Letter to Julia 20140702

In the name of Allah, most Gracious, most Merciful.

Hello there, my dearest darling wives.  You are so beautiful to me.  I want you to know that I care for you deeply, and that I love you, I love you, and I need you, I need you.  It's been a cold Ramadan so far.  Right on the first day, the temperature suddenly dropped, while the day before was blistering hot.  It's starting to warm up slightly.  Maybe it's going to rain again.

I bought a red snapper over at the Tuesday market today.  Red snapper meat makes the best sushi: it's silvery transparent, and the flavor is transparent too.  The fish I bought had soft roe and liver too, so I was excited to have a midnight snack.  But bleah!  It was awful!  Such an expensive fish, too.  How can a such a great tasting fish have such ghastly roe and liver?  I had to spit it into the sink, and gargle out the bad taste.  What a waste of melted butter.  Mackerel roe and liver tastes much better.  But I'm saving the snapper head for stew.  Well, it's sushi for the predawn meal.  Red snapper with omelet, spring onions and crispy-fried snapper skin.  Would you like to join me?

Do you believe in my mission to please Allah with music?  Then it should be plain as day to you the international business that is my mission.  So like Mary in childbirth, I have to shake the palm tree a little.  Ya Allah, please grant the following: I need to be firmly established in this land.  Therefore, I need to be married to Julia and Erin and thus sustain my wives and family, so I need the land I live on and the adjacent land where my grandfather's old house stands to build a new house to suit Julia, a car and a truck, and sufficient income to sustain the marriages.  I need musical and computer equipment.  I need to perform my Hajj safely.  Of course, everyone wants what I need.  Did Allah grant them the knowledge to deserve as such?  Did Allah put them through the experience to deserve as such?  Glory to Allah.  Do the people want Allah to shake their tree?

There was an enormous tower somewhere which housed the music business, and attracted singers and musicians from all over the world, and I was one of them not too long ago.  It was a gigantic structure made of steel, concrete and glass, and even the furniture was made of steel. concrete and glass.  It described itself as a school, so for the purposes of this narrative we shall call it "The School."  The School taught aspiring singers and musicians how to throw away their inspiration, and make music The School's way.  I never took any classes.  On The School's grounds, there was constant brutality and murder.  There was an elevator in The School which when entered, a person's musical instruments would mysteriously disappear.  I lost my guitar in that elevator.  Apparently there is a secret door where you enter into a room with armed guards, and you had to beat them to near death to get any further.  The School held regular talent shows which were very big and glitzy, but the audience was an audience of contestants and their families.  The only genuine audience was me, standing at the doorway.  A former teacher at The School showed me how to stop the elevator to open the secret door, is by pushing both the up and down buttons at the same time.  But when I entered, after defeating the guard by hammering them with a big spoon, I found that all the musical instruments had been hocked to pay off The School's loans and bills.  All that was left was a cheap Japanese fretless bass which no one wanted.  Eventually The School couldn't turn a profit, and was demolished.  I searched the rubble for anything to scavenge, but all I could find was Chee Cheah, my cat.  But The School hasn't disappeared.  There is a bigger and more sinister connection: its financial backers.