Caligula tonight. Tomorrow Sardinia. 5 am plane.
I dreamt myself in the company of Trump and Bannon. Bannon wept because Trump was hesitant to “do the thing” “What thing?” we wondered and trembled to contemplate.
Every night, working on a play about mad king Caligula, playing deadly mind games with his advisors, inflicting chaos on his people, venal, psychopathic and repulsive, I am reminded of the great bloated wart hog now sitting in the imperial court of the US. Oh woe.
I dreamt that David Bowie came by for a visit. “I thought you were…ahem…dead”.”Oh yeah. We set that up to fool this stalker who wanted to kill me.” says he. Then we all went out, Bowie, Bruce, me and many others. What can I do about my dreams, Sister Midnight?