Its preferences have long been known: a village isolated by the innocence of rainfall.
Or: a town encircled by a density of night fog.
There, quite unexpectedly, The Method is able to detect an undeniable discontentment with birdsong.
The patent discrepancy between neighbors’ harvests will suddenly be evident for all to see.
Musical strains too will abruptly arise: mysteriously similar to the melody of grievances once found in the ancestor’s pulse.
And by sophisticated laws known only to a few: long-familiar faces will now reflect suspect and clearly foreign views.
From there, The Method knows: it’s only a matter of time.
Do not wonder, however, if The Method lays dormant for a while, settled in a modest village’s veins.
The Method is an art: it’s traditionally practiced with the long term in view.
The Long Game
In fact, in the archives of its land-records, your name, in pencil, has been tentatively inscribed.
Never forget, despite setbacks, its success rate remains surprisingly high.