Kangleimaichou

Don't you worry, don't you worry too much, my child. Mummy will fly you out soon before the place and its people eat you up. You will learn them, you will learn every bit of them, and if possible, turn yourself to one of them. The place holds nothing, it's a rot, it's a graveyard, and if there are people, they will never be good. Go there, my child, and sit like them, eat like them, talk like them and make yourself one among them. If you have no idea, look at them, look at those who you see once a year. When you open your eyes, don't let the dust enter them, look at them well, look at how they mock, look at how they smile, look at how gesture, for they are called the complete ones, my child.

It must have been the first dose, like the first glass of Sekmai you would have had as a teenager, that must have made you see things. But, my child, when your ability to comprehend something so rudimentary as learning the alphabetical letters is being misconstrued as the oeuvre of the craft then you soon, not later, will find yourself in a decay called philistinism. If you are aware, Michael was either drunk or stoned, yet he was always thinking, and his nights were sleepless, for he was never happy with what he had created, and people had considered them masterpieces. The fact is, my child, you learn with the work, and at the same time, in that unwavering intensity you work with the reality that you are in this tower, which could be just a hovel, from where you issue out works for those what they called ‘the varied lots’. A similar one would be of those masters in the Ottoman's zenith of those blind master illustrators or those who would poke their own eyes with needles to ...