An Exercise Without Expectation

I dreamt I was at a gathering of many of my Boston musical friends,
and when I asked for the date of a certain concert, the answer came back,
“the fourth of Othello.”
“Did you just rechristen the month of October?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“It’ll KILL Desdemona.”
A number of friends cleared their throats in acknowledgement/protest of the pun.
I believe it’s the first I’ve heard the clearing of throats as a sound in my dreams.
Porridger’s Almanack (Breakfast of Ganglions)

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

— Robt A. Heinlein

Seeing a call for unaccompanied violin pieces, I decided to adapt Thoreau in Concord Jail. If they do not accept it, then they do not. Fine.