Mystagogia

"what is your wishing? my little child, my little idiot didn't you listen to cross-eyed man?" "as you may know", whispered the deranged father, "inveterate dreamers have the most fragile belief in life they're chain-smokers by nature and with grim rise of urbanization in the end they only follow the cold wave to Norilsk" so I ask again: "dear mademoiselle dear chatelaine dear mistress of nonchalance aren't your exploits a little bit foolish? aren't you going a little bit mad?" and through the amused laugh the sinister answer follows: "aren't we all mad here, my dear?"