THUS EVER TO TYRANTS

It is a bit hard to sleep when there is a coughing fit in the other room. And naturally she has called in sick. Whereas I seem to have ninety five percent recovered. When I came back from my pipe smoking walk she informed me that her snot was green. I had to ask: Pea soup? Jade green? Celadon? Reflecting pool? And no, I don't want to see.

Some things are scientifically interesting but not visually appealing.


Decades ago I would have blithely shared all this data with the members of the jury group among whom I will find myself in a few hours. As someone with Aspergers would inevitably do. This is interesting stuff. Conversational fuel. Earthshaking!


It had been barely daybreak. The ghost cat in the corner of my eye seemed wary but not disturbed. Humans, mortal, necessarily sound icky. But to an immaterial being while they might be noisy, they are harmless. He or she was not quite fully visible off near the crystal wineglasses on the computer desk. Where there is much stuff, which had the feline been alive and corporeal it might have been tempted to push off onto the floor.

When I got back from attending to my bladder the cat was gone and the apartment mate was watching the episode where Caesar gets whacked on the senate floor. An English series. It's quite good. Bloody. Two months ago she had been watching Anthony And Cleopatra, several different versions besides the infamous Elizabeth Taylor screen epic.

So basically, from the trashy big boobalicious versions of the Roman era, followed by documentaries and interviews with Joseph L. Mankiewicz et al, to a grim, bloody, and historically more accurate version with chubby orators who look well fed. Coupled with legionnaire cussing and some stuff which is distinctly in the weird cult camp.

The ghost cat, I think, finds it fascinating too.



This morning's pipe was a Castello. A very nice reddish sandblasted Lovatt, which Caesar himself would have loved, had tobacco already been discovered yet. Imagine a gentleman in a toga striding through ancient not yet ruined buildings, calmy puffing like an Oxford don thinking over his lesson plans. Probably a decent flake, smidge of Perique.
Must motivate these pampered patrician brutes, inspire them.
Also need another amphora of Iberian plonk.
Keeps the humours at bay.




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