Frame Philosophy

Dear Q.,

Torture, degredation at every turn. From the castle have I fled and into the arms of a wicked master. Mesmer, he calls himself, though he is more like Sherlock Holmes spouting a lot of "your eyes are getting heavier and as you sit there and listen to my words, with your eyes closed, feeling your hands there on the arms of the chair, allowing my words to relax you as your breathing becomes regular and peaceful, I'd like you to let yourself begin to drift away into a kind of sleep ..."

Dear Q., I hate it, but I also love it! My new mission in life is to learn everything I can about leading people exactly where they wish to go. Heal the hell of Denmark in a single blow of xxxxx, shifting ideas by common technique without making the child feel stupid. All I have to do is tell him everything I've repressed since the pillow womb flung me against the window world! Wretched courtyard, fault of speed and presupposition! I should be healed in the space of two years! Well - What do you think?

Ham