippled. They don't have that sensory organ which can be receptive to the pleasures of nowhere, which can rejoice the wonderments of nowhere, which can bite the forbidden fruit with pride.
Oh dear!!Oh dear, Lust is such a sensation. Lust has passion, vigor, energy and madness. Its all there. Nowhere has it all. Come taste lust. Forget love. Love is for losers, those who can't stand the heat of lust, those who are too fragile, too bloody impotent. Don't be afraid of it, admire it, you only need food and thoughts, pleasure can be derived from the copulation of these two. Who decides the good or bad. You and you alone. Come, listen to this Sadhu, come to nowhere. Come..Come..take that pill and come..take that shot and come..come..and come..