LETTER TO Mr. PARKINSON: "Dear Sir, I do not write this letter with pleasure, but on the other hand, I should have spoken to you face to face, confronted you personally, endured that sly way of yours that is the worst possible for making even a saint lose his patience, let alone me. As you can see, I am writing to you with the computer, because my handwriting has become illegible and so small that my collaborators need to use a magnifying glass to decipher it... Why am I writing to you? Itâs simple: I have gracefully overcome the embarrassment you (I wrote it in lowercase, you donât deserve the uppercase) have caused me by publicly asking for my hand and obviously getting it.
Living with a retired English officer, already condemned in Punjab for repeated attempts at neurological violence on any being of any species (things come to light, as you see...) has not been easy; my family is old-fashioned and did not appreciate it. BUT NOW YOU ARE EXAGGERATING, sir, I must tell you. When itâs too much, itâs too much, and too much is a nuisance! There is an Arabic proverb that says: âIf you have a honey friend, donât lick him all,â INSTEAD YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF EVERY RELAXATION, OF THE LOWERING OF GUARD IN THE DAILY BATTLE, forbidding us to think of anything else, counting on the superficiality with which I have faced the onset of evil... you know, artists are thoughtless butterflies... no, old goat, it wonât be easy for you, neither with me nor with others; the Resistance has begun.
Because, you see, my sick siblings and I have so many things to do, a life to carry on better than this! From now on, I promise to pay more attention to my doctors' advice, and that I will commit myself more to helping them in raising the necessary funds for research. In fact, on the topic of solidarity, I bet a hand on it, the hand that, painted and silk-screened, serves as a pedestal for a poem against you, colonel of my boots, acting as an incentive to give... yes, as anyone who makes a donation for research will receive âTHE HANDâ as a souvenir and memento... There are many of us, many hands will rise against you and will try to repay you blow for blow until they can catch you by the collar and send you to the Hell you belong to, filthy beast, devil's dung, our cross without delights... My word, of this little man who is a bit funny for many, a bit pathetic for others, but who lives in the dream of being able to slap you one day not far away. Steadily. May it be ill with you and never see you again." --- BRUNO LAUZI
