Today’s weather is a crisp dance among dead leaves. the ghosts are afraid of me, born Nov 1st, so they creep away. I am having nostalgic thots of italian language and expression; i want to yell at someone; have an arguement; tell them with all possible poetry I love you you sodomite; you tramp; you and I whilst we wait for godot — go to hell and I’ll visit you in a few hours! Where is the Opera in existentialist perception in our nation? It’s only 400 years old conquered by the europeans…where is the irony; the comedic fallacy…only at the Theatre? I won’t be seeing Pirandello’s show today…unfortunately, I still have my cold. Perhaps next week… taking a walk to Wychwood Barns for the old paper show.