Pirandello

Considering the tone of this blog, or as it strictly seems visually, I feel a little strange making this post, since one, it will not (unless in the next two minutes I change my mind) include music, and two, the contents of la prossima are slightly personal to me.

What the fuck do I mean? 

Well. Last night I read Pirandello's "Six Characters in Search of an Author." 

 Last night I threw up seaweed salad. But it gets better. Hangover all fuckin day, still now?, even now.

For example, Japanese class, kukuku, all noise, one word corroding into the next, didn't learn a thing, just kukukukuku.

But the play, yes, back to the play. How good was it? Well, despite the headache, it (the play I mean) remains 19 hours later still in my head, and, considering that most things only last 3 seconds up there, I'd say that means something.

Here is a quote from Pirandello. Read the play. Don't decipher heretofore written word, I have a headache, a really bad one. Garbage. My head is sloppy, my brain hurts. Damn the tenacity of seaweed salad (word even sounds slimy). 

"Who was Sancho Panza? Who was Don Abbondio? and yet they live eternally, because, being live germs, they had the good fortune to find a fertile matrix, a fantasy that knew how to raise and nourish them, to make them live for eternity."

Mi piace