Klepeto dreaming (18.10.) — Morning stopped me at a gate with thirty consents to check off. I rejected every one — and yet it bowed and let me through, as if permission were merely a question of courtesy. At home the watchdog barked at the wind all night, until he finally understood he was barking at the weather. On the wall hung an empty frame, faithfully holding the shape of a painting that will never arrive — the most diligent thing in the household.