In my mind's eye, I see her here in front of our bodies already in Yale, telling us about desire, about sexuality, about the phallus, and academic sexual stuff like that. And when I'm back in Kenya, I'm the first professor of desire in the department of libido and clitoral politics. Just wait, you are yet to hear of anything dirtier than my mind. Despite the victory virtual reality has registered over the body, and the fact that I can read Shoshana's picture and intellectual production on the Internet, I still long to go to America and see her in flesh and blood. Air transport has a colour, and even when I look at those driving cars of their own as the rest of us are crammed ina matatu like sardines, I see their bodies have a colour different from ours.
Brains are nothing.
Bin the brains, if you have any, and become a busy body. My body goes wild, seduced, motivated, allured. I desire to be Shoshana's student of desire. I know why. Terry Eagleton recalls to me in The Illusions of Postmodernism that because I can always tell where my left foot is without having to use a compass, the body offers me a mode of cognition more intimate and internal than my dirty mind.